mundane magic
My Dad just completed round 5 of 6 chemo treatments at MUSC here in Charleston. I’m so grateful he chose to do his treatments here instead of back home in Louisiana for a number of reasons, but mainly so we can spend even more time together. There are few people I can talk about the meaning of life with, challenge belief systems (and welcome new ones) like I can with my dad. I’ve had the privilege of taking him to a majority of the 2-day treatments. I wish I could say it was exclusively from the goodness of my heart, but let me tell you—if you want to be completely unbothered outside of urgent matters, take someone to chemo. No one will ask you for anything, I promise. Fortunately, Dad is tolerating the treatments better than expected, so we use the time to relax, read books, and swap stories. It’s been such a gift in a strangely wrapped box.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect as I’m fully stepping away from my first business after it being a part of my every day (a 365-days-a-year kind of every day) for over a decade. Nothing squashes the BS your ego tries to bring up when you’re removing a label from your identity that you’ve held high for a long time like being in a room with people genuinely fighting for their lives. Something I’ve always struggled with in that vocation is the lack of “spirituality” in the realm of my calling—commerce. I’ve always wanted to make a difference in the world after watching my mother do so her entire life. Apparel and commerce just seemed counter to meaningful work. Apparel is the #1 driver of waste in the world. It feels frivolous and unnecessary. But it’s always been where my heart is tugged. I believe there’s an opportunity to take back the beauty in being stewards not only for the clients you serve but for everyone in the ecosystem of your business world. It’s a pipe dream I’m not letting go of just because my first iteration wasn’t “it.”
Which brings us back to chemo. Dad and I had a break last week, and he had time to get a cup of coffee between appointments. “I’m sure it’s not great,” he said, “but it’s something to do.”
“Oh, just you wait,” I retorted. “It’s a beautiful experience. The man serving the coffee is the light.” (It’s very convenient when you and your dad speak the same woo-woo language, so he understood what I meant.) I had noticed the man serving coffee on our first visit. He had a cheerful and upbeat nature without being overly “peppy” or interjecting too much into your day. As someone who has worked in service her whole life, I know just how challenging finding that balance is. He makes you feel acknowledged and taken care of but at your own pace and level. He has a smile that can’t be hidden behind his mask. I can’t help but think about how many times a day he is a presence of peace for people who need it most. People with cancer, people with loved ones young and old with cancer, people devoting their lives to treating people with cancer. I was so glad Dad got to see it too, and we discussed over our average-on-a-good-day cup of coffee the irony of the most magical and important jobs being hidden in plain sight. All we have to do is pay attention to the quiet magic. The mundane moments that are truly making this world a better place. A cup of coffee served with a calm, easy, loving spirit in a place that feels far from calm and easy is one of the most spiritual acts I’ve witnessed.
Substack is an interesting ecosystem. I get a sprinkle of new subscribers every so often due to my account being linked to others’ “recommendations.” As I often write about (and am really trying to stop!), some days having people who don’t “know” me really gets into my head. I’m not a “writer” by profession or training—this newsletter is an exercise in getting comfortable with the deep discomfort of having a “public voice” and growing my writing skills. But today, I am so grateful for the mixed bag reading this, because I need as many people as possible to hear that what you are doing is important. Please don’t read that and think, “Yes, yes, I’ve read self-help. I matter. Yadda yadda yadda.” No really, your mundane magic matters. In a world that is glorifying extremes in all accounts, the people able to hold space in the middle feels more poetic and beautiful than ever. Even if you were an asshole today, you could have been a turning point for someone else to not be an asshole anymore because they didn’t like the way you made them feel—and that matters. (But please do try not to be angry anymore because it feels way better to be kind and has a lot of health benefits, okay?) You really don’t know what string of magic you set off just by being you. There are many people searching for glimmers of hope right now, and just by shining your everyday light, you can be that person.
Thank you for being you, and never forget that being you is a spiritual act.
Much love,
Victoria
