Making Big Magic

Making Big Magic

(w/ Elizabeth Gilbert)

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert is, for lack of a better word, my Bible. It, along with a few other important creative resources, is my go-to when I find myself facing a dry well, blocked, too sad or overwhelmed to write or send a handwritten letter, even compose a grocery list. My hard cover copy, to the dismay of some of my dear hearts, is dog-eared, littered with underlined passages, margin scribbles, and stuck with Post-It Notes. You can imagine my utter delight when I heard she’d be coming to town to workshop said book. Overjoyed. Sign me up! I counted sleeps for months until the fateful day arrived.

Friday, the last work day before a long weekend had me busy as a bee. With my 4pm departure looming, I hurried and toiled until the eleventh hour but hadn’t noticed a colossal mistake I’d made. A mistake that would cause someone else extra work, someone who didn’t need something else added to her plate. I deflated. My joy turned to guilt, my guilt turned to pain. I do not like to make mistakes, especially ones that cause someone else work and/or worry. That’s how my Making Big Magic weekend started. With a giant flub that sat on my chest like an elephant. Even my ferry ride across the Halifax Harbour didn’t help. I stared out across the grey expanse with the sick feeling that in my rush to joy, I let someone down. And, I didn’t know how to shake it off.

I checked into my room at Hotel Halifax with about forty minutes until the Scotia Square mall closed. I decided to venture up to quickly browse the shops and grab a muffin and orange juice to store in my room’s mini-fridge. Still feeling like a loser, I made my way through the lobby and started up the stairs to the mall. Elizabeth Gilbert, at the very same time, was descending. She was clad warm gear (which makes sense because not long before she posted on her Instagram she was on the very cold Halifax Waterfront), she was looking down at her phone. Whatever she was watching/reading warmed her. Because I was feeling like I was, I almost let the opportunity to say hello go by. It is my common practice when I see someone of note to let them go quietly and smile to myself. I’m not one to bother folks. But, it was Elizabeth Gilbert. I said, “Hi, Liz Gilbert.” She looked up from her phone with happy eyes and a smile that enveloped me. “Hi, Sweetheart,” she replied in kind. We chatted only moments and somehow my bad day came up but I am convinced I mentioned it because I was so close to tears. I thought at least if she is aware of the day, she won’t think I’m crying because I was in front of her. I suppose it did have something to do with it. Our meet cute, in my mind, was cosmic. I was meant to run into her on those very stairs. Having the chance to say hello, was the Universe’s antidote to my day. Her hug was a salve. I bid hear adieu, feeling more like a million bucks and told her I was really looking forward to work-shopping with her in the morning. She said, “It’s going to be beautiful. See you there!” I found my goodies for breakfast and impulse bought a cozy coat sweater from Reitmans and then it was time to find dinner. I made my way across the pedway to Casino NS, parked myself at the loud crowded bar and had a bite. Rock Star Brother was playing at 9pm so I lingered long enough for a quick check-in, a hug, a few songs, and I was back in my room to do my gratitude homework. I shared with Liz I had created a gratitude bomb, something she invented for journaling. She was pleased as punch! To follow it up, I did a Thanksgiving list while sprawled out on my very own King size bed with Spotify on low. Before long, with the giant video screen on the side of the Scotia Bank Center as my night light, I drifted off with my good thoughts until my 7am alarm sounded.

One of the things on my Thanksgiving list was hotel showers. I enjoyed a long luxurious shower (so sorry Mother Earth, I know water is precious but I do conserve otherwise!) and prepared for the day. I registered for the workshop at the Convention Center, up on the 5^th floor, mingled and made friends while waiting for the doors to open. Elizabeth Gilbert stood at the entrance and hugged each and every person who passed through the door. Including me. Two hugs! I moved swiftly so she could keep up the pace and found my seat. Once in, I said hello to the lovely strangers to my left and right. Strangers I spent the day with, sharing some super intimate stuff. We may or may not cross paths again but I’ll always be grateful to them for their tender attention and their trust in me with their own intimate details.

The workshop was set up in a series of letters. We were required to write deep, detailed letters to our Fear, Enchantment, Persistence, Trust, and a series of Permission Slips. I won’t share all of my letters here because much of what I composed and shared with my soul sister counterparts is private. Some of the work was difficult. Some of it was joyful. All of it was enlightening.

I want to share my letter to Fear with you. It goes like this:

Dear Nicole,

This is your Fear. This is what I want to say to you.

I am afraid that I am not enough. Not good enough. Smart enough. I am afraid I am no worthy of romantic love. I am afraid I will be alone and not know what it is to walk side by side with a partner regards me with kindness and respect.

I am afraid I am too obese to be touched. Scared my body will prevent someone from wanting me, all of me.

I am afraid to fail. Every damn day.

I am afraid that in taking care of everyone else I’ll have nothing else left for me when I really need it.

I am afraid of confrontation.

I am scared of gas-lighting.

I am afraid of losing those I love from death, from speaking my mind, from having a differing opinion.

I am afraid of conforming to other people’s moods.

I am afraid of being too cautious, enough to miss real opportunities.

I am afraid of being so strong all the time I might fall apart at the worst possible time.

I am afraid of my own infinite potential because I am aware of it and know I can soar.

I am, sometimes, afraid to die,

Thank you for listening.

Yours,

Fear

I read this aloud to my Lovely Stranger. My voice cracked. I stuttered once or twice, I paused for a hard swallow. She was no different. We were both in tears. We smiled to each other. And then, for the big sob.

Liz invited another Lovely Stranger to come forth, put her back to the room, and read what she wrote aloud. Once she was finished, she asked her to repeat the first line of her letter again, I am afraid I am not enough. Ahem. Liz then regarded us, asked anyone who said something similar to stand up. All at once, the entire room rose. Liz then asked Lovely Stranger to turn and face her peers. The moment she did, there was a collective sob. The memory of it as I type brings tears to my eyes. It was a heavy exercise. It was hard but liberating. The rest of the letters especially that to our Enchantment, was amazing. It started: Dear Nicole, I am your Enchantment. This is what I want to tell you. I love when we have artist dates … essentially, I gorgeous letter full of all the things that enchant, bring joy, fulfillment. I could have written that one for days.

Elizabeth Gilbert is a beautiful human being. An enlightened teacher who still carries her own burdens and isn’t afraid to admit she is still a work in progress. The things I learned from her I will carry with me my whole life. It’ll show up in my creative endeavors, it’ll appear in my relationships, at my workplace, in the streets, in the comfort of my own home. It was a day full of goodness, kindness, bonding, sharing, honesty, heart-rending joy. Liz put me in touch with myself. Taught me about my brain, my Spirit, my whole self. In a way that made the world crack wide open so Light could flood forth. If you ever have the chance to hear her speak, to take part in a workshop, please do. Do not hesitate. It was one of the most profound experiences of my adult life. It was a gratitude bomb personified.

I was so blessed to have been there. Grateful to have taken away so much that I will apply to my life and my writing.

In propinquity,

Nic