Mood Ring is a newsletter on life, love, writing, and desserts written by me, an aspiring romance novelist. Great for tenderhearted souls, writers, steadfast readers, dessert lovers, and hopeless romantics.
This is the third installment of our October theme: “Nights.”
Every year, as November draws near, I retell a story about a wish that came true in the middle of the night.
If you’ve known me for a good while or have read some previous letters in this newsletter, you’ll know that my mom was on dialysis from the time I was nine and up to my high school years. Without a family match, we were counting on the transplant waiting list to give her a kidney and I was counting on it to give me my mom back. And, during the wait, I got into wishing. I had one wish for every birthday, for every time I saw 11:11 on the clock, for every fountain full of pennies. As it goes for children, everything was out of my control. When I had nothing else to reach for but magic, nightly wishes turned into a habit. And when my sophomore homecoming dance landed on 11/11/11 and I fell into bed with my smudged mascara and messy updo at 11:11PM, I closed my eyes, whispered a wish—please, give my mom a kidney. Those six words had become automatic, slipping off my tongue as natural as taking a breath. At that point, I don’t know how much I believed in wishes coming true, but even if my logic was telling me there’s no such thing as magic, 11:11 was my pit stop to refuel on hope. That night I fell asleep with my light on and my hope-tank full.
And when my mom woke me a couple of hours later saying that UC Davis called her and we have to go right now because they have a kidney for her, I thought I was dreaming. And then I thought, oh it came true. And much later I realized that our gift was someone else’s deep loss. I cried then and every year after.
We’ve all made wishes—on wishbones, a lucky penny, birthday candles, shooting stars, dandelions, eyelashes, rainbows, or on nothing but the sound of the wind. Little desires. Big dreams. Secret wants. It’s something we do because it can’t hurt; unless you’re Jenna Rink chanting “thirty and flirty and thriving” in 13 Going on 30 and you skip adolescence to adulthood where some strange, clueless guy is calling you “sweet bottom” (I’m rewatching some of my favorite rom-coms). Fictional characters usually wish themselves into pickles, but in our day-to-day lives, little wishes give us hope. Wishes encapsulate the beauty of “maybe.” Maybe, just maybe, this one will come true. But if I’m being truthful, I’ve lost that glimmer of possibility. What I’m wishing for these days is dependent on me putting forth daily effort and not patiently waiting on magic to grant them on my behalf. I have to be my own actionable, fairy godmother so to speak. I’ll travel more if I plan the trips. I’ll finish writing my book only if I write the damn thing. Stuff like that. So when I wish on the sparkling stars in the night sky, I’m mostly just taking a moment to remind myself of my dreams and desires and goals and what I need to do to get there, and yeah, I am hoping for just a little pinch of unexpected magic.
But tonight, I think I’ll toss a wish to the stars and I’ll let it be.
With love,
Alyssa
Thank you for reading!
I send a Mood Ring letter out every Tuesday. Please forward it along to anyone you think would enjoy it. And if you’d like to check in with me: alysrochwrites@gmail.com.