Manifesting on Accident
Updated: May 13, 2020
As of today, I’ve officially been self quarantining for 7 weeks. 7 weeks of working from home, 7 weeks of not seeing any friends outside of my roommates, 7 weeks of no coffee dates or nights of dancing or weekend trips or window shopping days, and still, I can’t even complain. I am safe, I am healthy, and I live with two of my best friends. My family hasn’t gotten sick and neither have any of my friends. I am beyond grateful and lucky to still have a job, and I know this. Although it is not my dream job, it is still income and in such uncertain times, that is beyond comforting, and more than many can say.
It’s interesting how the passing of time has shifted during this quarantine. The feeling of the length of the lockdown has ebbed and flowed. I look back through my social media and my posts from the beginning of it feel like a different lifetime, and yet, it’s been just weeks of being in my house.
The context that a span of time exists in shifts the feeling of it passing dramatically.
I vividly remember when I had 7 weeks left in Berlin. It was the end of June, almost my 21st birthday. I was staying out till sunrise every weekend and laughing all week with my friends at school. I was in the midst of a lot of personal drama and quite honestly it was exhausting me. I had dark days but they always balanced out with bright evenings. I was ready to leave and sad at the same time. As much as the city had stretched and pulled and hurt me, it had shown me great beauty and great growth as well. Time was moving too fast and too slow all at once (as usual).
In spring of last year, I remember marveling in the way the city had awoken from winter. I had gone to Switzerland for 10 days in April and when I got back it was a new Berlin. The trees had filled out and the space between the tram and the sidewalk had turned from grey gravel to brilliant green grass.
I remember watching the sunset with such awe from my window one night, the sky was bright cotton candy pink. I was sitting on my bed doing homework and a rainstorm had just ended. I stopped what I was doing and looked outside, my breath completely taken away. It wasn’t just the color of the sky or the sound of the birds or the way the breeze had cooled off and slipped in my window, but it was the fact that I was sitting alone on my bed in a flat I was renting in a city I had never been to before moving there doing homework for a school that even though it didn’t turn out to be what I thought, it was mine and I was living a life I had always imagined. I remember pushing my papers aside and throwing on shoes and grabbing my keys and running downstairs and outside. No one on the street knew me and only a handful in the whole city did, and yet the color of the sky had brought me to tears on an early May evening. (That photo is now the background of this website, by the way.)
When I say I was living a life I always imagined, here’s what I mean. Ever since I was old enough to dream, I saw myself up and moving to new city after new city, fulfilling my soul with new landscapes, new people and new backdrops for inspiration. My most comforting daydreams were letting my thoughts wander into an unknown kitchen where I pictured a small breakfast spread. I thought about cleaning a space, my own space, just mine. I thought about trying a different cafe or bar every weekend until I’d been to every one. When I closed my eyes I saw small bedrooms and perfectly decorated walls with postcards from all the places I’d been. I found comfort in the wandering, and the idea of finding home in many places. In unknown cities I’d pass through with my family on road trips, I could see myself in everything we’d drive by. A young woman on the street with a bag of groceries would inspire me. Something about normalcy in far away places spoke to me, and I manifested it without even trying.
That is the interesting thing about the young teenage brain. It is a dream chasing factory and we don’t even realize it. The power of manifestation takes root so easily because we don’t even see what we are doing. In our youthful infatuation of life and the things that make us glow, we obsess. We cut pictures from magazines, we tape photos on our walls, we wear our favorite colors and watch our favorite movies over and over again, and without even realizing it, a reality starts to take hold. Ideas begin to cement because how could they not? We are sending intention and manifestation over and over into the world of our individual passions, and in our fascination of our desires we don’t even see our own power.
With each journal page I wrote on in a new place, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. With each bottle cap I held onto or postcard I saved I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
With every stone I took from a park and every photo I printed out for my wall and every apple I ate on the road, I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
On family trips, I was never really one for souvenirs, unless they were practical things. I’d buy pens from state park gift shops or notebooks from museums. I’d buy sweaters or T-shirts from towns we’d pass through, and I didn’t even realize what I was doing. By picking these things with so many uses, I was unintentionally manifesting a life of travel being practical. I was cementing open roads and new streets into my daily routine, and with every word I wrote I was allowing that reality to come to be.
Last year in Berlin when I took that photo of the sky out my bedroom window, I was dumbfounded. I was shook into silence at what I had just touched on: I was living the very same life I had always imagined for myself. And just like I imagined, I went inside as it was getting dark, I made dinner and found comfort in the normalcy in an unknown place. I brushed my teeth and got in bed, crawling under the covers and the ineffable idea that we create the exact reality we have always imagined, without even trying.