Just for the record, after at least 15 years, my sister can’t spell my name.
She commiserates with me on having a bad day.
A bad day? Much more than that. Much more.
And she assumes sleeping in my father’s den will bring me comfort.
Bullshit, death .
Saw Disney’s Enchanted, about Princess Giselle who ends up in NYC through the curse of her wicked stepmother.
The message is clear: magic counts. Unless someone believes and makes it happen, by being in their own magic, it won’t sweep in and change lives around them.
And this is the lesson I need to remember: my magic counts too.
But only if I let it out, express it in the world.