I was finding dimes again. This had happened once before, so I knew the drill. At first, it was nothing more than noticing loose change as I went about my day. It took a while to realize that by “change,” I meant dimes (never pennies, nickels, or quarters) and that there was always one single coin. The dimes were often in places that didn’t make sense. It was one thing to find a dime on the driveway when I opened my car door or to see one twinkling up from the pavement during a walk. It was harder to explain the dime sitting on an otherwise empty kitchen counter or the one on my bed. My favorite dime was the one that greeted me on the downstairs coffee table right after I silently noted that if these dimes were trying to tell me something, I’d need to see another one.

Of course, I Googled “finding dimes.” It turns out it’s a thing, and there are all sorts of possible meanings connected to it. Choose whichever apply: departed loved ones want you to know that they are looking out for you; you are on the right track; new beginnings are imminent. I learned that because the number 10 is symbolic of infinity, finding dimes can be interpreted as events coming full circle. This means dimes can represent unity or completion of a task. One cranky website suggested that finding a dime can mean “heads-up” (yes, I see what you did there, Cranky Website). This sounded like a warning, and since I’m not into anything that makes me more afraid in this world than I already am, I dismissed it.

So the dimes had my attention. But what good was that if I had no idea what I was supposed to know? After all, my brain is filled with lots of questions I could use help deciphering. I’m never at a loss for uncertainties, and there are always issues that beg for clarification.

Signs and messages are effective only if the receiver knows what they’re supposed to mean.

Then a curious thing happened. This past weekend, while my conscious mind was occupied, a random thought whizzed through my brain. It was only one sentence, and it wasn’t connected to anything I’d been pondering at all. Still, it was clear that this idea–the one that raised more questions than answers–was the thing I needed to hear. There was power and serenity in the words, an invitation to explore further … and having received the thought, I knew there wouldn’t be any more dimes.

That’s it. No answers. No premonitions. None needed.

I don’t know if I would have been open to this thought if the dimes hadn’t piqued my curiosity. I have to grudgingly admit that I may have misinterpreted the “heads-up” concept. Maybe the dimes aren’t a scary premonition after all. Maybe they’re simply a nudge for us to listen beyond and beneath the chaos of the world.

The dimes are gone. I haven’t found a single one since that last calling card on the coffee table. I wouldn’t mind if they showed up again, although even after two experiences, it would still take some time before I caught on to the pattern.

Clearly, I need all the reminders I can get.

Coffee table dime