Every Tuesday morning, my daughter, Teagan, goes with her grandmother and her cousin, Noah, to the Longmont Museum. As a piece of a weekly play date, she gets to do a craft and explore the museum. She likes it very much.
Last week, she came home with a magic wand and a pointy black hat made carefully with construction paper and glitter glue. “I didn’t put magic in it for real, Daddy” she said to me, “Just pretend.”
While I didn’t correct her then, I strongly disagree with her. The pretending and the accoutrement of her imagination are exactly where one can find magic. And it’s very, very real.
Too often in the institutions where I work and do business, I find that people are too quick to abandon wonder and magic and the joy of discovery. There’s just not time, I hear. Too much to cover or get done.
But that’s not true, either. There’s a need for magic in the world. And in your day. If you work with children in any capacity – as teacher, or nurse, or support staff or supervisor or friend – you can look to these children for magic, but know that they’re looking for some magic from you. Theirs’ is a precious magic, easily and readily shared. But it’s also a fragile magic, all too often removed from a child who is told that there’s not time for silliness, or wonder, or excitement, or giggles, or joy. There’s too much to cover.
No there isn’t. We have time in this crazy world for magic. Don’t we? We are mismanaging our time if the hours of our days, weeks, and months are too jam-packed for a moment of wonder on a semi-regular basis. You aren’t really “too busy” to be amazed or in awe from time to time, are you? Of course you’re not.
And, more important, the coverage that you’re doing is nothing if it’s not fueled by passion or wonder or magic. Museums and libraries, at their best, are chock full of magic, and are fine places for you to recharge your magical batteries. Offices and classrooms and meetings should be, too.
Wherever you are this week, I hope you’ve brought a little magic along with you. Be it in construction paper hats, or in the story you’re telling, or in the spring in your step as you move from place to place, I hope very much that you’ve some magic in your day.
If you haven’t any at the moment, I encourage you to find some. It’s important. And precious. And essential.
Take one more look at Teagan and at the smile on her face. There’s magic there. For real.
As it should be.