After freelancing for years, I opened a store.

I entered the business with a business plan and great enthusiasm, but slowly the continual wear of unexpected losses wore me down.

I believe that you can create your life, but I learned the hard way that if you create a life that isn’t what you really want, somehow it’s going to unravel. It’s a long story, but the short version is I was not born to run a store. This is probably why I so enjoy my role as a Life Destiny Guide and coach.

When I finally decided to close, I sold goods below cost. I gave away things and donated others. What could not at least be Freecycled, I discarded. The short story is I lost a bit of money, but I gained tremendous insight.

Yet there was one object I did not want to short-change. Many people admired a beautiful antique pine display cabinet, but I would not sell it for less than I paid for it. I told myself that if no one purchased it, I would take it home.

I pictured it in my dining area, where its mirrored back would reflect our china and glassware as our family and friends gathered around our table.

On the final day of closing, the cabinet was the last object to be removed. I gathered the silk flowers no one claimed and put a bouquet in the window with a sign that said my farewell.

My husband and I carefully wheeled the 7′ high 4′ wide, pine and glass chest to our van. As we got into the vehicle he turned to me again to say: “and just how are we going to get this upstairs?”. I told him not to worry about it.

We live on the second floor, 13 steps (my daughter has counted them). There are 3 steps up to the front entrance.

As we pulled into our parking lot, my hope flagged. I saw no neighbors. My husband opened the back door and snarled. “Just how are we going to do this?”. I moved towards the chest and said determinedly: “This is our chest; we are going to do this”.

A fit man in his early 30′s glided his bike into the parking lot. Immediately, he assessed the situation. “Need a hand?” he asked, hopping off his bike.

He confidently strode over to the van, making my role superfluous. I noticed he had bike slippers on his feet. Unfazed, he took the rear and the chest flew up the steps as I ran ahead to unlock the door. Within minutes it was exactly where I’d pictured it for months.

As he turned to leave, I sputtered “Thank you! I don’t know your name?”.

“Michael” he replied with a wave.

We’ve never seen him since. When I sit at the table and gaze at my reflection, I often remember that experience. It reminds me that co-creation is not only a possibility. It’s real.

What is one of your magical moments that you can remember to reassure you that miracles spring from your heartfelt desires?