I always pictured it quite clearly. The day I would look out my bedroom window and see the lake in my backyard.

What I didn’t picture, however, was living there without the wedding ring on my finger.

In 2005, I found myself diving headfirst into the world of personal and spiritual development. In retrospect, my studies came in handy: I didn’t know it at the time, but 2008 would begin one of the worst times in my life. That was the year I knew my marriage was over.

On June 6, 2009, I made up my mind: I was leaving. I spent countless days and nights agonizing over the decision. I read dozens of books extolling the virtues of meditating my way to peace of mind. I read books that promised if I appreciated the simple things in life I would have more.

With a doomed marriage on the horizon, I wanted two things: 1) peace of mind and 2) more.

I’d secretly been looking for my own place for over six months, with no luck. Apparently, the Universe doesn’t give you what you ask for if your directives are not clear. “I’d like a cottage with and English garden.” “I’d love to live downtown and party all night.” “How am I going to afford to live on my own?” “Am I really making the right decision…?”

Chasing my random thoughts became exhausting.

In need of some direction, I met my closest girlfriend Debi for dinner and drinks. Her husband is a realtor in our town and I wanted her to help me figure out where the hell I was going to live if I actually had the guts to walk away from my 17 year marriage.

I shared with her my wish list: Three bedrooms. Wood burning fireplace. Screened-in porch. Two full baths. A yard large enough for my two teenage boys to throw a football, a Frisbee.

And then, I dared to dream big: (Oliver Twist-style, rising from the table, advancing to the 'master', basin and spoon in hand, "Please sir, I want some more!")

“Please, ma’am, if you could find us a house on the lake, I would be much obliged.”

Less than 24 hours later, my phone rang. It was Debi. She had found the perfect house.

But not just any house.

You see, since 2005, no matter what was going on in my life, I journaled my way to sanity. According to some of the experts, if I wrote down what I wanted (not simply hold my dreams in my mind), I would be blessed with a manifestation of sorts.

Proof came several months after we moved into our new home, when I found my journals in a plastic tote I moved to the attic. In one entry written years earlier, along the side margin of the scruffy notebook, were these exact words scribbled in pencil:

My Wish for a House

Three bedrooms. Fireplace. Garden.

Screened-in porch. Office. Two full baths.

Deck. Nice yard.

House on Lake.

One final note, in case you don’t know where this story is heading…

Yes, as I write this, I am looking out my bedroom window watching the orange sun drop into the lake, marveling how the dream I held fast (and wrote down on paper) had eventually come true.