As part of our mission to bring you the best global literacy resources as possible, we traveled to Iceland last year to capture field notes on the magic of mother nature. She did not disappoint. The breathtaking landscapes with rushing waterfalls and jagged ice carved from glaciers was stunning.
Exploring the beauty of Iceland. Stay tuned for new resources soon!
But it wasn’t the highlight. The highlight was something much deeper, much more personal.
You see, like any writer, I live for the unspoken and unseen things in the universe—I thrive on feelings, intuitions, and that eerie feeling you get when you experience Deja Vu.
This is a story of all of that and more.
We arrived to Iceland ragged and tired. If you’ve ever traveled with a toddler then you know what I mean. If you haven’t, let me enlighten you: imagine equal parts grump mixed with one-part hunger and two-parts flailing limbs.
Needless to say, when we arrived to our first accommodation we were exhausted.
But it didn’t matter.
You see, the moment I walked into our little room I felt instantly at home. I had been here before, hadn’t I? I knew these walls—chiseled concrete set against the startling ocean view out front. The mountains draped the rear of the cabin in ethereal beauty—mist hung with a little spit of a waterfall churning out bursts of clarity against an emerald background.
I could hardly admit it to myself at the time because it felt too surreal, but I had indeed been here before—in my dreams.
I have this little secret of where I would go and what I would do if life didn’t tether me down. In my mind, I had fabricated this place with great brilliancy. It was in rural France, a few wayward blocks from the ocean, sandwiched between the outskirts of a tiny village with a fresh bakery on the corner that lit up at 3 a.m. every morning as the dough began to rise. Yes, my daydreams get that detailed.
In my fantasy, a tiny cabin with concrete walls stood as a fortress to my solitude. A picture window flanked the water view and an old farmhouse table buckled the room together with four tidy chairs.
Only I wasn’t in France now, I was in Iceland. But this room, the table, the walls…it was…
ALL. THE. SAME.
Writing furiously at the farmhouse table.
How could this very room I had dreamed up in my head for so long suddenly appear in real life? The universe was scattering big magic all around me and I wasn’t sure I was ready to pick it up (If you’ve read Elizabeth Gilbert, you know what I mean).
Clearly, this was a sign. Despite our overtired two-year-old, I sat at that farmhouse table and I wrote. I wrote the old-fashioned way, with pencil on paper, with heart and soul, with fury and fire. Because there was really nothing left to do in that moment but to listen to whatever the universe wanted to tell me—and to write.
I’ve never felt more inspired in that singular moment in time. It was a wisp of big magic; something unexplained but clearly deeper than myself. It was fleeting, like it always is.
But it was there. And it was magic.
All of this is to say that that moment—that divine moment in time—will make it into one of our books soon. When and where we’re still working out, but big magic doesn’t let you down unless you fail to capture it when it calls out.
So, I’m chasing that universal sign and I’ll let you know where it leads!
The little waterfall on the property where we stayed. Very inspiring!