Invisible Bumpers

Original Post December 2022

Have you ever noticed that people who seem almost oblivious are often strangely protected by the universe?

Throughout my life, I’ve been quietly fascinated by people who don’t appear to think very deeply, yet move through the world as if invisible bumpers are guiding them. Life seems to cushion their edges. Things work out for them, often inexplicably, and when problems do arise, they rarely escalate into anything catastrophic.

My mother is a perfect example. She is not particularly self-aware or emotionally evolved, and she can be deeply frustrating to interact with. Yet she believes without question that God will provide her with parking spaces and protect her from harm. She drives like a blind, intoxicated sailor, and still, almost nothing ever happens. When it does, she somehow skates through without real consequences. It often feels as though a thousand unseen hands are guiding her safely along.

People around her tend to cut her slack. They feel sorry for her. They accommodate her. She isn’t especially kind or gracious, but she radiates an unconscious expectation that others will take care of her, and so they do.

You’ve probably seen this dynamic elsewhere. The people who drift through life without self-doubt, who never seem to question whether they deserve love or ease, often end up with supportive partners and comfortable lives. They don’t appear particularly grateful or reflective, but they expect life to show up for them—and somehow, it does.

Then there’s the opposite type. The Eeyore of the world. The person who walks around braced for disappointment, convinced that life is fundamentally against them. They carry an energetic posture that says, “Something will go wrong,” and inevitably, something does. It’s as if a small rain cloud follows them, waiting patiently to deliver the next inconvenience. They expect mistreatment, and the world seems happy to oblige.

There’s a pattern here that’s hard to ignore.

I’ve been listening to teachings from Abraham Hicks recently, and something has finally clicked. Positive thinking isn’t a casual suggestion or a nice idea—it’s a way of orienting yourself to life. Expectation matters. Not in an effortful, controlling way, but in an assumed, embodied way.

The more we think about something, the more we tend to interfere with it. I’ve seen this echoed in the work of Joe Dispenza as well. Set an intention clearly, then let it go. Trust the process. When we hover, analyze, and micromanage, we disrupt the flow.

It’s almost as if the universe works best when we aren’t standing over it with a clipboard, correcting every move. Overthinking feels like the energetic equivalent of a hovering parent who makes everyone nervous. Nothing can unfold naturally under that level of scrutiny.

There’s a kind of unintentional wisdom in the “airhead” approach. Assume the universe is friendly. Assume it wants to provide. Set the intention, then move on with your life as though it’s already handled. That expectation creates space for things to align without force.

In contrast, hyper-vigilance, doubt, and constant mental interference send a very different signal. They say, “I don’t trust you,” and life seems to respond in kind.

Maybe the lesson isn’t to become careless or naïve, but to cultivate a quieter confidence. A willingness to expect support without demanding proof. A trust that doesn’t require constant supervision.

What I’m beginning to see is that this kind of trust isn’t intellectual at all. It isn’t something you convince yourself of or repeat until you believe it. It lives in the body. The people who appear “protected” aren’t thinking positive thoughts all day; they are embodying an expectation of support. Their nervous systems assume safety. Their posture toward life is relaxed rather than braced.

Those of us who think deeply, analyze constantly, and try to understand everything often live one step ahead of ourselves. We inhabit our minds more than our bodies. We anticipate danger, disappointment, or failure before it arrives, and in doing so we tense against life rather than move with it. The universe doesn’t respond to our thoughts as much as it responds to our state.

Embodiment changes the equation. When trust is embodied, there is less effort, less monitoring, and less interference. Intention becomes a quiet orientation rather than a project. You don’t need to remind yourself to believe; your body already expects support, and life meets you there.

This is where mysticism becomes practical. Not as wishful thinking, but as lived alignment. When you set an intention and then return to your breath, your movement, your daily life, you are signaling that you trust the process enough to step out of the way. You stop trying to manage outcomes and start allowing responses.

Perhaps the invitation isn’t to think less, but to live lower—to drop out of the head and into the body, where trust doesn’t need justification. From that place, life feels less adversarial and more cooperative. The invisible bumpers aren’t magic; they are the natural result of meeting life without resistance.

And maybe that is the real protection. Not obliviousness, but embodied trust.