Writing Down the Words: Making Magic Happen

I make lists.

Yes, I’m one of those.

I guess it’s because I like 1) seeing tasks accomplished, and 2) having direction for my day, particularly toward specific goals.  My daily To-Do list keeps me on track . . . well, most of the time.

I’ve always been a list maker since I can remember.  I found out that when I wrote down my goals rather than just thinking about them, the goals eventually became a reality.  I now believe that writing down my desires is a magical way for the Universe to know what I really want.  It’s not enough for me to say what I want, to vocalize.  Writing these goals, these desires down creates a strong commitment, a contract if you will, with the Universe.  I want these things badly enough that I was willing to put them to paper.

I was heartened some time again when I found support in the book, Write Your Own Magic: The Hidden Power in Your Words by Richard Webster.  He states that all “creativity is magic” and practiced by “Pythagoras, Leonardo da Vinci, and Isaac Newton” and that even “William Shakespeare made countless references to magic in this plays, and was obviously familiar with the subject.”

Once upon a time in my twenties, I wanted to become a writer.  I had no training whatsoever, other than high school English, being a voracious reader, and having an immense curiosity to learn.  When I said I wanted to be a published author, people—family and friends—laughed.  Over time, the laughter stopped.  My goals were coming true.

I have a planner—the hard copy kind—where I list goals/desires for the month.  Using that monthly goal list, I create my weekly list, and from that my daily list.

On July 14 of this year (2015), I was let go from my professor/admin position at a university where I’ve been employed for almost eleven years.  I served as an adjunct for a year and a half, and then with my M.F.A. degree in hand, I hired into a full-time in a position I served for the remainder of that time.  I understand completely why I was let go; it was a restructuring event due to enrollment decreases over the last few years, decreases that are affecting college campuses across the nation.  Honestly, if I had been in my supervisors’ shoes, I would have done the same thing.

That said, over the last couple of years as more duties were assigned to me, I found myself become more tired.  The joy I once had for the job was fading, assignment by new assignment.  My career change to academics was the result of my love of teaching non-academic classes, connecting with students of all ages, helping them re-awaken an earlier joy of writing, and showing them how to become better writers.  Plus, I enjoy teaching or coaching teachers how to teach writing.

I would come home so tired from work that I often needed a nap before bedtime.  I was sleeping upwards of 12 hours a day.  As a result, my creative writing was neglected.  That depressed me further.  During that time personal life events—family deaths and a major auto accident—were taking their toll on me.  I hid this tiredness, this depression well, diving into my writing for relief, which has always served me well in the past.

But it wasn’t enough.

Back in the spring, I asked the Universe to find a way for me to be to write more, but without it jeopardizing my ability to live, to pay bills.  Close to retirement, I was still obligated to my institution for another three years due to their generosity in helping me obtain my Ph.D.

In being let go, that obligation disappeared.  I realized I was free to write and that I could retire from the daily 40-hour week grind.

I am now writing to my heart’s content.  My future isn’t nailed down yet, but that’s okay for the moment.

Today, I looked at my planner and the list I created on July 1, my monthly To-Do list, which were mostly creative writing tasks.  Sadly, I realized I’ve not accomplished one thing on that list so far this month . . . with one exception.  I know I still have time to accomplish the rest of the list this month due to that one item.

The last entry read:  Open a way for me to do more writing.

The Universe does answer.

Projected Thoughts

Mackinac Island is one of my favorite places in Michigan and the island became more special once I learned that the all-time classical time-travel movie, Somewhere in Time, starring Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour was filmed there.  The island is magical in that no automobiles are allowed, except for the fire trucks.  Transportation are bicycles or horse-drawn carts and wagons.  In winter, the 500 or so residents travel by snow mobile.


My first summer visit to the island was with my first husband and our two daughters.  We were typical fudgies, staying in the downtown area, taking in all the typical visitor sites, including the fort and a short hike up to the Grand Hotel.  Then, visitors could go inside and look around, and even sit on the porch.  Now visitors have to pay a fee for that privilege if they aren’t staying at the hotel.


I visited the island throughout the years, several times, and always with a friend.  Often we would rent bicycles where we would travel around the island and follow all the inland trails.


The last time I visited, I fulfilled my bucket-list wish and stayed at the Grand Hotel.  While I couldn’t say much about our view from our room (a back roof), the food was fantastic, with the luxury of sitting on the porch.


During our stay, my friend went in search of the labyrinth.  I wanted to sit on the front lawn, where there is a lovely fountain and where the lawn was the location for the Somewhere in Time when the main characters, Richard and Elise, are reunited one last time, breaking the barrier of time.  Several benches sat on the lawn, circling this fountain, and allowing me a view of the famous stairs, leading up to the hotel.


I had just sat down, fully enjoying the sounds of the birds and water splashing, when a young boy, about eight or ten, and his grandmother sat on a bench opposite of me.  The grandmother appeared tired, probably looking for a break from this energetic, active child.  He talked constantly to her and she would reply in monosyllables.  Then, he started throwing rocks into the fountain and at the birds, becoming destructive and disregarding nature.


I didn’t want to leave, and I was feeling that they were intruding on the loveliness of the landscape.  Minimally, the boy was intruding.


Not wanting to leave and wanting the quiet back, I began project thoughts to the boy:  Grandma, I’m bored, I want to leave.  This isn’t fun anymore.  Let’s go.


I kept repeating those thoughts, projecting them toward the boy.  Several minutes passed, and lo and behold, I heard the boy say, “Grandma, I’m bored.  Let’s go somewhere else.”


Without another word, she rose from the bench, and they held hands as they moved on.


The quiet I had been seeking returned.

The Winter Coat

After the birth of our second daughter, money was tighter than ever.  It was September 19, 1978 and winter was coming.  I needed a new winter coat but I had only $35 to spend on it—tops.  And this was a time when coats started selling at $50-60 a piece.  While it felt early in the season, it was actually late.  Coats had been picked over and I’d been looking already for several weeks.

I remembered listening to some Norman Vincent Peale tapes where he stated that in order to draw to you what you need, you have to believe that you already own it.  That it’s already yours.  That it’s meant to be yours.  The secret was to speak and believe as if you already owned it, so the choice of verb tense was important.  Peale’s most famous work—now a true classic—is The Power of Positive Thinking, first published in 1952.  It can still be found on popular bookstore shelves today.

This positive-thinking philosophy would be repeated every decade by someone new.  In the 1970s, that person was Dr. Wayne Dyer, followed by Anthony Robbins in the 1980s.  By the twenty-first century, both would be talking about higher consciousness and our need to connect with our inner consciousness, that our power comes from within.

And then, a little tiny book authored by Rhonda Byrne would make headlines in 2006 unlike other books of self-fulfillment.  That book was The Secret and many of the philosophies that were being introduced to the public I was already practicing.  In fact, I had practiced it back on that day in 1978.

It was a typical shopping day for me where I was on a hunt for a specific item and coming up with nothing.  As I stood in the store, I visualized.  In my mind’s eye, I saw the coat that I desired—brown plaid fabric, a long coat that came down to my boots or knees, and with a hood.

At that very moment, my glaze fell upon the bin in front of me, which was full of mittens, gloves, and hats.  I wasn’t normally a hat wearer, but I noticed a rust-colored hat that I knew would match this desired coat perfectly.  I bought the hat.  I even began wearing it and carrying it, not caring that it didn’t go with the light-weight fall jacket or sweaters I was wearing while still on the hunt.

Two weeks later, I found the coat on sale for $32.  It was on a rack where it should not have been hanging.  It was almost as if it was there for me to find at that moment.  I happened to be wearing the hat.  When I put on the coat and looked in the mirror, the hat appeared as if it originally came with the coat.

Several days later, the winter’s first snow fell.  Every time thereafter, for the decade or more that I owned that coat, whenever I put it on, I was reminded that visualization works.  More importantly, I learned how my belief could not waver.  I had to see it, feel it, hear it, smell it, taste it.  All the senses had to be engaged.

This was not be the first time that I would draw to me that which I needed.  The future would hold far bigger needs, seemingly impossible goals, needs, or desires.  But what I did learn this day was not only did the secret work, but I learned how it worked.  Unbeknownst to me, the future was filled with opportunities for practice.