Synchronicity

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic – the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like… the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity. The whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”

The first time I read that quote was at the beginning of one of my favourite novels. It stuck with me, almost as though it was trying to prove itself true. There are moments in everybody’s life when you are overwhelmed with a pure feeling of connection. Whether you’re sitting on the front porch at the cottage, or listening to the Messiah, or smelling the island at thanksgiving, you find yourself awoken by a feeling of presence.

For most, we consider ourselves lucky if we get to experience this a handful of times. These are moments where we find our thoughts and our hopes and our realities have synchronized. Suddenly we’re changed.

My grandmother was someone who permanently existed in these moments. Every encounter, every performance, every adventure, even every moment of peace and quiet, was breathtaking and eventful. She didn’t go through the motions of conversation; she didn’t walk into a music hall ready to hear the same sounds as she had the year before.

Any person who’s ever had a real conversation with my grandmother can safely say that there is no woman in the world like her. There is no woman who can hold a gaze, or pull your thoughts from the shadows, or show you compassion and love when you are feeling lost, quite like her. There is no woman who can fill her entire body with the sounds of the vocals and the violinists and the cellist, so much so that her granddaughter finds it more exhilarating to watch the way her hand moves in time with the music than to focus on the artists down below. There is no woman who can take on a new city, a new language and a new culture with such a youthful desire to learn and embrace. Lastly, there is no woman who is able to create such an inviting presence just by sitting in the kitchen with a crossword and a coffee, reading out clues with the knowledge that somebody in the room is always listening.

These moments and encounters, when we feel as though we want to stop time and live in them forever, are an everyday kind of magic. They fundamentally alter something within us, and make us feel complete. They show us our passions, and they show us our truths, and they lend us a voice to thoughts and ideas that we have never accessed before.

When I read the sequel to that first book a few years later, it started with another quote. “Magic fades when it is unused. That belief that magical moments require our faith, our belief in their existence to survive, that is a lie. All they require is our recognition.”

One day, I hope that we might have the same power of recognition as my grandmother. I hope that we will be able to see each encounter and each experience as an opportunity to not only learn and improve but to make an everlasting impact. Her ability to live so unswervingly in this magic was what made her an unbelievable grandmother, friend, loved one, and mentor.

Lastly, may we vow right now to recognize that everlasting presence. It will exist in so many moments for so many different people. Maybe it will be seeing a photo of the Joseph robe from Christmas parties, or while making pavlova, or doing a crossword, or maybe it will just happen while walking down the street and being overwhelmed by a passing memory. These moments are the everyday magic. They are a hidden voice, and the more we choose to recognize them the longer she is able to stay with us.