Enchanted Me

Image courtesy of Victor Habbick at FreeDigitalPhotos.netYes, yes.  I’m seriously lacking in my blog entries, I admit.  Forgive me, throw fruit, whatever.  I’m here to post and apologize more to myself than any of you for being absent so long.  Not that I don’t care…

A week from today, I celebrate #35.  Three-five.  I am childless (save a new puppy and two kitty cats), unattached (unless you count my rock climbing harness and tie-in knot), and for all intents and purposes

brilliantly happy.

It may seem completely absurd of me to sit here a week prior to my birthday and expound on what a great year I’ve had and what an incredible year I’m sure my 35th will be, but to hell with it.  I’m doing it anyways.  The number for my attorney will be at the end of this blog entry.  I’m sure he’ll advise me as to the fine and/or penalty for Premature Birthday Celebratory Ejaculation (or something to that effect).

On this, the one-week eve of my 35th year, I sit on my sofa with a maniacal puppy at my side (who is licking his ding-dong for the 37th time today) and my vision for my future has never been more clear.  Perhaps as clear as my puppy’s vision of his ding-dong. It’s been an adventurous year, full of heartbreak, success, new friendships, reaffirmations of old ones, unprecedented personal achievement, laughter, tears, tears from laughter, make-believe animals, and a new-found respect for something I’d left behind somewhere along the way:


Isn’t it funny how throughout the day, we hear or see little things that remind us of events long-since past?  Till those “trigger moments,” an event could be lost in the labyrinth of our minds, and then BAM!  They surface and bring with them a smile … a giggle … a sigh.  A lone tear rolling down our cheek as we find ourselves touched as we were the moment our “whatever” happened.  My 34th year was good for those things.  Very, very good.

It’s been an incredible year for words as well.  As a writer, I place the utmost value on words.  Written, spoken, shouted, blurted — it’s no matter the conveyance.  I think back this year to the most wonderful words that have blessed my life and whom I have to thank for them.

Spoken by a lover:

I love the way our lips fall into each other’s.

Spoken by my friends:

I love you.

I’m glad you’re my friend.

Is that moose stalking you?

Your ass looks great!

Spoken by a colleague:

You’re really good at that.  Would you mind helping me get better?

Spoken by my mother:

I’m proud of the person you’ve become.

Spoken by anyone:

Thank you.

With the utterance of each of those phrases, my life became a fairy tale for a brief moment.  It’s that moment of bliss where you feel that the world has swept you up in a Disney-like fashion and taken you for your very own magic carpet ride.  It’s another human being showing you that you’ve touched them, and the fact that they’ve taken the time to communicate it is … breathtaking.

This week’s (quite possibly this month’s) Redheaded Fury seeks to solve the question: why not the fairy tale?

Those moments of honesty like spoken above confirm that we are, indeed, the best possible version of ourselves at that very moment, and it’s the very reason I’ve chosen to have the people in my life that I do.  When did we stop believing that those moments should be what life is all about?  When did we stop believing that life is the journey through magical forests, villages filled with wood sprites, laughter that begets more laughter and tears that, when they fall upon the earth, cause the blooming of flowers so magical they’re the stuff myths are made of?

When did we stop believing in fairy tales?

On Thanksgiving, I took in a charming movie with a friend by my side:  Enchanted. For those who haven’t seen it, I can recommend it for a myriad of reasons, the least of which being the fact that it’s completely adorable.  This is a film that made me laugh and wonder afterwards exactly at what I was laughing.  I felt a bit embarrassed to be watching a sappy kid’s movie all about fantastical fairy tale love next to an adult friend.

But then, I thought again.

Is it so wrong to walk through life with the belief that the best truly can happen?  That if your heart and soul want something and you put the energy out there towards achieving it, wishes can come true?

We laugh at the naivete of “happily ever after” and the notion of princes on white horses, princesses in towers, and pumpkins that become horse-drawn carriages.  At the same time, however, we’re more than ready to embrace the wicked witch, evil stepmother, mischievous sorcerer and the ne’er do-wells of the same tales.  The only members of the Seven Dwarfs we see are Grumpy, his cousin Pissy, Weary, and Fucking Moron (a second cousin on your father’s side, I’m sure).

So I declare that in this, my 35th year and for each year onward, I believe in fairy tales.

Once I decided that, I had to figure out exactly what the hell it meant.  Seeing as how I’m a ball gown and a tiara short, I think it’s still pretty easy to write my fairy tale for you, my huddled masses longing to be enchanted:

I believe in the strength of self-love.  Even more so than the strength of love for others, incredible self-love is the tool that allows those with whom you surround yourself to love YOU, which — in return — allows you to love THEM.

I believe in love.  Stupid, ridiculous love.  Romantic love that leaves you tongue-tied and giddy.  Lovemaking that brings you intimacy and laughter, intertwined together like reeds growing in the wild and waving in the wind.  Conversations that last for hours and hand-holding to the point of sticky-icky sweaty palms.  I believe in getting mad, making-up, and spending a Sunday in bed because with anyone other than the person you’re with — the thought would be ludicrous.  And this year, I believe in turning my Crackberry Pearl OFF to allow those things to happen.

I believe in the practicality of dreams.  Those we have when we sleep and those we allow ourselves to drift off towards while awake.  I believe that dreams are our soul’s way of reaching out and saying feed me.  When we ignore our dreams, we allow the erosion of our souls to begin.

I believe in the power of friendship.  When you are a good friend to someone, it’s the most selfless thing you can do.  It pays you dividends — mad, mad dividends — and sets your soul on fire when you witness a friend’s laughter and smile.  They are the only people in your life who have carte-blanche to tell you how it is, how it’s not, and when they do, you never think of them as anything other than your friend.

Sometimes I think we bump through life waiting to be enchanted by what crosses our path instead of seeking out the magic willfully and with intent.  I read something on the way into the office this morning that said:

Begin each day as if it were on purpose.

A purposeful existence.  Purposeful like the sunshine, the clouds in the sky and the rain that comes pouring down.  None of those are coincidence.  They don’t sneak-up on us. What excuse do I have for trying to dodge “life” each morning as if it were an orange cone on life’s obstacle course instead of an escort into a new adventure (accompanied by a sunrise)?

So, in this year that I’ve committed to believing in fairy tales, in silly and ridiculous love that only Hollywood can create, and the untapped potential of sunlight and its inherent power to give birth to brilliance on a daily basis:

I ask you to join me.

Let’s be enchanted together and not wait for the world to enchant us.  We’ll seek out our own magic and be the people that others point at and mock as we make this journey down the Yellow Brick Road of Life with purpose riddled with glee.  Though the smiles may leave our faces sometimes, we’ll know they’ve never gone far.

It’s my guess that they’re merely hiding behind tomorrow’s sunrise.

Happy (early) birthday to me.

PS: for my friends wondering what to get me for my birthday, a ball gown and tiara would be great. No white horses, please (HOA restrictions).

Love it? Get more (digital) Erika.

or subscribe the
old fashioned way

Sort: Newest | Oldest