It’s funny the way the world works sometimes.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. The universe is a fickle friend, but a friend nonetheless.

Like how I often find myself parking in front of a coffee shop or at the counter ordering or feeling the condensation from my cup drip down my hand, when I know adding caffeine to my already-overwhelming anxiety is not a good idea. I park, order, and sip anyway. “Nevertheless, she persisted,” right?

Today had a rough start—and a late start at that. Caffeine was required to get through today, no doubt about it. The weekend was full of tension and miscommunication and maybe too-direct communication and a flaring up of things that had been tightly bottled for a bit. In a mix of personal and professional confrontations, I felt like I was flailing; in an ocean where I couldn’t hold onto anything and had no choice but to chaotically tread water.

I didn’t drown.

Did I swallow some salt water and cough and get really tired from all the flailing and get sunburn on my forehead and eyelids but somehow not the rest of my face? Yes. But I survived.

I made one of those “thoughtful” (in quotes because everyone on social media becomes a preacher at some point) Instagram posts last week, talking about how the universe has funny ways of showing you what’s no longer serving you. When I wrote it, I was referring to a recent loss of contract work and a dear friend (she’s alive, just doesn’t want to be friends, I guess?). But then this weekend rolls around and suddenly, an endeavor I really believed in and was excited for felt ripped out from under me. It was disheartening.

And as I reeled from a very unpleasant conversation (if we can call it that) and struggled to complete my tasks for the day (all I ever want is to just sit down and get my shit done, damnit), I left that coffee shop, ordered an iced latte to go, and then received an email for another big, exciting (and uh, paid) opportunity.

Call me crazy, I don’t care. I’ve been called worse. But this “believe in the universe” shit is real. And it’s not shit, it’s truth. It’s magic. (Please see: everything Jen Sicero ever wrote). The universe is quite literally freeing me from one toxic or non-worthwhile commitment after another to open up space for bigger, better, things. I can’t make this shit up. (You know it’s real when the author says ‘I can’t make this shit up.’)

So I’m continuing to walk the fine line of anxiety and caffeine. It’s worked for me so far, why try to fix something that isn’t broken? (Could I maybe use less clichés in this post? Sheesh.) I was going to go into how I’ve gotten back into my gluten-free diet after finances had me ingesting cheap, bread byproducts and dairy like I was a starving hyena, but we’ll save that for a different day.

For now, the iced latte sits next to me like an old friend, only a few sips left, and I chug right along doin’ the damn thing.