By Wayne Hafner

The Law of Transmutation states that everything—every object, every circumstance—is either moving into physical form or dissolving out of it. Or, as Leslie Householder puts it: “Everything is either coming into physical form or going out of it.”

We can see this clearly in nature. Take the water cycle, for example—evaporation, condensation, precipitation. Water is constantly shifting form, yet never disappears.

This same principle applies to our thoughts. The ones we give time, energy, and emotion to are the ones that take shape in our lives. The ones we discard fade away, undeveloped and eventually forgotten.

I first experienced the power of this law when I was just 12 years old—and I didn’t even know it at the time.

It was a quiet Saturday morning, and I was flipping through television channels when I stumbled on a Notre Dame football highlight show. Back then, college football was a rare treat—maybe one game aired each week unless it was a holiday—but Notre Dame had their own program every Sunday. A couple of weeks in, and I was hooked. Notre Dame was my team.

It was 1973.

There was no internet. No cable TV. Most channels went off the air at 2 a.m. The only way I could keep up with my team was through news clips, magazines, or the local paper. But I didn’t mind. Notre Dame wasn’t just a football team—it was a place. A university. And even though I hadn’t thought much about life after high school before then, something inside me clicked. I just knew: I was going to go to Notre Dame.

I didn’t know how, but the dream was set in motion.

During my freshman year of high school, we were assigned to interview a classmate and give an oral report about them. When the student presenting about me said, “Lyle wants to go to Notre Dame,” the entire class erupted in laughter.

I was stunned. How could they not see what I saw? I was hurt—but even more determined. “I’ll show them,” I thought.

At the end of that year, I learned I was ranked 16th in my class. That lit a fire. I realized I hadn’t even been giving my full effort. So what could happen if I actually tried?

From that point on, I committed. I enrolled in the most difficult courses available—knowing that at our school, a B in a level 3 class earned more grade points than an A in a level 2. I pushed myself. By the time I graduated, I had earned enough credits to qualify as a second-semester college freshman. My class rank rose steadily until I finished high school ranked second.

Still, when it came time to apply to colleges, there was only one school I truly wanted to attend. I applied to several, but Notre Dame was the dream.

I received acceptance letters from all the others—but not from Notre Dame.

I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else.

So, I enrolled in the local junior college, hoping to transfer later. After a strong first semester—mostly A’s and one B—I reapplied. Another rejection.

Another semester passed with excellent grades. I tried again. This would be my final attempt. This time, I poured everything I had into the application. I set aside my natural shyness and wrote a bold, heartfelt essay about why Notre Dame needed a student like me—and why I was that student.

I saw myself walking beneath the Golden Dome. I envisioned the serene lakes, the campus, the library crowned with a mosaic of Christ the Teacher. I felt the weight of belonging. That was my university. I had always known it.

And then, on December 2, 1980, the letter came:

“Dear Lyle, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for admission with advanced standing to the College of Business Administration as a first semester junior for the spring semester of 1981.”

Tears filled my eyes. I could barely breathe. Relief and joy flooded through me.

From the moment I first saw Notre Dame on that television screen, the dream had begun forming. It didn’t arrive on my timeline, but it had always been making its way toward me—because I never let it go. I believed in it with all my heart, and because of that belief, it came true.

That is the Law of Transmutation in action.

When we nurture a thought—feed it with belief, emotion, and action—it begins to take form. And if we hold on, even when the path feels long or the world laughs at us, the dream becomes our reality.

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