Trusting the Fairy Dust

As the end of the first month of the new year draws nigh, I've been doing my end-of-the-month reflections, my assessment of the state of the new year so far. I decided that I made one big mistake in the new year year already: I shouldn't have asked the fairy dust for love. Ever since I made that rash request, I've been consumed with anxiety about love, frantically seeking it everywhere, driving myself crazy with the quest for it. Oh, why did I ask for love, when I could have asked for another book contract or a starred book review? Why, why, why?

But then it occurred to me that maybe my mistake didn't lie in my request to the fairy dust, in itself, but in my lack of trust in the fairy dust to answer that request in its own way, in its own time. I mean, isn't that the whole POINT of fairy dust? That somebody else does the work here, while I blithely go about my business?

The trouble with this line of thought, however, is that I do believe that I have to meet the fairy dust halfway. This insight is encapsulated in many pithy sayings: e.g.,"God helps those who help themselves"; "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition." When I asked the fairy dust for success with my book series last year, I was still the one who had to write the books, and send them off to prospective agents. I couldn't expect the fairy dust to show up at my house and write the books for me, or send me an agent knocking unannounced at my door. Is it really fair to expect the fairy dust to bring me love, without any preparatory effort on my part?

So what I'm trying to figure out is how much I'm supposed to do, and how much I'm supposed to let the fairy dust do. I know this much at least: whatever I'm supposed to DO, I'm not supposed to WORRY. From now on, I'm going to try to leave the worrying to the fairy dust.