Keep Paying Attention
By now, you know about Fred.
The raccoon who kept showing up behind the house. Same time. Same path. Same energy like he had somewhere to be—even if it was just a pile of leftovers we’d tossed into the woods.
At first, it was funny. Then it started to feel like something more. A symbol. A thread. A strange little mirror reflecting parts of me I hadn’t looked at in a while.
But here’s the thing—I didn’t just start seeing Fred.
I started seeing everything differently.
It started with the monk.
I was sitting in my car, stuck in one of those life-or-death-but-not-really decisions.
Do I keep DoorDashing while the peak pay is good?
Or go handle the P.O. Box for my business?
Money or momentum.
Survival or purpose.
Same old story.
And just as I’m sitting there—a black-and-white cat walks in front of my car. I have to stop. Literally. It makes me slow down. And that’s when I notice a whole SUV of monks pull into Starbucks.
Full robes. Iowa plates. Calm as hell.
It didn’t feel random.
At the time, I brushed it off. Kind of. But something about it stuck with me.
And a few days later? I saw the same monk again.
Same robe. Same car. This time with a Michigan plate.
That hit me hard.
Like the message wasn’t just passing through anymore.
It had moved in.
Then came the orange cat.
I had just decided to stop dashing early.
Made $40 on one run and figured I’d take the win and head home.
Threw on Think Like a Monk by Jay Shetty as I turned onto the road before mine.
That’s when I saw it—an orange cat running across the street.
It might not sound like much, but it felt like seeing my childhood all over again.
My grandpa had a big orange cat. I’ve always loved them. I even have one now.
And for a split second, I felt like a kid again. Safe. Curious. Home.
Right after that, I stopped at the sign near my house.
And there he was.
Fred.
Like he was waiting.
These moments keep stacking.
A monk at Starbucks.
A cat in the road.
A raccoon at the stop sign.
Little things.
But only if you’re not paying attention.
For most of my life, I couldn’t afford to see things this way.
When you’re stuck in survival mode, you don’t get to romanticize raccoons or pause for cats or decode cosmic plate numbers. You keep your head down. You get through the day.
But healing?
Healing gave me room to start wondering again.
And I think that’s what Fred really opened up for me. Not just a memory. Not just a mascot.
But a reminder that meaning doesn’t have to be logical to be real.
You can feel truth in your bones before you ever put it into words.
Fred made me look.
The monk made me listen.
And everything after that made me believe.
Not in some big, dramatic awakening.
Just in something small enough to matter again.
So yeah… keep paying attention.
Not because you need answers.
But because maybe the signs have been showing up all along—just waiting for you to notice.
The Ones Who Show Us the Way
Fred made me look.
The monk made me listen.
Everything since has asked me to believe.
