What I want is coming to me.

Things arrive in packaging you didn't choose. The job comes through someone you almost didn't reply to. The move happens because a lease ended badly and the new street turned out to be the right one.

Arrival needs motion at both ends. Something travels toward you, and you have to be somewhere it can reach — answering, showing up, keeping the address current.

A friend kept one folder open for two years, adding to it on dull evenings, and the thing she wanted landed in it eventually, sideways, from a direction she had never watched.

Keep the folder open.