When I was little, my mother often asked why i stared at the clouds and everyday objects/occurences…I whispered, “I see things no one else sees…it’s my magic.”
A painfully shy child and young adult, I sat and watched the world in which I only existed–the people around me living full lives; the bubbling creek behind out house; how slowly/quickly the clouds above moved through the sky.
The same intuition I used as child is the reason why i attend screenings of indie films before they become blockbusters, see rainbows in the sun’s rays through a lense when the glaring white light blinds me, and explore pictures from angles others would ignore.
I contain magic because i am jaded. I don’t see big pictures…only the
minutia of everyday life. I see gold in straw, stained glass in amber colored maple leaves, rainbows on dry days…the perfectly quiet, final moments of my beloved dog cuddling with my mother.
No one finds magic where he or she expects it, and being cognizant of the pain and joy surrounding me is often as painful as it is rewarding.
My point is: Listen to the quiet, count your deep breaths, and take an actively passive glance around you–observing the world and its people is magic.