The Journal of Extraordinary Tales

November 27, 2006

We all walk paths that diverge at a crossroads. We make choices that open every new door that we step through. In this case, it was a window for me. A window of opportunity, if you will. It all started on a typical day that ultimately became a pivotal moment that would change the rest of my life for the extraordinary. Something so simple as the need to go to the library. It was approximately 8:45 am. It was November and chilly. Fall had finally changed the leaves' color and surrounded the town in hues of reds, oranges, and yellows. As I walked down the street, I gazed towards the older buildings noting how tarnished they looked, and with a bit of TLC, the town could revive their beauty.

Finally arriving at the bus-stop, I glanced down at my watch, taking note of when the next bus should arrive. However, at that moment, it was then that I discovered that all was quiet. It was so quiet that the silence of nothing was deafening. I glanced around, and there wasn't a soul on the usually busy suburban street. I shook off the sense of unease but still couldn't shake off my anxiety. There wasn't a dog barking or a cat running to hide underneath a car in fear of being seen. The wind was still, and everything was just…Silent.

I felt this weird butterfly feeling in my stomach take root. If you'd ask me in that moment, it was undoubtedly nerves, maybe even a little fear because something was definitely wrong. I don't know … perhaps with me? Maybe the world? It was a hard feeling to express vocally then and even harder to explain now on paper.

I stood up and looked around, and still, I saw nothing, but as I sit down, I noticed a black leather-bound book. I'm almost sure that it wasn't there before, although it wasn't unusual for me to overlook something.

As I glanced around again, I picked up the book. It's old. I mean, really old. Yet you can tell that whoever owns this book took great care to preserve it. I opened the book and discovered that it's a journal.

I looked to the first page for information as to where I could return the journal to its owner. There was no name; however, there was an address:

141 Stain Street, Brooklyn, New York 11201

I flipped through the pages delicately in case this book was worth something. I didn't want to be responsible for ruining something so valuable. However, as I flipped through the pages, I noticed that the handwriting changes for each entry. Sometimes even the language; Which was a little odd to me at the time. I flipped to the last entry, was happy to discover it in English, and looked to the date. Strange enough, it was dated the same date as today. I remember thinking that was an interesting coincidence. One that made me feel weird.

As I started to shut and place the book back down on the bench, having decided to leave it there, the bus arrived. I got up to get on the bus, but a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach appeared. I glanced back at the book, and I recalled being worried about the book. Feeling like something terrible would happen if I didn't take care of the book. At that very same moment, the bus driver called out to ask if I was okay. I vaguely remembered shaking my head that I was okay. He asked if I planned on getting on the bus, and I meant to say yes. I truly did. But the word no escaped passed my lips.

I could hear the sound of the bus driving off, but my eyes never left that book. I scooped up the book and looked at the address again. Rechecking my watch, I made a decision. I would return the book and just be done with it.

Somehow in a daze, I found myself at Union Station boarding a train, and then I was suddenly on my way to New York City; With a sense of urgency so great that it was almost overwhelming. I remember the feeling staying with me up to the point of me reaching the front door of my destination. Yet before I even had a chance to knock on the door, it swung opened. An older woman, maybe in her late 50s early 60s, stood there. A kind smile spreads across her face, and she says to me that she had been waiting 27 years to meet me. In that instant, all those worrying feelings melted away, and a calm spread through me.

She directed me to a sitting room where she would introduce herself as Isabelle Clarke. I remembered the name from the last entry of the book. Immediately I reached for my bag to retrieve her notebook, but when I offered it to her, she shook her head no. She then told me that while the book had belonged to her, it no longer did; That it now belonged to me.

Now I can say that at this moment I thought that this lady was a bit… odd. Who gives a random stranger a journal? At that moment, she must have read my mind because she answered my question without me having to voice my concern. She told me that the journal chooses its owner and that every 27 years, it will mysteriously vanish and choose a new owner. That whenever the current owner feels it is the right time to write their entry, they will do so, and, after twenty-seven years of them holding the book, it would appear on the date of the last entry to its new owner. There's never a deviation from its habit. Of course, now I couldn't keep the incredulous look off my face. She only laughed and reached her hand out for the book.

I obviously obliged her because why wouldn't I? It clearly belonged to her. She opened the book to the last entry and smoothed her hand over it. Then she said that each entry is from a different woman who has lived a variety of lives. In each of their lives, they all have done wondrous things that benefit their society or the world in a positive way. They have done many good deeds that will continue to shape our very existence.

The book's mission is to search for those women who have within them the characteristics necessary to keep producing good. One of the other defining traits is that these women are considered relatively low in social standing. They don't have influence or financial backing; the book is responsible for bringing the next generational chosen one to her mentor. And thus, passing the torch.

The book holds hundreds of years of perception, growth, knowledge, and, most importantly, wisdom. Every mentor is to provide one critical thing to their protégé. It is very specific.

She reached to a side table and pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. Inside the envelope was money. I pulled out the cash and just stared at her. She told me that it was twenty thousand dollars. That it was a requirement of every mentor to provide that amount. No more. No less.

Of course, at the time, I questioned who would blindly follow such a requirement. Isabelle's reply is what pleasantly haunts me to this very day. She told me that we might be selected for the significant impacts we are destined to create. But it is also our ability to step outside of the normal and live freely that this gives us the freedom to create beyond what others could ever imagine. She said that she was giving me this money with no doubt in her heart that I would do great things because I am me.

I don't know what made me a believer in the power of the Journal. Perhaps it was Isabelle's confident yet calming nature? A leap of faith? All I know is that the Journal is an opportunity to break out of the box you've been confined to and escape through the window to lead an extraordinary life. If I didn't believe that this journal was powerful, I wouldn't have written this entry guiding you to me. I wouldn't have done all that I have without the guidance it provided. And now it is your time. I've waited twenty-seven years to meet you. Find me at the address at the beginning of the book.

-Charlize Monet