Straw to Gold

A case for everyday magic.

When you light a candle near a glass vase, the flame will flicker and bounce off the reflection of the glass. The reflection of the flame instantly makes me think of a thread of gold. And the gold makes me think of Rumpelstiltskin.

(Did you know there are apparently two T’s in his name?? I absolutely did not, until writing this.)

The vases on my kitchen table and coffee table hold fake pink flowers and dried lavender respectively. I love lighting candles near them, and waiting for the gold to appear.

I first noticed the way that the flame of a candle interacts with glass vases while writing at my kitchen table on a cold morning last March. I think I was in the middle of trying to work on the first draft of a play. A first draft that is years in the making. Writing a first draft is my favorite part of the process, because it’s where I get to be the most creative. Everything after a first draft just feels like editing, unless there’s a major plot shift.

And so, to procrastinate working on this particular first draft and draw out my favorite part of the writing process even further, I wrote about the candle and the vase. The thread of gold. And Rumpelstiltskin.

I jot down musings like this all the time. Some are far less thought out, and some are even more so. Before starting Wild Cozy Free, I would rarely share them. But that particular wintry morning, I felt the strong urge to share that particular musing about that particular flame. I emailed it to my mentor and dear friend. Maybe I wanted someone to bear witness to it somehow, or spark a deeper connection over this abstract finding of mine. Maybe our hearts just know which pieces of our writing want to be shared, and which pieces are just for us.

Here’s what I sent her.

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The vase of lavender catches the light of the winter balsam candle that I like to write with. It gives the bottom of a single strand of dried lavender inside the vase a copper-tinted hue. For a minute, it looked as if one of the pieces of dried lavender was spinning itself into gold.

The bunch of dried lavender was delivered tied with a piece of twine that looks like straw. I placed the lavender in the vase, and tied the twine it around the vase itself to give it a more rustic look and feel. The straw wrapped around the blue glass blown vase, nestled right up against the dried lavender that looks like gold immediately makes me think of Rumpelstiltskin. The scariest villain in the fairytale cannon in my opinion. Illustrators always make his face look so contorted and inherently untrustworthy. The way he pops up in the corners of story book pages used to terrify me as a child.

The flame starts to flicker, and I watch the golden copper hued lavender sparkle a little. I watch it very intently, because it’s impossible to capture a picture of it. (Trust me, I tried.) Rightfully so perhaps, that you can’t capture a magical image like this easily. The temporary nature of this single piece of gold wrapped in straw is almost transcendental.

Maybe Rumpelstiltskin was the scariest villain of all because he knew he had the best kind of magic, and was protective of it.  As the TV Show Once Upon A Time’s Rumpelstiltskin always says “Magic always comes with a price, dearie.” Perhaps the protectiveness over his magic led to a cruelty he could not control. It takes extreme care to be delicate with a power like that.

Perhaps Rumplestiltskin was given a keen access to beauty that he wasn’t ready for. That he didn’t quite know what to do with. Maybe on some level, he knew that the humans wouldn’t know what to do with it either. Maybe his magic came with a price so as to warn humans that magic isn’t all happy ever afters. That it goes away, when the candle blows out. Maybe the price of magic was never meant to be a threat, but a cautionary reminder.

Maybe that’s why we can’t ask for magic to come when we need it most - we just have to trust that the universe will deliver it to us when the time is right. For the magic that you try so desperately to harness and control, does indeed come with a price.

But the everyday magic that you notice while writing on a chilly Friday morning - like a piece of gold in the dried lavender - that magic is free. And it’s the kind we all need.

As for the other kinds of storybook magic - the prince charmings, fairy godmothers, knights in shining armor. Maybe they’re just meant to be stories. Maybe they were never meant to be aspirational. Maybe we were never meant to take them out of books and treat them as prescriptive.

And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s exciting that there are storybook no happy ever afters. If you hadn’t noticed, the story always ends when they’re happy. Because no one wants to know what happens after you get what you wanted - or thought you wanted - we just want to think of these fictional characters as happy forever.

But they’re not. They can’t be. And we shouldn’t want them to be.

Cause getting your dreams, it’s strange but it seems a little well, complicated.

There’s a kind of a sort of, cost

There’s a couple of things get, lost

There are bridges you cross you didn’t know you crossed until you crossed

Lyrics from ‘Thank Goodness’ from the musical ‘Wicked’, sung by Galinda/Glinda.

We shouldn’t hope for happy ever afters and easy, fairytale lives. Pain is necessary. Heartbreak is necessary. Even in a world full of absolute peace, with no crises like homelessness and hunger,  there would still be endless grief and personal heartbreak.

The grief of losing a loved one. Breakups. The pain of your best friend moving away when you’re 8 years old. Not getting into the school you wanted. Missing out on experiences that mean everything to us at the time.

I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone.

*You Learn, Alanis Morisette

If we had “snap your fingers” magic, and could turn all of our straw into gold whenever we felt like it, we’d never feel our heartache. And without our heartache, we’d miss our miracles. We’d miss the pain that becomes a portal* to take us to a life much better than “happily ever after.”

*Glennon Doyle

If we had happily ever afters, we’d miss the real magic. The golden lavender magic. The everyday magic. We’d convince ourselves that we didn’t need it. We’d just be busy telling ourselves how happy we are all the time, instead of actually stumbling upon actual ordinary moments of true joy. Like when a child waves at you from a stroller. Or when you make someone’s whole day with a small compliment. Or when you wake up to a beautiful clear blue sky.

I, for one, do not want to miss those things.

One strand of copper-hued gold in a vase of dried lavender is worth more to me than all the “real” gold a Rumpelstilskin of the world could ever spin for me.  Even though the flame of this candle glowing against the vase won’t last forever.

Nothing does. That’s part of the necessary heartbreak that comes from loving well, and living your life fully.

Or you could skip out on the pain. And miss out on your joy too.

P.S. Rumpelstiltskin is really hard to spell!