My husband says I’m a writer, but I don’t believe him…
Just some thoughts on How To Manifest Your Goals
Every week I read posts from great writers, amazingly talented, gifted, and incredible writers here on Substack and I do not even come close to producing the gorgeous offspring that these writers make with their combinations of words. They light up my week and inspire tidbits of magic to come out of me, like a green magician trying to light a candle with their mind and only producing flickers of flame compared to their roaring fires. These are TRUE writers, not me--and yet my husband says I’m a writer, or at least an author because I write every day. I also write about Astrology every day, but that doesn’t instantly make me an astrologer.
What I do know to be true is that I am a struggler, a fighter, a mother, and a hoper…I struggle through the writing process like a slug on the edge of a dish of salt; I fight through writer’s block and the land of “what is that word that means xyz” like a person accidentally walking through a spider web; thankful there was nobody home— that time! I mother the best that I can, and hope often, like a Disney princess always wishing on a star, or more precisely, a planet—literally.
But recently something magical is happening…I think I am falling in love, with words— their melodies, their shapes, their movements, and the way they can conjure up images in my mind or smells in my nose, tastes on my tongue, and butterflies in my stomach. Who are these words, that mesmerize me so much and make me feel like a love-crazed teenager, fraught with lust and longing? Does this crush on words make me a writer? Definitely, positively, absolutely, not. If it’s not love that makes you something then what is? Dedication, praxis, recognition?
My husband says I’m a dancer, but I don’t believe him…
Every week I take a ballroom dance class with great dancers, amazingly talented, gifted, and incredible dancers. I try to mimic their moves, the way they arch their backs, point their toes and roll their hips. I feel like a chicken trying to be a peacock with some delusion that I could be the next ugly duckling turned swan story.
But I keep trying, just like I keep writing, and studying astrology because someday I will break through the hard ground like a plant sprouting its cotyledons and turning them up toward the light, some day all of the potential energy that is just beneath the surface will emerge and expose itself to the world, and each struggle to break through, each fighting leaf tip that exposes itself, each mothering instinct to shelter these fragile little solar panels, and each hope that is anchored in a belief that I will indeed make it, will all be worth it.
Maybe one day I will wake up and believe my husband, who’s been telling me all along what he sees that I fail to see. But, isn’t that how growth is, anyway? Just one day you look down and you’re taller, stronger, and more capable of reaching the shelves you used to have to climb on the counter to reach.
We never notice when we are growing or getting better at something—only once it makes a difference do we notice our achievements, when we literally are looking at the world from a different mental or physical space.
They say that that is the key to manifesting—pretending you are already there, an incredible writer, an amazing dancer, a famous astrologer, grown-up and tall enough to reach the top shelf before you really can. Is this true? Is this the secret to manifesting our goals?
Does a sapling pretend it is a tree in order to become one, or is it already written in its design? And one would argue, that this is too small a thought, that it only pertains to our physical bodies, like how we are designed to grow from babies to adults and so on.
But if life is a hologram, then our potential would be visible in every stage, every thread of the tapestry that weaves the scenes together, wouldn’t it?
Aren’t we always exactly as we are supposed to be at all moments?
And just like a sapling we reach toward the light, fighting for our space amongst the other baby trees, baby writers, and baby dancers, reaching for the top of the canopy, top of the chart, or top of the class, unhappy with our present moment. Yet, without this temporary unhappiness, we wouldn’t push ourselves to be better—we need this in order to even recognize when we’ve grown! Without unhappiness, we wouldn’t understand what it felt like to be happy.
This duality is necessary to fuel wishes, otherwise, we wouldn’t even know what to wish for because we would already be a writer, a dancer, an astrologer, and tall enough to reach high things without help! Maybe instead of pretending we are something we are not, the key to manifesting our dreams comes from embracing our own reflections as every-changing forms and being curious and excited about each new stage—like the Moon seeing herself for the first time in a still pond, and asking, “Who are you now, dear one?” And truly, really truly, being willing to see the beauty of every phase, like an attentive husband encouraging his wife.
Be open to the outcome of YOU.
(Happy Sun trine Jupiter from a Sagittarian native with a First Quarter moon, LOL! *wink *wink)
Written like a writer. Keep doing what feeds your soul. Enjoy your love affair with words!