What is it we want most when we think about our ideal lives? Is it fame? Attention? Money? A home for our loved ones?  Endless supplies of weed? That scene in the film “Adaptation” when Meryl Streep’s character finally gets a glimpse of the rare ghost orchid illuminates this question. She is underwhelmed; disappointed.

Her current life has been so devoid of any real life-altering fantasy that she doesn’t feel much of anything when she sees the ghost in that Florida swamp. Chris Cooper’s character is pissed because he sees how disconnected she is from her own magic; how she parasitically latched onto his dreams in an attempt to discover what passion might actually mean. How tragic to be so removed from what matters.

It’s really a feeling we want most. Nothing more. It is an otherworldly sort of feeling in our disenchanted world. Fantastical, even. It’s the feeling that time is a construction best left out of the equation. Magic exists because life is a series of unveilings, if we choose to see it that way.

I’m not talking about happiness, per se. We all have had some or many points in our lives when our hearts completely opened, some of which were not particularly happy moments. Something or someone opened us up – or maybe some experience. The world goes into deep focus and we find ourselves experiencing every last molecule of the present. Fantasies can be the gateway to that feeling. Addictions can too.

I don’t know of anything magical that revealed itself to me without me acknowledging that something inside of me was switched on.  Even as a child, my parents didn’t always know what excited me because it was very internal. I was pretty introverted. They did know that I liked movies, The Muppets, strawberries, ice cream and the beach.

You can see in childhood photos when my face was lit up: mouth smeared with strawberry juice or ice cream (usually no shirt); lying on my stomach, my head resting on my hands watching “The Muppet Show”; covering my feet in sand at the beach.

The child in me is still here, she just got buried under all of the trivialities, the traumas and the disappointments. The most crucial part of feeling that magical feeling is actually being cognizant of what that is, which is the unbelievable part. How couldn’t I know? At times, what I want is really difficult to communicate because it’s something I’ve learned to either suppress or feel shame about.

I really struggled to find magic as an adult. For years. I figured I would have to settle for what came to me and to be content with it. Fantasies were for daydreams – not real life. I wasn’t aware that what I really wanted was to feel like the person I was under all the detritus.

I felt guilty asking for magic when so many humans of the world were barely surviving. I wasn’t asking for food, or shelter, or the safety of my loved ones, which I was privileged to have. I wanted what felt shameful, which was to make a living with my art. Music; writing; storytelling; performing.

I indulged myself in these “activities” for years like they were secret fantasies. Then I started a cooking business that at least allowed me to be creative. I never had aspirations to be a chef, but I figured out that I needed to create to support myself. I knew on an intuitive level that I wanted to create rather than reiterate – but perhaps that arose from a fierce individualism that didn’t want to abide by anyone else’s rules.

Self-employment felt right.  I knew for the first-time in my life that being my own boss was important for my well-being. I still hadn’t figured out a way to make a living as a singer or a writer, but at least I wasn’t under anyone’s thumb. Plus, I was constantly making beautiful, tasty food. That was satisfying for awhile, until it wasn’t. Creativity is interactive, so what you create needs an audience.  That’s usually when it becomes something else altogether.

When you reach a place in life where you feel overly responsible for other people’s feelings, suddenly, you aren’t the master of your own. Like seeing someone point somewhere in excitement and you find yourself staring at the end of their finger. “How can I give _____ that feeling?”

To your children, your partner, your clients, your fans…is that really your responsibility? It’s taken me years to realize no – it’s absolutely not. It is only my responsibility to unveil what lights me up as attentively as possible.  “We are what we love, not what loves us”–to quote Charlie Kaufman.

Thirteen years later. I’m still cooking to support myself. I stopped making music from about 2006-2011.  I had been singing and performing from age 14 to age 29, so five years off really was a long time.  I was dying a little. Working long hours as a chef left me very little time and energy to do anything else creative.

Plus, I lived with a partner who had little interest in my musical talents. I never even picked up a guitar around him. I was fulfilling an identity for myself that I finally chose on a whim, and the Universe made that identity very accessible when I moved back to my hometown – mostly because I asked for it. I threw myself into cooking, gardening, permaculture and raising chickens. We were urban farmers and I learned a lot during that time.

Mycology; sustainability; beekeeping. All useful skillsets. But it wasn’t my dream.  My dream was buried inside boxes of journals and old photos from my formative years.  When I look back at my younger self, I don’t even know if had any strong visions for my life, other than knowing around age 7 that I wanted to be a writer.

It’s a rare moment of clarity to access something like that as a child. I buried that declaration, mostly because when I did mention it to others, it didn’t have a strong feeling attached to it. It felt conceptual. We all have our saboteurs, including ourselves. I had to find my way back to myself. Astrology helped more than anything else I could get my hands on.

Fantasies defy everything that isn’t magical – like mundane, everyday life. Many of us are buried under the burden of action trumping feeling. After all – it’s easier to give up on what doesn’t seem tangible and just focus on daily life.

Many friends and family members will support us choosing practicality over magic – especially if they have given up themselves. Saboteurs aren’t villains (well, some of them are). They just aren’t responsible for us; nor should they be. They are fuel for our ongoing evolution. They are fuel for our compassion.

The more often you hear “oh, you’re not going to survive doing what you love”, the more often you have an opportunity to serve as an example of magic in practice.  No one can destroy your truest essence if you guard it safely. You acknowledge that magic exists, you set an intention and then you work that into your everyday reality.

Easier said than done.  And I’m not talking about manifestation, or specific rituals necessarily, though those do have a place in our personal evolution. I’m talking about tapping into the reason for existence.

It isn’t a destination, though. Nothing in life is. You don’t arrive somewhere and say to yourself: “Ah, that’s it. There’s nothing left to do. Mission accomplished.” What is that? Have you ever had a dream when you’re asleep that involved you just sitting around aimlessly because everything already happened? Of course not.

The point is, it isn’t that magic spontaneously arrives when all of the external boxes have been ticked. Who cares how good things look on paper. The feeling is what matters.