Chapter Eleven: Alignment

Once you begin noticing magic, something else starts to happen. It pulls you inward. And for me, it began the moment after the boat—when I let the Shimmer set the pace, and I chose to follow.

Magic isn’t random—it’s resonance. It shows up most clearly when you’re in Alignment: with yourself, your life, and your purpose. That magic wants you to be aligned. It gently guides you there, one shimmer-nudge at a time. The more aligned you are, the more magic you see.

But what does Alignment really mean?

In general, alignment just means “in agreement with.” What I’m talking about is deeper—when your entire being comes into harmony: body, heart, mind, spirit. The best way I can describe it is like a lock. Each part of you is a cylinder—trauma, dreams, fears, truths—and when you begin inserting the right key, yourself, each tumbler clicks into place. One by one, they line up until finally, the lock turns. And the door opens.

What pours in then is everything: love, happiness, clarity, purpose.

But getting there? It’s not as simple as wanting to be aligned. For me, it started with recognizing that I had been avoiding myself. I used to fill every spare moment with something—friends, messages, projects, plans. Always surrounded. Always in motion. It took a long time to realize I wasn’t just busy; I was distracting myself from myself. Because when you’re not in Alignment, it’s hard to sit still. Hard to sit with your own company.

So, as I began this new phase of my life—a global journey, a leap into the unknown—I did what I’d always done: I booked a group trip. A sailing adventure with strangers. I thought it would be the perfect way to begin—safe, social, simple.

But when I arrived, I knew instantly: this wasn’t it. There was nothing wrong with the people or the boat. They were kind, warm even. But they weren’t aligned with me. And my body knew it before my mind could rationalize it: a quiet unease in my stomach; a louder ache as the day wore on. That night I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing the boat was leaving in the morning.

I had a choice. Stay—override that inner knowing and pretend it would be fine? Or leave—risk looking foolish, losing the money, facing that dreaded question: Why?

I left.

It wasn’t easy. It was awkward, uncomfortable, a little embarrassing to explain. But it was right. I could feel the yes in my body. And that boat became a metaphor for something much bigger: What do you do when you realize you’re on a path that isn’t yours? You step off. You realign. You choose you.

What followed was a solo week exploring Croatia. That’s the week I landed at that tiny Dubrovnik restaurant by listening for a full-body yes—the same night I realized this practice wasn’t theory anymore. At first, it was lonely. I’d been so used to company that the silence felt sharp. But slowly, something softer began to bloom: stillness. And in that stillness, joy.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t adjusting myself to fit anyone else’s rhythm. I was just being. I journaled. I walked along the sea. I let my mind drift without trying to solve or fix anything. The less I tried to fill my life, the lighter I felt.

That’s when Alignment began to take root—not as a theory, but as a lived experience. The more I let myself rest, reflect, and listen—especially to the Shimmer—the more I could hear it. And it started guiding me. Not in dramatic, cinematic ways—but through quiet nudges. A sense of when to move. A knowing of which direction felt lightest. A sudden ease when the next right step appeared.

I used to plan everything: every leg of a trip, every backup plan, every contingency. But now? I realized the Shimmer had a better itinerary than I ever could. I even tested it. I waited until something felt right to book the next leg. And every time, it worked out perfectly—open rooms, the right people, the right timing. It was as if the Shimmer was quietly saying: I’ve got you.

The truth is, Alignment isn’t something you chase. It’s something you allow. And when you finally allow it—truly, fully—everything starts clicking into place. Not all at once. But piece by piece. Like the lock turning. Like your life finally letting itself in.

I didn’t know it then, but that quiet decision to leave the boat was the beginning of something much bigger. Alignment doesn’t always arrive with clarity. Sometimes it comes as a gut feeling, a tightening in the chest, a quiet ache that says, This isn’t right.

And when that moment comes—when you’re standing at the edge of something, unsure, afraid—you don’t owe anyone an explanation. Your body already knows. Your soul already knows. You are allowed to choose the life that feels most like you. Even if no one else understands yet. Especially then.

That week alone in Croatia taught me that Alignment isn’t just a feeling—it’s a foundation. Once I found it, everything else began to move. The Shimmer got louder. The path got clearer. And the life I’d been aching for?

It began.