Wishing and hoping and putting two feet on the ground
When I was growing up it was widely accepted superstition, right up there with stepping on cracks causing maternal back damage and how to call Bloody Mary, that if the clasp of your necklace worked its way around to touch the pendant you’re wearing it meant that someone (someone who loves you/the future love of your life/your crush/etc.) was thinking of you and it was your opportunity to make a wish on that love. I was a desperate, lonely, little kid and I adored the idea that I would have these reminders that someone cared about me, even when I was convinced it was just my mom, throughout the day, so I kept a necklace on all the time. I didn’t care that it would snag my hair, or do nothing more than hide in one of my oversized fangirl t-shirts. My necklace was my safety blanket, my comfort item on the go.
All day long my hand would dart up to the pendant in my weak moments, my emotional wellness could be determined by whether or not the two pieces had met. When the Universe aligned and I could make my secret wish, I would close my eyes and think of the thing I most wanted, knowing that any wish made on love was surely to come true.
It’s prudent I mention that part of my childhood was spent trying hard to be very, very good. I followed rules; I was scrupulously polite. I never used contractions. Late night infomercials declaring that I could save suffering children for the price of a cup of coffee would send me digging in couch cushions, writing extra contrite letters when I was short two pennies. It’s silly, now, but I believed these thick, heavy envelopes with their sincere letters and abundant tape were reaching their destination. It was years before I realized that my childish effort was probably not making it out of the mailbox, let alone to far away lands.
I wanted to save the world, still do.
Having said that, it should make a little more sense when I tell you that my necklace wish was always the same - “Peace.” The first time someone told me about the magic of a necklace wish, urging me to press a kiss to the metal and send my hope into the world, I refused. I didn’t want to carelessly visualize something, bring that into the world, only to squander its power. Because nothing is more powerful than the wish of a child, right?
I agonized for weeks, debating and making lists, so that I could focus on the right thing. How did I choose “peace?” A process of elimination allowed me to see that peace was Universal, a wish for the world, and it could be personal; if I could find peace within myself, then I could get anything I wanted, all of my little girl dreams, all of my desires.
For years I relied on the idea that I could touch my talisman and refocus my heart on positive energy. My little girl days faded and my turbulent teenage years brought the prerequisite angst and rebellion, but the necklace stayed, connecting me to my past and my future, tethering me to a world I wasn’t sure of anymore. Happily I muddled through all of that dreary business and I blossomed, if I’m allowed to say so, into a fantastic adult - who still obsessively wore a necklace so that I could make wishes like a child.
When Nora was a baby I stopped wearing a necklace regularly. My wee little girl wasn’t content to let shiny things touch me without being tormented, owned, and somehow shoved into her constantly drooling mouth, so away the jewelry went. Still superstitious, I started making my wishes when I light incense. Every time I set the stick aflame, just before I would blow the tip to release the smoke, I wish “peace,” the same I’ve always done.
Today, as I bent down to blow my wish into the cosmos, I paused. For the first time in nearly three decades, I am thinking it’s time to change my wish, divert my focus on something a little more selfish. Because, in this life, with the family that I have and adore, I feel at peace, whole and happy. But I’m ready for something else.
So, good or bad, I’ve changed my energy focus to success, keeping it vague so that no matter what the future holds, I’ll still be content. The unknowing, the loss of control, the “rolling” with the future has long left a bad taste in my mouth; I’m slowly allowing myself to accept the necessity of that uncomfortableness. Without letting go, I’ll always be stuck, a scared kid who needs physical reminders of emotional ties and I’m ready to let her go.
All day long my hand would dart up to the pendant in my weak moments, my emotional wellness could be determined by whether or not the two pieces had met. When the Universe aligned and I could make my secret wish, I would close my eyes and think of the thing I most wanted, knowing that any wish made on love was surely to come true.
It’s prudent I mention that part of my childhood was spent trying hard to be very, very good. I followed rules; I was scrupulously polite. I never used contractions. Late night infomercials declaring that I could save suffering children for the price of a cup of coffee would send me digging in couch cushions, writing extra contrite letters when I was short two pennies. It’s silly, now, but I believed these thick, heavy envelopes with their sincere letters and abundant tape were reaching their destination. It was years before I realized that my childish effort was probably not making it out of the mailbox, let alone to far away lands.
I wanted to save the world, still do.
Having said that, it should make a little more sense when I tell you that my necklace wish was always the same - “Peace.” The first time someone told me about the magic of a necklace wish, urging me to press a kiss to the metal and send my hope into the world, I refused. I didn’t want to carelessly visualize something, bring that into the world, only to squander its power. Because nothing is more powerful than the wish of a child, right?
I agonized for weeks, debating and making lists, so that I could focus on the right thing. How did I choose “peace?” A process of elimination allowed me to see that peace was Universal, a wish for the world, and it could be personal; if I could find peace within myself, then I could get anything I wanted, all of my little girl dreams, all of my desires.
For years I relied on the idea that I could touch my talisman and refocus my heart on positive energy. My little girl days faded and my turbulent teenage years brought the prerequisite angst and rebellion, but the necklace stayed, connecting me to my past and my future, tethering me to a world I wasn’t sure of anymore. Happily I muddled through all of that dreary business and I blossomed, if I’m allowed to say so, into a fantastic adult - who still obsessively wore a necklace so that I could make wishes like a child.
When Nora was a baby I stopped wearing a necklace regularly. My wee little girl wasn’t content to let shiny things touch me without being tormented, owned, and somehow shoved into her constantly drooling mouth, so away the jewelry went. Still superstitious, I started making my wishes when I light incense. Every time I set the stick aflame, just before I would blow the tip to release the smoke, I wish “peace,” the same I’ve always done.
Today, as I bent down to blow my wish into the cosmos, I paused. For the first time in nearly three decades, I am thinking it’s time to change my wish, divert my focus on something a little more selfish. Because, in this life, with the family that I have and adore, I feel at peace, whole and happy. But I’m ready for something else.
So, good or bad, I’ve changed my energy focus to success, keeping it vague so that no matter what the future holds, I’ll still be content. The unknowing, the loss of control, the “rolling” with the future has long left a bad taste in my mouth; I’m slowly allowing myself to accept the necessity of that uncomfortableness. Without letting go, I’ll always be stuck, a scared kid who needs physical reminders of emotional ties and I’m ready to let her go.
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