A story about magic. A story that could have gone any other way, but it went the way it was supposed to.
The roots of this go way back into my childhood, where I have to thank my mom for raising us the way she did. I found out a few years ago that others used to call my mom a hippie... sometimes. Now that I think of it, it does make sense, as who else would take their five-year-old to fringe organizations to learn how to meditate? Or teach numerology? Tarot Cards?
Nowadays this is your average, mainstream information, but might I remind you this was almost 40 years ago, during the 80s, in Soviet-occupied Estonia. The information was passed on in whispers and there were really just a handful of these people in the whole country, meeting with psychics and discussing life path numbers. My mom was one of them. Thank God and the Universe that’s how she was because that’s what made me who I am.
Fast forward to today. I would say my baseline belief in my intuition and in the Universe has been stronger than for most people, thanks to my mom. That, in turn, coupled with growing up with a vastly opposite cultural conditioning, has also shaped my life. You see, when people talk about manifesting and positive thinking, it is often made out to be this fluffy and very vague thing. It is not. It actually makes a lot of sense (if you stop overthinking it) and has also been scientifically proven to be real.
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