I’m going to be totally up front about this: I love magic. I’m the one following magicians around at fundraisers where they’re performing because I can’t get enough of their tricks. I’m the one with the Gryffindor scarf, loving every word, every movie, every moment of Harry Potter. I’m the one who’s wanted to be a witch since I became obsessed with Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth in the 6th Grade. I just love magic.
But I’m a muggle.
I know this because (true story) I once apprenticed to a real-live witch and it didn’t go so well.
So I do the kind of magic I know how to do, magic available to muggles:
I make plans.
And lest you should think, oh posh, plan are not magic, I assure you, you’re wrong. A plan is a kind of spell you cast, an incantation. When you pronounce the words, say your goals out loud, you begin to breathe life into them. They begin to take form. You create something where there was nothing before.
And that? That feels a lot like magic.
The weird part happens to me over and over again. Which is that I arrive at the desired destination – the goal, the accomplishment – and I’m surprised.
I look around and think WOW, that’s amazing. How’d that happen?
And it takes me a little while to realize, OH WAIT, I made this. By engaging in whatever the daily, weekly, monthly necessary step was to move that goal forward, I got lost in the simple pleasure of micro-accomplishment, that delicious momentum that keeps it all rolling, snowballing, getting bigger, better. That makes it come true.
It can feel distinctly as if the accomplishment was conjured out of thin air. But I also know that’s not true: I cast this spell in the first place, and then I did the work. And now, magic: the thing I wanted, what I was after, is real.
Seriously. That feels like magic to me. That you can create what you want by the sheer focus of your will and effort and passion. Magic.
Even for muggles.