By Clare Osdene Schapiro | Illustration by Anna Godeassi
What advice do you have for me?” a young friend recently asked over tea. Finished with college and starting out in her first job, she’s very responsible, clever, and has always been sensible and conscientious. At her age, I wasn’t any of those things. Nonetheless, I realized I may have some advice to impart, albeit unexpected and contrary to what she may have been bred to believe.
I am a staunch believer in kismet and intuition, and was even when, as a young woman, this mode of decision-making seemed, at best, unconventional and, at worst, radical. Having embraced sometimes-kooky signs sent from the universe, my intuition has rarely steered me down the wrong road, and more often than not, wildly enriched my life, launching me into some of my greatest adventures and most stunning successes.
Such was the case when, as a miserable 21-year-old, I found myself in a Charlottesville dorm room, having arrived after six years in England, doing my own thing at boarding school and beyond, far from the watchful eyes of parental supervision. I was dispirited and lonely, and felt I’d never, ever find a kindred spirit among the 18-year-olds experiencing their first days away from home. On the third day, splayed on my bed, despondently listening to Bob Dylan and feeling sorry for myself, there was a determined banging on my door. Standing there was a rangy Englishman who said in a plummy accent, “Everyone says you’re English, so I thought I’d come and see.”
Richard—that was his name—proceeded to grill me: Where was I from and where had I gone to school? Upon hearing the answer, he said, “Well then, do you know Simon Russel?” In stunned silence, I moved the oversized shirt I was wearing to expose the name tag in the collar of the boy who’d given it to me: “Simon Russel.” And thus, a lifelong friendship was launched, and the only sad episode of my time at the University of Virginia came to a screeching halt.
Later—20 years ago—I took myself for my usual morning walk, leaving our house and wandering over a few blocks to walk by the James River. As I wandered, I passed by the childhood home of a dear school pal where I’d enjoyed lots of sleepovers more than 30 years before. Her mother was in the front garden and said upon my greeting her, “Oh Clare, we bought a condo yesterday. Would you like to buy the house?” Without missing a beat, I responded, “Yes, ma’am.” And I continued on my daily tromp. Imagine my husband Jeff’s startled response when, having returned from my walk, he asked whether I’d seen anyone or done anything special, and I replied, “Yes, I bought the Washingtons’ house.”
“I haven’t ever even been inside of it!” he spluttered.
To which I replied, “I haven’t either for 35 years, but I just know we’re going to love it!” And love it we absolutely have.
And then, several years ago, one morning I was at the gym with my old friend, Jenny. After I caught her up on my convoluted life, she remarked, “Wow, you really need a vacation!” to which I responded, “Then the universe is going to have to send me one, because I don’t have time to organize it!”
Later that morning, when I attended the funeral of an old family friend, I found myself sitting next to an older woman with twinkling blue eyes. I introduced myself, and we had a brief chat before the ceremony began. After the service, she turned to me and said, “I know this is a bit unusual, but I have a cottage in Northern California, in a lovely spot, that will suddenly be empty starting on Saturday. Is there any way that you’d like to have it for the week?”
“Yes, thanks so much!” I responded, and scuttled outside to tell Jeff to get packing.
“But we can’t just go and spend the week at the house of someone you just met at a funeral!”
“Well, we can’t not go,” I calmly responded, “The universe organized it.” And in short order we had the most unexpected, sublime holiday of our lives.
When I was a young woman, nobody thought to tell me to trust my instincts, to be intrepid and brave, to take chances, to do things my way and trust in the outcome. And that even if I failed there were life-enhancing experiences to be had along the way. I wish somebody had told me about the universe.
This article originally appeared in the February 2025 issue.
