The Hat
When I was five years old I had one burning desire: a top hat. I was enthralled by magicians. The way they could hold an audience captive, with their seemingly superhuman feats, utterly captivated my little heart. They were gods and I desperately wanted to be like them; to feel what they must feel when they got up on a stage. Of course that meant I had to look like them.
I pestered and nagged my parents for months until they finally relented. One Saturday morning my dad took me to the nearest Mr Formal store. I must've rubbed shoulders with a high schooler picking out the finest all-white suit for the prom. I wouldn't have cared. I was there for the hat. The hat was everything. The hat consumed my every waking thought. And there I was, finally ordering the thing. My ticket to the magic.
The attendant took a measurement of my head and let me try on some too-big top hats. I loved it like no one had ever loved something. We placed the order for the hat and the man told me it would be ready for pickup in two weeks. I went straight the fuck home and made a paper chain with colored paper and my trusty stapler.
Every morning I would rip one of those bad boys off. The sound of the tearing paper sang the song of the coming magic. About 100 years later, with only a few circles to tear off, I couldn't wait any longer. I pulled out the Yellow Book and found the phone number for Mr Formal in the list. I called them up. The man informed me that his warehouse would have more details on the status of the hat. I wrote down the number (not bad for a 5 year old I might add) and called them up. They gave me the run around, but I wasn't about let them give me the slip. I pressed them for specific details on the hat and even demanded to speak to their manager if they wouldn't help me. They managed to find it and promised it would be in the store a day early. Rip that ring, mission accomplished.
The first time I put that hat on I felt it. I felt the magic when I looked at myself in the mirror holding a white-tipped, elastic-band-hiding wand in my right hand. To my astonishment the feeling faded quickly. It was as if the curtains of the universe teased open just enough to let me know that yes, indeed there was magic behind it all. Naturally I assumed that it wasn't just enough to dress like a magician. I had to learn their tricks. Even though I couldn't get my hands on a rabbit, I was able to wow my kindergarten class with a cardboard box disappearing act with my older sister as my lovely assistant.
The magic was there again briefly. Aaaaand also a shit ton of anxiety. I realized I was terrified of people ruining a trick in the middle of a performance and being laughed at for messing up. I would tremble and shake every time I pulled out my tapered deck that let me reverse one of the cards and pull it out of the deck. I loved to see the shocked looks on spectator's faces. I reveled in each fleeting moment where they looked at me like I looked at other magicians. And then they would apply light pressure and I would gladly cave in and tell them how I did it. I never was one for the magician's code of never telling a secret.
I found, in time, that the magic wasn't consistent. For all the brief moments I brushed it, it never lasted. Fast forward about 30 years.
Despite "growing up," I never stopped believing that people on stages knew where the magic was hidden. Entrepreneurs and CEOs became the new magicians. I had become fascinated by computers and tech companies. It didn't hurt that they paid good money. I started looking at computer programmers the same way I saw magicians. I'd look in awe at their dark screens littered with text and watch as their fingers flew across the keyboard flipping billions of 0s and 1s with no limits beyond their imagination and determination.
Eventually they too failed to deliver on the magic. Turns out they are just people like everyone else and most of their tricks are just that: tricks.
So where does this story lead if not back to the magic?
It leads me into the present moment. I am sitting in my apartment with my hands on the keys of my split keyboard. I faintly hear the echo of the mechanical switches bounce off my near empty walls. Behind me is a small foam pad where I sleep on the floor. It leads to the present. I am coming to believe that the magic is all around me; hidden in the most ordinary and unlikely places.
I knew that truth as a child. I knew well before I wanted a top hat. I knew it when I was 3 years old running with utter abandon through my backyard during a storm. I knew it when I felt the mud between my toes, the water running down my curly hair, and the wind in my face.
The magic is all around us. This blog exists to chronicle my encounters with everyday magic. My journey to this point has been perilous. I've nearly lost myself more times than I can count. I have bled, sweat, screamed, and beat my way through the Forest of Shame to even begin to come back to the present. I hope you find some comfort in my words.
❤️ Mojo