From the time I was a little girl, I have been trying to connect to and inhabit from whence I came.
That sounds odd, doesn’t it? Especially in our forward-looking society where bravery and gusto are celebrated.
I was the girl surrounded by a multitude of people (my large family and the tribes they created) but searching for something in the silence. When I was quite young, that translated to reading quietly wherever I could. I wanted to experience other worlds, especially those far more magical than the one we inhabit.
And there was always a familiarity in the magical bits.
It was as if I remembered a place I used to inhabit, one with laws of physics far exceeding this one.
In my mid-life, I still find myself yearning for that magic.
The times we live in are full of unrest and ugliness. Magic, where are you?
I find little glimpses of it, curated by the most unexpected individuals.
The fairy garden a street over, for instance, which I had walked by so many times without noticing. Until a tiny towheaded gal in rain boots studied it for quite a long time—to the consternation of her mother, who wanted to continue their walk. It sits in front of a house that appears equally as magical, with plum shutters, rocking chairs on the front porch, flowers your grandmother would love. Thanks to our tiny intrepid adventurer, I found myself discovering this garden and staring for a minute or two, to soak in all the detail.
Children, it seems, have not completely lost touch with the magic they remember from before they were born.
I walk a bit farther and two little ones who speak only through squawking, being at that age, wave to each other from their respective red plastic fire trucks. Their mothers continue to push them around the block, unaware they are hailing each other like long lost friends. As if to say, “You too? This place is not what I expected. But the fire truck helps, right?”
I find magic in the trees, in the flowers, in the woods, in the water. When I lived in the city, I insisted on apartments with a view of water or the park. And I found myself drawn, in between happy hours and baseball games, to the running path winding its way through the closest thing Chicago has to magic—the spots where nature takes precedence over concrete.
If you’re not wired this way, leave it. You don’t have to understand my words. But if you are, you’ll recognize the longing in this post. Be good to yourself. Sip the herbal tea, read the magical books, zen out as you stay totally in the moment while washing the dishes or writing in your journal.
I felt, months ago, as if I must solve the world’s problems. But there are people in place to do that right now. I’m not abdicating my responsibility to my fellow humans. I’ll continue to be honest, to be good, to help where I can. But to marinate constantly in the turmoil—well, it sickens the soul.
There is no shame in needing escape right now. I hope you find it. On a quiet dock on an even quieter lake in the middle of nowhere. In your own backyard. In a few rapt moments in front of a magical fairy garden, seen through the eyes of someone much closer to magic than you’ve strayed.
Consider this my friendly wave from my metaphorical red plastic fire truck, to my fellow sensitive adventurers here on earth. This place is not what I expected. But I’m finding the things that help. Wishing you the same.