I asked the universe for guidance. A few days later, I lost my job.

That wasn't quite the answer I had in mind.

After hearing the extraordinary story of a pilot who survived 36 days in the Amazon rainforest, I started thinking differently about unanswered prayers.

In this episode, I talk about four months of uncertainty, the unexpected joy of creating something of my own, and the uncomfortable space between trusting life and desperately wanting answers.

What if the answer to our prayers looks nothing like what we expected?

A personal conversation about faith, work, identity, and learning to live while the rain is still falling.

Love,Just Julia

I keep seeing 22:22.

And every time I do, a small part of me wonders whether someone, somewhere, is trying to tell me something.

Which is funny, because I used to do almost exactly the same thing when I was a little girl.

A friend and I had a little ritual on our way home from school in Brazil.

We would look at the licence plates of passing cars, searching for certain combinations of numbers. One meant someone was thinking about us. Another meant someone liked us. Maybe even loved us.

I don’t remember every combination we used to look for, but I remember how much fun we had finding them. Two girls turning passing cars into little messages about our lives.

I hadn’t thought about those afternoons in years. Until the clock started doing the same thing.

12:12. 14:14. 17:17. 19:19. 22:22. 23:23.

Sometimes I take a screenshot. Other times, I immediately look up what they mean.

Apparently, they’re called angel numbers or mirror hours. Depending on the interpretation, they can represent new beginnings, trust, abundance, or a reminder that you’re moving in the right direction.

And yes, a part of me likes believing there might be something behind them.

I also know there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Our brains are very good at recognizing patterns. Once something catches our attention, we tend to notice it more often. Perhaps I’m looking at the clock a hundred times a day and only remembering the moments when the numbers happen to match.

That makes sense to me.

But here’s what I find interesting.

Knowing why I might be noticing these numbers doesn’t explain why I care so much about what they mean.

And I think that’s the part worth paying attention to.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want the years ahead to look like. There are things I want to explore, things I want to create, and parts of myself I’m still getting to know.

And although I find these possibilities exciting, I would be lying if I said I never wished someone could simply tell me which direction to take.

Because sometimes, when you have several possible futures in front of you, the freedom to choose can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

You can be grateful for your choices and still feel overwhelmed by them.

Then I glance at the clock.

22:22.

And I find myself looking up its meaning, reading about trust, alignment, and believing that things are unfolding as they should.

I know it’s an interpretation. But there are moments when I really want to believe it.

I don’t expect a number on a clock to make my decisions for me. Still, some days, I would appreciate a little reassurance that I’m not making a mistake.

And that brings me back to those afternoons after school.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to know whether someone liked me.

Now, as a grown woman, I sometimes want to know whether the life I’m imagining is possible.

Maybe that’s why I still look for signs.

The questions have changed, but the curiosity hasn’t.

After all, when I read that 22:22 means trusting the direction of my life, why does that particular message stay with me?

Why does that interpretation feel more comforting than any of the others?

Is it because the universe wanted me to hear it?

Or because some part of me already needed those words?

I don’t know. I may never know.

And I don’t think I need to stop enjoying the mystery.

I’ll probably keep taking screenshots, looking up meanings, and smiling at the occasional 12:12.

But the next time I see one, I might pay a little more attention to the answer I’m hoping to find.

What is the universe trying to tell me?

Or, what am I already trying to tell myself?

—

When you notice a coincidence or a sign, what do you find yourself hoping it means?

Just Julia

I heard a story about a man who spent 36 days lost in the Amazon rainforest after his plane crashed.

His name was Antônio Sena.

For the first week, he stayed near the wreckage, hoping someone would find him. Eventually, he realised he couldn’t keep waiting and started walking.

It rained. He was hungry, exhausted, and alone.

In the version of the story I heard, he kept asking God for one thing: please, make the rain stop.

But it wouldn’t stop.

Day after day, the rain kept falling. He was constantly wet, cold, and exhausted. And the longer it went on, the harder it became to understand why God wasn’t answering him.

Why isn’t God listening to me? I’m asking for just one thing. Please, make the rain stop.

Imagine asking for the same thing every single day, for weeks, and feeling as though your prayers are going nowhere.

Then, after more than 30 days alone in the forest, he finally encountered a group of people collecting Brazil nuts, who helped him get rescued.

The story was told to me with one particular detail: that the rain had forced those people to take a different route, bringing them to the very place where he found them.

I haven’t been able to verify that detail. But the idea has stayed with me.

What if the very thing we’re asking God to take away is somehow part of what will lead us somewhere else?

A few days before I lost my job in June, I was on a flight back from Bucharest.

I remember looking out of the window, feeling this strange tightness in my chest. Something about my professional life wasn’t right. I couldn’t explain it, but I could feel it.

And so I prayed.

Divine Universe, show me, guide me, use me. I’m listening. I am at your service.

I was asking for guidance.

A few days later, I lost my job.

Excuse me?

I asked for guidance. Not unemployment.

Not months of interviews, applications, uncertainty, and waking up without knowing exactly what comes next.

And yet, here I am.

Four months later, still looking for work. Still having conversations that may or may not lead somewhere.

But also writing, recording a podcast, creating things, reading books, attending masterclasses, exploring meditation and Kundalini, and discovering interests I never imagined I’d have.

Sometimes I wonder whether I would have found any of these things if my life had continued exactly as it was.

Other times, I would quite happily exchange another lesson in personal growth for a little financial certainty.

Both feelings are real.

And when I heard the story of the pilot, I couldn’t help thinking about my own rain.

I’ve spent these months wanting something to happen. Wanting an answer. Wanting to know whether all this effort, curiosity, and learning are actually taking me somewhere.

But what if something is happening that I simply cannot see yet?

Maybe your rain looks nothing like mine.

Maybe it’s a relationship that ended, a country you moved to but still don’t quite feel at home in, or a version of your life you worked so hard to build that no longer feels like yours.

Maybe you’ve been asking for something to change for months. And nothing has.

I wonder how many of us are walking around convinced that our prayers are going unanswered, when the truth is that we simply don’t know what happens next.

I don’t know whether God or the universe had anything to do with my losing my job. I don’t know whether everything happens for a reason, or whether we find reasons afterward because they help us make sense of what happened.

I want to believe there is something waiting on the other side of this period.

But wanting to believe something and knowing it are two very different things.

I keep remembering that prayer on the airplane.

Show me. Guide me. I’m listening.

Perhaps I imagined guidance would arrive as an opportunity, an introduction, a door opening.

I hadn’t considered what it would feel like if something closed first.

And perhaps, when I look back one day, I’ll understand why these months unfolded the way they did.

Or perhaps I’ll simply be grateful for what I decided to do with them.

For now, I don’t have the answer.

I’m still walking.

And it’s still raining.

I’m still praying for it to stop.

But lately, I’ve also been wondering where the rain might be taking me.

Just Julia