The Power of Visualization

san-francisco2I have a lot of other posts lined up, but I thought I’d revist this topic briefly, since it was a good discussion over the weekend. …


On this topic of lists – and whether or not it’s important to have one for the man of our dreams – I have to say, you all are convincing me of an alternative viewpoint.


I’d always thought it was a terrible idea – and I’d always thought it was a fluke, or a freakishly astonishing coincidence, that I’d married a man who met the requirements of my original “list” (as childish as it was). But I’m starting to see your point of visualization.

I do believe in visualization. Urban-fantasy writer Jordon Summers blogged about this the other week, when she was talking about her ability to simply make things happen the way she expected them to go. And I was sort of talking about this the other day, when I spoke about knowing what you really want, and why aren’t you simply making that happen? My former coworker Jen K. and I talked about this, too: how she finds it half-frightening, half-liberating, that – once she sets her mind to something – she simply makes it materialize. She gave a lot of examples, but – right before my eyes – I heard her say one day that she’d really like to live in San Francisco. Continue reading

The Man of My Dreams

heartSo here’s a weird thing. When I was a kid, I wrote this little journal entry describing the “man of dreams.” (Well, actually, I wrote the “boy of my dreams” because I was only 13.) Here were my basic requirements: I wanted him to have black hair. (I specified “curly.”) I wanted him to drive a jeep. (I was sort of into the “outdoorsy” types.) I wanted him to have a dog. And I wanted him to play the guitar. Those were my big requirements. (I know, I know – where’s honesty? where’s intelligence? where’s sense of humor? blah, blah, blah. I know. I was only 13. …)


So anyway, I met Chris (my now husband) in high school, about three boyfriends in. The first three boyfriends didn’t fit these requirements at all. But, actually, neither did Chris. He did have black hair, but it was straight as wheat. He didn’t play guitar. And he wasn’t old enough to own his own dog, let alone buy his own jeep. But I liked him anyway. And gradually, eventually, we fell in love. …


But here’s the weird thing: Chris’ hair GOT curly. It started right after our senior year, and, by the time we were in our early 20s, he had a mass of black curls on his head. Continue reading

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