As these bones and heart of mine grow older, I am more and more certain that the world would be a far-happier place if we would remember why magic matters. How our hearts would transform if we allowed ourselves to reach out for something invisible, to respect and honor the inexplicable.
Children get it. Little people have an inherent ability to see magic wherever it is available (and it is availableeverywhere)—but as we age, we trade wonder for logic and we relinquish inspired, reckless belief for practicality.
We spend lifetimes trying to grow up, to mature, to be responsible and strong and sharp. You need to be a go-getter, a a pull-up-your-bootstraps with both-feet-on-the-ground kind of human.
But this is what I have learned: it is a far-more beautiful world when we allow ourselves to see the magic.
Children help this process; the gift of seeing things again, for the first time, through unspoiled eyes.
Nature helps this process; to walk among the leaves, to feel the warm wash of the sun, to hear, feel, smell and taste that which is wild is to reconnect with the magic of existence—connected, grounded, yet remarkably free.
Music helps this process; there is unadulterated magic in music—the power to convey the indefinable.