007 | The Key of Choice

It had been some time since I left the Dreaming Notebook tied to a street sign, watching as strangers picked it up, shared their dreams, and passed it along. The magic in Bremerton was subtle, but it was alive, carried in the hearts and hopes of the people I encountered every day. I had been lingering, waiting for the seed of life to sprout, but in truth, I found myself captivated by the simple, quiet dreams of those around me.

The dreams shared in that notebook inspired me. And they reminded me of something—an old memory, a choice I had made long ago as a young boy, in another time and place. It had been before I arrived in Bremerton, before the realms of possibility opened to me. It had happened at a place known as the Crossroads, where I was faced with a choice that would shape the course of my journey.

I had wandered through many worlds before I came to the Crossroads. Even as a boy, I would often lose myself in daydreams during my long walks, imagining realms of magic and wonder hidden just beyond the edges of the familiar. There were times when I’d be so deep in thought, I'd find myself standing in strange, unfamiliar places—forests I didn’t recognize, streets that seemed to twist in ways they hadn’t before. Some of these places felt dreamlike, where the air shimmered with possibility, and others were like echoes of distant lives—lives I had lived, or could have lived, if not for the winding path I had chosen.

It was during one of my usual, aimless walks that I first felt it—a subtle tug, not on my body, but on my mind. I had been following a familiar path through the forest, one I had walked many times before. The trees stood tall and silent, their branches swaying gently in the wind, but something felt different. There was a pressure in the air, like the forest itself was whispering, urging me to step away from the path.

And then I saw it.

Protruding from a knot of wood in a large oak tree was a key, its brass surface catching the fading light. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but as I approached, the key shimmered ever so faintly, as if it held a secret just waiting to be uncovered. I reached out, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal, and as soon as I touched it, my mind was flooded with images. I saw paths winding in directions I had never traveled, doorways I had never opened, and a Crossroads that existed just beyond the world I knew.

The key pulled at my thoughts, drawing me deeper into the forest, leading me away from the familiar trail and toward something far older. The trees grew denser, their branches curling like twisted arms, and the light shifted, taking on an ethereal glow. I should have felt lost, but I didn’t. The key guided me, and soon I found myself standing before something I had never seen, yet somehow recognized.

There, in a clearing framed by the tallest trees I had ever seen, stood two doors. Each was framed in a light that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. One door gleamed gold, warm and inviting, its edges glowing as if it had been kissed by the sun. The other shimmered silver, cold and sharp like a sliver of moonlight cutting through the night. And there, between the two, resting upon an ancient stone pedestal, was the key—small, unassuming, and yet heavier than any I had ever held.

I ran my fingers along the key’s ridges, tracing its intricate patterns. I knew the spell well enough by now. This was a Key of Passage, a key that didn’t simply open a door—it opened a fate.

The golden door promised a world where magic was real. But there was a trick: in that world, magic would only exist within my mind. I could imagine whole realms of possibility, weave spells with a flick of my thoughts, but no one else would see the beauty I conjured. I would live in a world of wonders that would always remain invisible to everyone else.

The silver door, on the other hand, led to a place where magic was commonplace—everyone had their own power, their own unique connection to the mystical forces. But here was the rub: I, alone, would be without magic. I would wander through this enchanted world, powerless and ordinary, while everyone around me bent the very fabric of reality to their will.

The decision weighed heavy on me. Was it better to live in a world of mundane reality, where only I could dream of magic? Or to walk through a world of enchantment where I was forever bound by its rules, unable to wield it myself?

I held the key to both fates, and for the longest time, I could not decide.

The weight of the key seemed to grow in my palm, as if urging me to choose. I closed my eyes and saw them clearly: two doors, two lives. The golden light promised joy in my own imagination, but loneliness in the knowledge that no one could ever share in the magic. The silver light glittered with community and wonder, but also with the sting of exclusion—how could I stand to watch others perform miracles when my own hands would be tied?

I stood at the Crossroads, heart heavy and mind racing. And then, without another thought, I plunged the key into the lock of the golden door. A final choice.

When I opened my eyes, I stepped through the golden frame and felt the world shift around me. The light dimmed, the air cooled, and the familiar hum of traffic echoed in the distance. The golden glow was gone, replaced by the muted, everyday light of the real world.

I had chosen the path of dreams—the world where magic is confined to the heart and mind. The real world, as you know it, where nothing bends to your will unless you use your own hands and voice to make it happen.

But here’s the secret, dear reader: this world may seem mundane, but I learned something that day. The magic I hold inside me is no less real because it exists in my mind. And perhaps the greatest magic of all is not in altering the world, but in finding joy within its unaltered beauty.

Now, as I walk the streets of Bremerton, the memory of that choice stays with me. I see the power of dreams all around me—people wishing for something more, creating magic in their own quiet ways. And I am reminded that sometimes, the magic is not in the world itself but in how we choose to see it.

Inspired by the Dreaming Notebook and the stories within it, I have started leaving keys behind for others to find. They are small, unassuming things, left hanging at eye-level on street signs or tucked into corners of quiet places. The note attached explains that the key has “chosen” the finder and that it holds the power to unlock a new path.

Each key, like the one I held at the Crossroads, offers a choice—a deeply personal and profound decision unique to each individual. It doesn't dictate the options but invites them to look within themselves, to confront the hopes and fears that shape their journey. The keys asks them to decide not between predetermined paths, but to choose the direction that resonates with their own truths, whatever that may be.

Hold the key, make the choice, and unlock the next journey.

Because sometimes, the truest magic is in the choice itself.

–J.