I was twenty years old, just about to start my senior year in university. I had a happy life with people I loved dearly, but I was restlessly asleep, like Thomas Anderson before he became Neo. I had a boyfriend, whom my sister called my “friend with benefits”, for almost five years. (Only after we broke up did I finally understand what she meant. We were excellent friends but didn’t share the chemistry I certainly hope you share with your other half. He was short, insecure and passive aggressive. I was tall, insecure and mistook sex for intimacy. We’ll chalk it up to a learning experience in gender expectations and self love.)
In the happiest part of my life, I breezed through my courses; followed East Coast emo bands through Colorado; ran (lots of) errands for my family; babysat for my sisters; and escaped in movie and television fandoms with my best friend, living vicariously through witches, hobbit and superheroes. I had a ton of fun, but I started to itch for something different–I daresay an adventure–by my third year in college.
That was when I got the bright idea to spend a semester abroad. I knew it was going to be in England, a place that captured my conscious imagination since–yes, I admit it–I started reading the Harry Potter series at age 13. I researched universities and programs, finally settling on the University of Westminster, right in the middle of London, hosted by Arcadia University in Glenside, Pennsylvania.
I was one of the oldest students in my study abroad group and celebrated my 21st birthday just three days after arriving in the first foreign country I’ll visit. Just three days after that, one courageous night changed my life.
Although we were based in London, our group spent our first weekend in a small town just north of Liverpool called Southport. We were divided into groups of 2 or 3 and stayed with local families for the weekend. Friday, we did some dorm shopping. My home stay buddies, Alicia and Rachel, and I happened across an interesting looking clubby bar lounge thing (I’d just turned 21 and commuted to college–of course I knew nothing of these places!) called Lloyd’s. I suggested we check it out. My more savvy companion, however, suggested we wait till Saturday night, get dolled up and make a night of it with the whole group.
Sure, why not?
The next day, we took the train into Liverpool and explored the city. Then, finally, we had our night on the (retirement) town.
Now owned by pub-scooping corporate giant JD Wetherspoon, Lloyd’s was our second and final stop that night. Two stories high with dim lighting and a live DJ, it was bustling, to say the least, with a shockingly eclectic crowd: middle-aged groups of men in jeans, button-up shirts and nice shoes; young adults like us traveling in packs large enough to take down a zombie horde barehanded; even silver-haired grannies in evening gowns working their magic, whatever it was.
I was sitting in a corner at a table with a bunch of Americans with my chin literally in my hand, drinking the lightest beer I could get, when it hit me: this was lame. I’d come 4000 miles just to sit quietly, shyly, reservedly–like I had my whole life. Determined to make the most of this expensive educational experience, I spotted Rachel and Mike, the only other kid who came to the program solo, chatting to a couple of locals. I skipped over to join them with no clue of what to do or say.
Immediately, I was impressed by Chris’s charisma and eloquence. He was damn smart. And funny. And easy on the eyes. Of course, knowing him now, it’s no wonder we did hit the subject of politics, but at least it was old shit from hundreds of years ago that makes for interesting drama. We talked music: Manic Street Preachers, Drive-Thru Records, and of course, The Beatles. Literature: Shakespeare fan in the house. And so on and so forth.
When time came to say good night, we exchanged phone numbers out of what I thought to be simple courtesy. I did not expect to hear from the boy from Liverpool when I’d be spending the next three months 200+ miles away in London. So, I was very surprised when I received a text from him the next day–and I could hardly wait the entire 8-hour journey back to text him back. (I had to make him wait, right??)
We finally did meet up a few weeks later, first in Liverpool and then London. I skipped a few trips to the continent in favor of spending time with my fascinating new friend. I also skipped my flight home to spend Christmas with him and his family. Three months after we met, we were engaged. Five months after that, we were married and back in Colorado.
In no way does this mean it was immediately happily ever after. In another reality, I’d have stopped talking to Chris after he stood me up at a university party at one of the biggest clubs in London. (“I said I’d let you know when I was on my way, but my ride fell through so I didn’t call.”) Being brought up by my family to flee the moment the possibility of confrontation presents itself, I’d have run for the hills when he shook hands with my jealous American schoolmate. Oh, and did I mention I was still technically in a relationship with previously mentioned short boyfriend? And he came to visit and stayed in my room for a week? Nothing happened, I promise.
So, yes. That feeling that something awesome was happening, but you don’t quite know what it is? That all the right choices in every circumstance seem completely obvious? That every little step you take is freaking INSPIRED and all bouncy like Neil Armstrong walking on the moon??? Yeah, that was me, letting go of my worries and fears and following my heart to the unknown, just to see how far I could go with it.
And that, Dear Friend, is how you manifest your reality with your thoughts. To be fair, I’ve only recently discovered the power of thinking my dreams into reality, but it is the absolute truth–and the beginning of my love story here is but one example of how I did it without even knowing I was doing it. I’ve also manifested some pretty terrible things, like my dad breaking his arm because I wanted him to stay home to spend more quality time and totaling my car because I wanted a new one–but I didn’t know what I was doing yet. As Albert Einstein said, “The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.”
I think, in this instance, the major change in my thinking was that I was going to do something for myself. Something I wanted to do, just for the heck of it. There wasn’t really a reason, except for the fact that I wanted to go somewhere and experience something new all by myself. Once I decided that it was okay to put my desires before my perceived family obligations, the rest just seemed to fall into place.
Just as the Felix Felicis potion bestows no extra powers on the user, yet draws out their best abilities when needed, so does making a conscious decision to change your thinking in real life. Professional Badass, success coach and my recurring #WCW Jen Sincero states,
“The moment you have the audacity to start believing in the not-yet seen, your reality will begin to shift…You have to change your thinking first, and then the evidence will appear. Our big mistake is that we do it the other way around. We demand to see the evidence before we believe it to be true…Your job isn’t to know the how, it’s to know the WHAT and to be open to discovering, and receiving, the how.”
The magic all starts with making a decision. A decision to be happy, to become hellbent on achieving a goal, to just think differently, whatever. That definitive change in thinking helps everything fall into place, even if you can’t see how right away.
Sometimes, the HOW flows fast and deep, almost drowning you in panic, adrenaline, joy. Sometimes, it’s way slower. Just remember to follow your heart, your intuition. THAT’S where Felix Felicis lies in us mere, non-magical Muggles. That little tug in your gut to say yes when he (or she) asks you on a date, even though she’s (or he’s) not as ambitious as your ideal partner would be. That sudden bombshell of inspiration that tells you to record that little melody that’s been dancing in your head on a tape recorder instead of waiting another year to be able to afford recording it in a studio. The weird pull you get to buy that so-called life changing book your friend was gushing about over coffee. THAT is Luck’s Luck. Who knows? It may be the last step you take before careening headfirst into the canyon of Aliveness and Purpose and Inspiration.
“And now…let us fly into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, Adventure.”
– Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
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