The Art of Serendipity
In a former life, I managed to secure a gig with HarperCollins writing book reviews. Every month they would send me their catalogue of new releases from which I selected books that I thought would interest my audience (as well as myself, of course!). Shortly after, a box would arrive, filled with three copies of each book that I ordered—one for me to keep and two to give away as prizes.
At the time, I was running a website that I had created for new parents in Aotearoa. Long before the world of social media, I recognised the need for a place where people could not only find useful information, but also a safe space to ask questions, discuss concerns, and celebrate milestones.
So initially, I was reviewing predominantly books about parenting and (of course) picture books for children. However, as time went on, I began adding in cookbooks, adult fiction, and biographies/memoirs. And it was in the latter category that I stumbled across something that I have held onto for almost two decades.
I do not recall the title of the book. I do not even recall the name of the author of the autobiography. In fact, I barely recall the story beyond a wealthy woman’s fall from grace due to alcoholism; and her journey back to sobriety. What I do recall is the lesson life had taught her:
Everything happens for a reason—even if that reason may not be immediately clear. It may take days, weeks, months, or even years for the reason to reveal itself. Or perhaps we may never know. But as long as we hold onto the belief that everything happens for a reason, we can find acceptance and overcome anything.
I am paraphrasing, of course. The author’s exact words are irrelevant. What is important is the message that I took, carried, and regularly pass on to others.
Trust that everything happens for a reason, even if the reason is not yet clear.
It is perhaps due to this belief that I notice synchronicity all around me. More than mere coincidence as seemingly unrelated events begin to acquire meaning. Shortly after publishing yesterday’s musing describing a series of such coincidences, I found myself reading an article in which Esther Fitzpatrick argues that “serendipity is a useful concept for arts-based researchers to employ” (Fitzpatrick & Alansari, 2018, p. 211) and goes on to say:
Kennedy (2016) expands on the notion of serendipity to include the role of the researcher as a “Serendipiter” in “How to cultivate the Art of Serendipity.” This notion was originally coined by the New York photographer Gay Talese, as well as the term “Super Encounterers,” which Sanda Erdelez relates to those researchers who have special powers of perception that lead them to clues. Hence, the Serendipiter is a skilled researcher who always has a problem or question that occupies their mind, who immerses themselves playfully and passionately into their world, and who is open to notice and discover connections and patterns throughout their daily encounters. For me the Serendipiter resonates with Wolff’s surrender and catch where the researcher must surrender, immerse themselves in the process, and have the skills to notice, to catch, to make meaning. It is with “sensitive reflection upon each of life’s fragments, [we] can arrive at an understanding of some aspect of society” (Weinstein & Weinstein, 1991, p. 160).
(Fitzpatrick & Alansari, 2018, p. 211)
I hear you loud and clear!!
Last week, having successfully cleared her mind from the noise of a physical condition she no longer has, a client asked me, “How do you fill the silence that is left behind?”
What silence? I thought to myself.
“That is a very good question.” I paused, trying to think if I have ever experienced the silence she was describing. I reflected on how I experience life in my current incarnation. During counselling sessions, I am 100% immersed in my client; their stories, emotions, thought processes, etc. During professional development courses I am processing new information, adding to existing knowledge, and thinking about how I might incorporate these new insights into my work. Likewise, as I conduct my doctoral research, I am also processing, consolidating, and making connections. But what about the times in-between?
The times in-between are truly where the serendipitous magic takes place. This is where I stumble across a crochet pattern and recognise how I might use it as a metaphor for my doctoral journey. This is where a random conversation with a client leads me to discover a hidden message technique used by artists when framing their work. This is where standing in the shower, recalling a comedy of errors with a car salesman, leads me to come up with a solution to my transcribing dilemma. And this. This is where, after having reflected on all of these random events that turned out to have meaning behind them, the next article I open speaks about serendipity.
Totally and utterly fitting.
This article also speaks of the importance of doctoral students to network and support one another. Well, I’ll be damned. Just last week I hosted the inaugural meeting for a post-grad research peer support group that I have set up. My vision is a space for like-minded folk (those on the periphery of what is considered “standard” research methodology) to come together to discuss their ideas, vent their frustrations, and celebrate their successes. A space beyond the echo chamber of our school and institution; where the commonality is our passion for arts-based, (auto)ethnographic, narrative, and creative methodologies.
So here we are. Having discovered serendipity whilst reading an article about serendipity.
Reference
Fitzpatrick, E., & Alansari, M. (2018). Creating a warmth against the chill: Poetry for the doctoral body. Art/Research International: A Transdisciplinary Journal, 3(1).
