I am a believer and promoter of writing down goals and dreams. Think it, write it, believe it, work it, achieve it. Mark, not so much. He tends to think this is whoowie poowie.
Until last month.
7 years ago, I was begging to buy a bigger house. I had it up to my eyeballs trying to fit four of us in a home we purchased as a couple. I felt the walls closing in on me and became a bit of a whiner.
3 years we looked. We scoured every part of Orange County- drawing lines on maps to see how far places would be from work and the kid’s school. I had a picture of a home plastered to the refrigerator. I spoke it, worked it, believed it.
4 years ago, we found a house to buy. I was the happiest girl in the world. A bit confused on the look of the home, but, the size, location, HALLWAYS were enough for me to skip to my lou.
Last month, Mark was “cleaning out the garage” and found a note he wrote while on a trip to New England years back. When he started describing the stuff and history of this bit of writing, his face became pale.
Powerful… he became a believer.