My 4-year-old wanted to send a message to her cousins: “Right now we’re going to climb a mountain, and it has some holes in it. And in the biggest hole a bunch of people are having a party!”
We all smiled, amused. Hole-in-the-Rock is a small, red hill with—yes—a big hole in it. On the evening we arrived, the hole was full of people that had hiked up there. Imagine her delight when, about 5 minutes after we made it to the top, a group of college-age girls started singing happy birthday to a friend and the rest of us joined in. (“It’s my best friend, it’s her birthday,” chanted one, dancing around the birthday girl.)
“Oooooh,” marveled my daughter, “So it’s HER party!”
I recently read about illusionist Andrew Evans, founder of the Magic Patio (a “magic speakeasy” hosted in a San Francisco residential backyard). Performing magic there—no stage, no hidden strings or trap doors—heightens wonder, he claims, because of how the magical is embedded in an ordinary circumstance.
It turns out that Evans doesn’t perform for children under age six though, because the tricks often fall flat. “Young children are as enthralled by garage-door openers as they are by levitation,” he said. “Everything is magical to a kid.”
As a mom to three small children, I try to be productive, efficient, and practical. My kids’ days may be imbued with magic, but mine can skew towards the mundane. It’s easy to view magic as a luxury reserved for them, much like daydreaming or play.
And yet, when I give myself permission to be enchanted, to revel in a little magic, the world gains an irresistible luster. A crowd of hikers becomes a party; a cupcake with a candle on top makes the afternoon extraordinary.
Maybe it’s magical, maybe just wonderful, but I’m on the lookout for more of that sparkling feeling in 2020.