Last week, life collided in a way that can only be described as magic. Not the kind of light and borderline-manic magic that feels like the world is spinning too fast. The kind of grounded and clear magic that feels like a chiropractic adjustment—where the bones of your life have shifted in a fundamental and undeniable way. What once felt normal no longer does and you get to witness a new state of being emerging in real time.
What was remarkable about this particular day were the people in it. First, a friend and peer carrying the reminder to, “Love the ones you’re with.” Then a friend in danger in need of immediate solutions to a specific and devastatingly common crime. After that, a new friend who listened as I babbled on about what had just happened and she shared her current dance with ancestral trauma of the same ilk. Then Christin Lee with words of validation and reassurance.
Finally, someone who I can only describe as my creative soul twin. We met at The Bottom Line and within sentences were speaking about our shadows and shared curiosity for the darkness that exists in the world. As we walked to Cinema Detroit to watch Little Woods, she told me about the writing project she’s working on. A project that overlaps with one of mine in an almost identical way. Even the aesthetics we have in mind have the same reference points.
What’s more, this human, my creative soul twin, is a stand-up comic. I shared that just the other day I had posted something on Facebook about needing to go into standup comedy as a way to cope with living inside the patriarchy. She then told me about this other facet of her creative practice. And the way two jokes had come to her recently after a long period of not feeling the flow of her comedy writing.
As we walked around the block after the film, I told her about my work as a coach and we came to the topic of astrology. I told her I was a Capricorn and she admitted that she was hoping that I’d be that or a Virgo. It started to rain and she drove me to where my car was parked. We texted Christin Lee who had introduced us to each other. We talked about next steps. We would meet after the weekend and get to work figuring out how to collaborate.
I sat in my car and cried afterwards. My friend in danger messaged me to let me know they were safe. I cried tears of relief. I cried because I had just met my creative soul twin and now had a partner-in-creative-crime, something I have been longing for. The tears kept coming as I felt only clarity around the creative work I am meant to be doing. I cried because life had forced me to return to this part of the world and I now knew why. This was magic. In the way that life offering a container for all this pain and connection and creativity to collide is magic.
Where is there magic happening in your creative practice?