Riders of the New York City subway system are used to regular disturbances. Cries of, "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen..." precede pleas for money, food, or attention; attention being the medium of exchange of entertainment for desired money and food. When I decided to ride the subway offering commuters the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to seize destiny by its lapels and have their wish granted by a real wizard, I knew I wanted to separate myself from these regular interruptions and monetized performances. Thus, I adopted a philosophy of "invitation, not obligation."

When entering a subway car, I would first tape up my "Talk to the Wizard... because no one meets a wizard by accident" sign then take a seat. I would not announce myself, I would not make a show of it, I would simply establish my presence. Having taken that first step, I would then wait. Many New Yorkers protect themselves from the constant intrusions and annoyances of the city by wrapping themselves in a heavy cloak of indifference and ignorance. Some passengers see a wizard and think, "I want nothing to do with whatever that is," others are so shielded by their jaded attitude they exclude me from their awareness entirely, literally not noticing the wizard sitting next to them. But the audience I sought separated themselves naturally via their own curiosity, whether that was a bold greeting or a tentative smile. And once they accepted the invitation of my presence and engaged with me, that's where the magic began.

Now, a stage magician has a guided tour he wants to take his audience on: The patter is planned, the tricks set up, and the spectator misdirected and redirected to suit the magician's need. But as a wizard, I chose a very different path: I opened myself entirely to the uniqueness of each particular exchange. I did my best to avoid canned lines and pre-planned routines and instead sought to be as present as possible and meet people where they were at. Sometimes folks just wanted to ask a few questions and take a photo. Other times people opened up, told me their wishes, and took my magical prescriptions as a sacred bond. Every New Yorker is unique, and the way an elderly Puerto Rican woman wants to be engaged is very different from a young, drunk, hipster couple out on a date.

Of course, this means not every encounter was profound and magical in a large, showy sense. Sometimes the magic was as simple as getting a New Yorker to look up from the phone and talk to a stranger, a miracle in this modern era! Occasionally, enough curious parties stepped forward that they ended up talking with each other, my presence as a wizard giving rise to the social event but in no way managing or directing it. 

As I said, each experience is unique, so rather than try to summarize and generalize, it's probably best to offer an example.

My desired train entered the station and I boarded a nearly empty car. I sat across from the only other passenger, a mildly disheveled middle aged man in construction attire, and waited. He looked up, took stock of me, and then asked about my outfit. I smiled and said, "I'm a wizard, and I'm here to grant you a wish." He laughed and said, "Ok then, I want a million dollars." I shook my head and said, "No you don't. Money like that would bring more problems than it's worth. You got on this train for a reason.  You're the only one here. What do you really want from this wizard?" And with that, he sat back and his whole demeanor changed, as if he was an inflatable character who'd just had some of the air let out. He sighed and said, "Yeah, you're right. I don't want a million dollars. I just want to be back with my family." We proceeded to talk about his alcoholism, his family, and the rift it had created between them. We talked about magic as a goal, as a moment of clarity, as the random chance of encountering a wizard on a train and how that single event could become a defining fork in the road over time. I gave him a magical spell to cast when he returned home, the details of which I won't divulge, and then he thanked me and got off at his stop.

Now, I don't know what happened to this man. For all I know, he could have drunk himself to death that night and never seen his family again. But I hope not. I hope this encounter resonated with him and its magic moved him to create the change he desired. But I'll never know! And that's the magic I learned to not just live with, but relish! My role as a subway wizard was to stir the waters of reality and let the ripples work their way outward. There were New Yorkers I never talked to, but who saw me pass by, who sat quietly at the other end of the train car, who took a photo and slipped out the door. These strangers, along with the curious ones who stepped forward to engage, their experiences combined make up the pattern of magic weaved by a wizard, riding the subway back and forth across the city.

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Thank you, Mr. Person!  We noticed a lot of past tense in your answer.  Because we hope you'll be able to go back to granting wishes, we mentally converted your past tenses to future perfects.  May wonders never cease.