I’ve Been Thinking About the Magic Makers

I kept skipping this one. Opening a blank page, closing it again. It felt easier to leave it alone than to try to say something that might land wrong or feel too exposed. But Mother’s Day has a way of showing up each year. It shows up whether I’m ready or not, and for a lot of us, it carries more than just celebration. It can be a hard day to move through. It belongs to the ones missing their mothers, the ones who never had the mother they needed, the ones waiting and hoping to become one, the ones whose children are not here, the mothers desperately worried about their children, the mothers doing more than their share with little support… it’s the kind of grief that sits quietly and doesn’t always get named out loud. If you’re walking into this week with any of that, I see you.

Over the past week, I’ve been noticing something that has felt like a small meditative practice. I started thinking about what I’ve begun to call the “magic makers”. My mother was undoubtedly a magic maker to everyone she knew, and in losing her it felt as if the magic she had that often anchored my life had gone with her. It’s been beautiful and tender to realize there are people surrounding me still holding that same magic making dust. I see it in the mothers I know that are doing all of the things, seen and unseen, for the people in their lives. It’s also the neighbor who drops something off for no particular reason, the friend who shows up fully and stays present, the person who checks-in and really listens to the answer, the vendor who reaches out because something reminded them of me. These gestures add up. They create a kind of scaffolding that holds me even when I didn’t realize I needed it.

What they have shown me is that I aspire to be a magic maker, too. I want to be in the small and ordinary and unglamorous ways. I want to be the friend who shows up in any season. The designer who notices and cares for my clients in ways that are often invisible but felt. The wife who turns a Tuesday into a memory. The mother who makes room for beauty and presence and lingers in the snuggles and the hugs. Nearly everything I know about how to do this, I learned from my own mother. Her attention to detail. Her eagerness to care for others, often before they had to ask. Her laughter, her joy, the kind that filled a room and gave everyone in it permission to exhale. She taught me that thoughtfulness is a discipline. That joy is a recipe you can pass down. That the smallest gestures, the impromptu coffee date, the meal gathered around the table, the gift on the doorstep, the joke at exactly the right moment, are how love actually moves through the world. She did not sit me down and teach me any of this. She just lived it, in front of me, every single day.

So if this week feels complicated for you, maybe start there. Look for the magic makers around you —the mothers, the friends, and acquaintances who make things softer without asking for recognition. Let yourself notice them. Let yourself say thank you, even if it’s late or quiet. And then, in whatever way feels possible, try being one. Not perfectly, not all at once, just in the next small opportunity you have. Send the message. Remember the small detail. Choose to pay attention. Linger in a hug or a snuggle. That is the whole spell.

Advice I’m Giving Myself This Week.

Why don’t you text the friend you have been meaning to check in on, before the day gets away from you?

Why don’t you bring something to a neighbor, a coworker, or a friend, with no occasion attached?

Why don’t you plant something this weekend, in a pot or a patch of dirt, so you and your neighbors can also watch it grow?

Why don’t you let yourself laugh too loud at dinner this week?

Why don’t you choose one small act of thoughtfulness today, when no one is watching, just because?

Why don't you tell the vendor, the barista, the housekeeper, the person who quietly takes care of you, that you are grateful?

Why don't you tuck a little note into someone’s lunchbox, purse or a coat pocket this week?

Why don’t you delve into Maira Kalman’s book “Women Holding Things”? She has such a gift for holding the heavy and the joy simultaneously. My ultimate guru.

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I’ve been coveting layers, the way purple infuses an unexpected zest to anything it’s combined with, details for entertaining and the garden. To shop them, and other collections, view them here.

Thank you, truly, for being here and following along. Whatever this week looks like for you, tender or joyful or somewhere in the messy middle, I hope it is a beautiful one.

XO,

SK