The sign I never knew I needed.

The sun was shining, the bus was stuffy, and I was happily exhausted. I was on my way back from a training day at my new job. Coffee training, to be exact. Sunshine, laughter, copious amounts of milky flat whites. What’s better than that? Seeing a yellow ladybird after a beautiful, cup-filling day – that’s what. Of all the windows, of all the buses, of all the moments in the day, the ladybird chose to land next to me. Or so I decided it did.

I’m a sucker for a sign. If I come across something that feels even remotely ‘mystical’ or ‘symbolic’, I immediately attach meaning to it. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe it’s because I’m not religious. Or because I’m the archetypal head-in-the-clouds air sign. There’s no concrete reason why I’m drawn to this way of thinking. It’s simply how I am. What I can tell you, though, is that depending on what’s happening in my life, I’m more (or less) inclined to search for these so-called signs.

Since coming home from Portugal, I’ve been grappling with just how different my life – and by extension, I – have become. I keep catching myself saying things like, “God, this time last year I was [insert crazy and/or exciting memory here],” or, “Wow, last year’s me would be rolling her eyes at 2025 me – she’s so… still?!” Lovely stuff, right? I’d be lying if I said that 2025 has been more exciting or fulfilling than 2023 or 2024. It hasn’t been. And that’s okay.

But what if I rephrased that last sentence?
What if I said this instead: 2025 hasn’t been nearly as exciting or fulfilling as 2023 or 2024 – yet.

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1. Good luck & Fortune

What does it mean to have ‘good luck’? What does it mean to be ‘fortunate’? Like most things in life, I think it depends on the person. Some see good luck or fortune in the grandest, most conventional sense – winning the lottery, or landing a free trip to the Maldives. Others find it in smaller, quieter moments: spotting a rusty penny on a morning walk, or catching the bus just in time.

For me, good luck and fortune have little to do with money or material things, and everything to do with the intangible. It’s the feeling I get after finishing a hard but fulfilling day at work. It’s the smell of fresh rye bread when I walk into a bakery I’ve never visited before. It’s the sight of people laughing over drinks in the fleeting summer sun.

Simply put, it’s the ability to encounter my favourite things, whenever and however they come. I know the novelty of a new city will wear off eventually – but the chance to experience something new, something unexpected, is part of the fabric of life. That, in itself, is luck.

2. Creativity & Joy

I guess I’ve always considered myself a ‘creative’ person. Creative in the conventional sense – through my love of words and art – and creative in a more figurative way, in that I’ve always leaned towards those things over numbers or facts. For me, creativity and joy are almost synonymous. But in some ways, so are creativity and sorrow. Joy and sorrow, even.

When I moved out of my family home a few years ago for my master’s, I had a quiet, tragic realisation: I am at my most creative when I’m in an unfamiliar place – or, more simply, when I’m not at home. That’s not to say I don’t feel joy at home. Quite the opposite. But I feel less motivated to create there.

Maybe it’s because I spent so many years cooped up in my childhood bedroom that it no longer sparks anything in me. Or maybe it’s just a little too comfortable. Whatever the reason, I’ve come to happily accept that as long as I’m here and there – as long as I’m bouncing from place to place – creativity, and the joy that comes with it, are never far behind.

3. Protection & Guidance

There’s something about signs and symbols that makes me feel sort of looked after. That keeping a moonstone in my pocket will protect me while flying over water. That taking a book with me wherever I go will shield me from boredom. That smiling at strangers might protect them from whatever it is that’s hurting them – even if just for a moment.

Now, as much as I love to romanticise life, I’m also a realist. I know it’s not my father’s bracelet that’s going to keep me safe – it’s intuition, and taking the longer, safer route home. And I know that despite the whole “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” mentality, I’ll get to where I want to be through hard work first, and connections second.

I know. I do. It’s probably wiser to be a realist in the long run. But I have to wonder: would a realist – someone who sees things exactly as they are – even notice that a yellow ladybird had landed on their knee?

The rational part of me knows that if shit were to really hit the fan, a yellow ladybird wouldn’t be able to do a thing. But the other part of me (and no, I refuse to call it irrational) knows that if it ever came to that, I’d do everything in my power to make it through.

When I saw the yellow ladybird that day, something settled in me.
It made me think: I’m kind of on my own now.
I’m kind of on my own now—and I’m going to be fine.

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Begin - Brendan Kennelly

Begin again to the summoning birds
to the sight of the light at the window,
begin to the roar of morning traffic
all along Pembroke Road.
Every beginning is a promise
born in light and dying in dark
determination and exaltation of springtime
flowering the way to work.
Begin to the pageant of queuing girls
the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal
bridges linking the past and future
old friends passing though with us still.
Begin to the loneliness that cannot end
since it perhaps is what makes us begin,
begin to wonder at unknown faces
at crying birds in the sudden rain
at branches stark in the willing sunlight
at seagulls foraging for bread
at couples sharing a sunny secret
alone together while making good.
Though we live in a world that dreams of ending
that always seems about to give in
something that will not acknowledge conclusion
insists that we forever begin.