We spent hours on the purple blow-up couch in the bottom apartment of Heritage Halls. Discussions about our latest dates, wannabe dates, classes, and life dreams bounced off the kitchen walls as idealistic roommates laughed our way through another college night.
Fifteen years later I lingered in Central Park and waited to meet up with one of the roommates (still a great friend), but when she got delayed I walked across the way to the Met Museum. Standing outside on the steps next to the fountains, I people-watched until the doors opened. As I sauntered up the grand staircase, I found myself actually alone in rooms. In the Met. In the summer. How? Just me, Van Gogh, Monet, and Bonnard.
I stood still.
The white walls, paintings, and wood floors felt comforting. Words I came across on a random blog post years prior ran through my mind. I had saved and read them so many times I knew them by heart.
“…and there was this feeling there—this overwhelming feeling of anticipated joy and unfettered possibility—that is still palpable in my consciousness. the feeling of good things—unknown and unmentionable yet vaguely familiar—to come. life, in all its glory, sprawled out in front of me in a moment.” – Shelley McConkie
Those moments align and remind my soul of – for lack of a better word – things. I had no idea at the time that these two seemingly ordinary memories would contain such gravity.
A few days ago I talked on the phone to this same friend. I spoke of uncertainties, insecurities, and worries. Like a good friend does, she called me out on my lack of trust and short-sighted narration. After listening to my stories, she said, “Have you noticed that as we’ve aged we’ve lost some of our magic?” I let out a laugh, and said something like- that’s sad. But we recalled those nights on the purple couch and our belief in magic then. How the belief in the power of our desires and abilities spark peace, abundance, and joy.
And so, I have spent the better part of this week thinking about magic and/or a perfect brightness of hope. That is to say, when we break down some walls around our guarded hearts, and remember those times we felt “anticipated joy and unfettered possibility,” space opens for that once “vaguely familiar” hope and belief of good things to come, “sprawled out in front” of us, which lets some of the magic back in.