It felt like nothing was moving — until everything was.
A few weeks ago, in the thick of another sleepless night, I wrote myself a letter to the Universe. It was simple.
I am ready. Show me.
The next day, walking through the city, I found a feather at my feet. Iridescent, deep teal. It shimmered. I picked it up instinctively — a sign.
Then, strange things started happening.
I dreamt, vividly, of a little house by the water. Whitewashed walls, a big old oak tree in the yard. In the dream, a golden key was placed in my hand.
Two days later, I struck up a random conversation with a woman at a cafe after we both reached for the same pastry. We laughed, shared a table, and within minutes she told me she was moving abroad — and needed someone to take over the lease on her coastal cottage. It wasn’t even listed yet. She said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this… it just feels right.”
The rent was laughably low — and, weirdly, she didn’t care about proof of income. She just asked if I’d care for the space, because she loved it.
At the same time, small streams of money began to flow in. Refunds from overpaid bills. A surprise payout from an old class-action lawsuit I forgot I was part of. A random freelance client I had given up on suddenly paying me. My bank account, once a wasteland, began to bloom.
Tomorrow, I pick up the golden key — the real one.
I’ll be barefoot in my own home, music turned up, candles lit. I’ll dance across the hardwood floors like I’ve already lived a thousand lives here.
Because I have.
I called it in, and it came.