The Magic of Saying No
Day 22-25: One Month of Magic
When I started the Month of Magic, I didn’t want this challenge to feel like another thing—especially to myself. It needed to feel magical—keep the parameters loose and let the wind blow us in unexpected directions.
I promised myself—it has to feel authentic. And so far, it has. Your writing and energy have brought so much joy to this challenge.
Today, I am leaving for a staycation with my husband. We rarely go away without my daughter, and I have made the decision to go completely offline and be as present with him as I can.
I want magic all our own, uninterrupted, without screens or schedules.
Today, I’m embracing the magic of saying no. Daily prompts will be back on 7/26, but until then, I’m clearing a deliberate and intentional path and saying no—to bring me closer to the magic I need.
What is one thing you need right now? What ‘no’ will bring you closer to your magic?
Prompt: Think of one keeping you from your magic. How can you say no to it? Over the four days, say no to this thing over and over. Write (each day or at the end) about how your energy shifts, your perspective changes. How are you clearing the path to yourself?
One Month of Magic guidelines:
For the month of July, post a daily prompt to inspire magical thinking.
Read and respond to the prompt by writing for seven, seventeen, or seventy-seven minutes—whatever you like—exploring what it stirs inside you. That’s it. It’s easy and breezy and designed to make you consider things deeper to search for sparkle.
After you write, post your response in the comments section of that day's post (only available to paid subscribers). Offer feedback to at least two people. Celebrate and clarify what is magical about one another’s work. How it deepened your own awareness and awe.
Posts will NOT be emailed—don’t want to spam people—but they will be posted on chat. So, if you want a daily magical ping, turn the chat feature and notifications on. You can find how in your settings.
Well, I've said no to having kids and therefore become, as JD Vance terms it "A Childless Cat Lady." This poem is a response to that, and also to this prompt.
Song of the Childless Cat Lady
Each day I greet the sunrise with a snuggle. Drink my coffee
Let them bring to my door the gifts of the earth,
bone-dead rat,
The bright blue feathers of bluejay.
How can you say I don’t have a stake in the future?
I keep this world going for them. Collect my paycheck
So I can buy them kibble. Plant catnip to keep them energized.
Outside I’ve built an entire garden to attract butterflies and birds
So my cats will be amused.
How can you say I am miserable when my lap is so full
Of their floof? Of their warm bodies purring.
I learn to live with them and for them.
They teach me to fall in love with the smell
of a certain patch of sunlight. The trail of stink
left by a Muskrat. I would give my life to keep this country safe.
So I can keep rocking with them on my lap
Sleeping together in our favorite chair.
I'm saying 'no' to a friendship. Well, not to the friendship itself, but to staying in it the way it is. I don't want to use the word 'toxic,' but I'm expecting things from the friendship that just aren't there. I'm choosing to step back from the friendship 'as is,' and hoping that will give me (and my guy-friend) some space to decide if we really are friends, and how we need to change so the friendship stops causing me pain--because it also beings joy, and that's why I'm not letting go of it altogether. But sometimes friendships, like poems, need major overhauls. I struggle to write about this guy-friend, but I keep returning to this poem, not originally about him, which I wrote several years ago, which (like the friendship) is struggling to find itself:
Fist Bumps
This flower folds and forms a fist.
This fist flies to bump
flesh it can’t resist.
These words form a clump
that feels like punch of fist.
This path’s bumps
fail to break a stride or twist
feet that flee from fists. These feet jump
to hurdle flailing forms. This wrist
connects the bones, the pump
of blood to fist.
This grump
bumps his fist to mine. This bud
blooms and forms a flower.