I’ve been seeing 11:11 everywhere lately. On my phone, on the microwave, on random clocks I happen to glance at throughout the day. At first, I brushed it off as coincidence— you know, that thing we tell ourselves when something feels too meaningful to be random. But here I am, in the middle of waiting for life- changing decisions about selling my home and buying another one I’ve completely fallen in love with, and those numbers keep appearing like little winks from the universe saying, “Hey, we’ve got you.”
It’s made me think a lot about signs. Not just the angel numbers, or the feathers that appear out of nowhere, but all of it—the gut feelings, the synchronicities, the moments that make you pause and wonder if something bigger is at play. And more importantly, it’s made me wonder: should we believe in them? Should we trust them? And what happens if we do?
I’ve always been someone who listens to that inner voice, those nudges that feel like they’re coming from somewhere beyond my own thoughts. Some people call it intuition. Others might say it’s just hopeful thinking or our brains trying to find patterns where none exist. But I’ve come to believe it’s something more—it’s God, the universe, whatever name resonates with you—gently guiding us toward where we’re meant to be.
Right now, as I sit in this space of uncertainty, waiting for answers that will shape my immediate future, I’m surrounded by signs. There was the cardinal that sat on my porch railing for an unusually long time, just looking at me. The song that came on the radio at the exact moment I was asking for clarity. The friend who called out of the blue to tell me about their own leap of faith that worked out beautifully. Each one feels like a breadcrumb on a path I can’t fully see yet but somehow know I’m meant to walk.
But here’s where it gets interesting, and maybe a little uncomfortable: what if our belief in these signs actually matters? What if the outcome isn’t just about what’s “meant to be,” but about how fully we commit to believing it will work out? I’ve caught myself in moments of doubt—those sneaky little thoughts that whisper, “But what if it doesn’t happen?” And immediately, I feel a shift, like I’ve just closed a door I was trying to keep open.
It makes me wonder if skepticism, even just a flicker of it, has the power to redirect our path. Or conversely, if giving our faith 110%—dedicating our minds, spirits, and prayers to believing in the best possible outcome—actually helps bring it to life. I don’t have a definitive answer, but I do know this: when I’m in that space of complete trust, when I’ve released the worry and just know with every fiber of my being that things are unfolding exactly as they should, I feel different. Lighter. More aligned. And somehow, things do seem to flow more easily.
This brings up a fascinating question about humanity itself. Are there just a handful of us who insist on staying positive, who genuinely believe that things will work out the way they’re meant to? Sometimes it feels that way. I look around and see so many people living in a state of perpetual worry, not really believing in anything either way, certainly not dedicating their energy to faith or positive expectation. They’re not necessarily negative, but they’re not actively positive either—they’re just… waiting. Bracing. Protecting themselves from disappointment.
And I get it. I really do. Believing requires vulnerability. It means opening yourself up to the possibility of being wrong, of being disappointed, of looking foolish for having hoped. But here’s what I’ve learned through my own journey: the alternative—living in that gray space of non-belief—doesn’t protect you from pain. It just guarantees you’ll miss out on the magic that happens when you fully commit to faith.
So what are we supposed to do when all the signs are there, pointing us in a direction, but we don’t know the outcome yet? Should we feel nervous and on edge, constantly checking and rechecking, trying to control every variable? Or should we release it all into the rearview mirror, trust completely, and just let it be? I’m learning—still learning, because this is a practice, not a destination—that the answer is the latter. The signs aren’t there to make us anxious or to test us. They’re there to reassure us, to remind us that we’re not alone in this journey, that there’s a bigger plan unfolding. When I see 11:11 now, I don’t just notice it and move on. I pause. I take a breath. I say thank you. And I recommit to trusting that everything is working out in divine order, just as I’ve asked.
Does this mean I never feel nervous? Of course not. I’m human. But I’m learning to recognize those moments of anxiety for what they are—just old patterns of fear trying to keep me safe in familiar territory. And then I gently redirect myself back to faith, back to knowing, back to that deep certainty that lives beneath all the surface noise.
Maybe the real question isn’t whether we should believe in signs, but whether we’re willing to believe in ourselves enough to trust what we’re receiving. Because I think that’s what it really comes down to. The signs are there for all of us—every single person reading this has experienced moments of synchronicity, gut feelings that turned out to be right, little miracles that seemed too perfect to be random. The question is: will we honor them? Will we let them guide us? Will we have the courage to believe?
I don’t know yet how my story will end, whether I’ll get the house I love, whether everything will work out exactly as I’m envisioning. But I do know this: I’m choosing to believe. I’m choosing to trust the signs. I’m choosing to know, with all my heart, that whatever unfolds is exactly what’s meant to be. And in that knowing, I’ve already found peace.
Maybe that’s the real gift of signs—not that they guarantee a specific outcome, but that they invite us into a relationship with faith itself. And in that relationship, we discover we’re never truly alone, never truly lost, and always, always guided. I do believe.
–Susan Capurso, CEOLD / Legacy Specialist