What is magic?
Sometimes it's erasing 27 years as members of my grad school class reunited to work on a philanthropy fund we have started. Some trivial magic: all the men have 90% of their hair.
While we mainly look the same (older, but not 27 years older), we are more ourselves than before. A charming one has got in touch with his inner grouch. The confident ones are still confident, with a mellow, cheerful twist. And one or two had goodness shining through them, as if lit from within.
The fund is called Project Redwood. I didn't think I had time to become involved, nor anything to offer, but now I see that the early founders have done all the hard work, and all I have to do is climb aboard and offer my best talents, probably writing.
Many of them have been able to retire early, unlike me who is scrambling to make ends meet with two jobs and some writing assignments. Some are very comfortable but still working. The magic was that these differences did not matter.
This is my house. It hasn't yet become fully magic -- not only is its paint job not finished, but its insides are in a state of turmoil that reflects the state of turmoil from which I am now emerging.
