Enchantment Learning & Living Blog

Welcome to Enchantment Learning & Living, the inspirational space where I write about the simple pleasures, radical self-care, and everyday magic that make life delicious.

Easing into the New Year

I’ve been trying something new this year. Instead of trying to be more productive or radically change [fill in the blank], I’m focusing more on FLOW and JOY. I wake up every morning and give myself a few minutes to transition from the world of dreams to the world of yoga stretches and the ritual of dressing for the day ahead. Cat cuddles are involved in the process. So is marinating on the night’s previous dreams as I snuggle in warm blankets. In a few minutes, I’m lured out of bed by the promise of coffee and whatever excites me for the day—time to write, family visits, a new lesson plan, a seed catalog to pour over, or just another morning full of possibility. 

It has taken me time to find my flow again in a post-pandemic world. It is time to feel excited to greet the day and time to get inspired for new adventures and experiences, even if they are just sacred simple pleasures, which are what I’ve been gravitating to more over Big Excitements.

“It is no small thing,” as Tolkien reminds us, “to celebrate a simple life.”

This feels especially true this year as we are grappling with so much politically and socially. It’s easy to get lost in the doom and gloom of the moment, but that doesn’t really do much to help things. Instead, I find hope in the people I collaborate with who make our communities more equitable. I find joy in seeing these same communities thrive despite the issues that might thwart our progress. And I find immense satisfaction in helping people forge connections in this world that so often seems divisive, fraught, and isolationist. That’s just all in a day’s work—and an integral part of magical living. 

Still, I wouldn’t be able to do all that without first filling my own cup. I’m reminded of the Star in the tarot. She is one of the radical self-care cards of the tarot deck. She asks you to nourish yourself first before giving out to others—and to be careful how much you give. I bask in this wisdom as I recover from pandemic-related burnout and the difficulties of working in higher ed, where over-work is glamourized. The Star offers us perspective—a bigger worldview and a reminder that things won’t always be this difficult. In fact, she is the card I drew in 2020 when we went into our first lockdown. Be gentle, be soft, go slow…that is her medicine.

And so I think of her again, now in a much better place than in 2020, and find gratitude in her wisdom. I’m learning how to flow and better listen to myself and my needs. I’m relishing the art of finding joy in the little things—and it is an art, as I literally rewire my default pandemic settings to look for the flaw, the potential problem, or, worse, echoes of past mistakes that I can’t do a thing about. Now? I do what the Star suggests and look at the Big Picture. Nothing’s perfect in the world, but that doesn’t mean life can’t be filled with wonder and connection. 

I even find medicine in the plot twists and setbacks. 

Take the first week of the spring term. My computer stopped working. Then, the office printer. Then my lamps. AND THEN my car died, thanks to record temperature lows. It would be easy to get frustrated at all these setbacks or wonder about Mercury in Retrograde. Instead, I used them as opportunities. I got to know my campus IT person better and had a chance to chat with my favorite colleagues when I moved to another place to print out my class handouts. I also expressed gratitude for the fact that I always prepare my lesson plans in advance just in case anything like this ever happens. Yay, for past Maria! So, really…there was nothing to stress about, and it's better that these issues got resolved now before the term got busier. Energetically?

It cleared out the last of the stagnant energy from the past few years. 

It was also a real gift that my car wouldn’t start on a day when I could work from home. No pressing meetings or in-person classes made it so that a really stressful situation ended up being a cozy day at home, drinking copious amounts of tea and working in my yoga pants until my car was ready for pickup. Now it drives like a dream, even through the snow we’ve been lucky enough to have these past few weeks. Lunch was a warm bowl of mushroom soup, and each completed task was punctuated by belly rubs (my familiars’, not mine). As for my lamps…well, I think I needed to shine a new light on my life. 

It’s all about perspective and I’ve been shifting mine to find the light in these difficult times. 

This is what FLOW is…leaning into daily life, with all its ups and downs, reading the signs and synchronicities, listening to your energy shifts so that you can cultivate a soul-nourishing life. As I finish writing this, I’m sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops, enjoying the cozy light as I watch snow fall outside. This, too, slows me down, and I’m grateful for the gentle hush that washes over our city and the way the world seems to soften against a backdrop of snow.

So this year, why not make FLOW and JOY your focus and see how your life unfolds. As I often say, the more we open ourselves to the magic all around us, the more we find. Isn’t that wonderful?


Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

Want even more inspiration to make your dream life a reality?  Follow me on Facebook, Pinterest, and  Instagram.  Thanks for following!

Solstice Sun Magic

This post originally appeared in my June 2024 newsletter.

Confession time: I’m one of those witches that will take a day-long celebration and turn it into a week. Birthdays, holidays, Impromptu Excitement such as…Yay! I got my manuscript done! Or, Yay! It’s Tuesday! Tuesdays, after all, can be quite lovely days…the joy of them deserve to be savored. As for Halloween? It’s a SEASON that runs 365 days a year, but you already know that about me.

I’ll let you in on another little secret: Even in the heart of winter, the Summer Solstice is always with me. I’ve been marinating on this fact as I’ve celebrated the longest day of the year, not just on Wednesday but in the days leading up to it, and will do so in the days that follow. 

I extend my celebrations because I think it’s important not to be finite with our joy. I also think that, in light of the pandemic, it’s more necessary than ever to find happiness when and where we can, in each moment of the day. It can be easy to close off and shut down after the seemingly endless trauma of the past few years, but it’s important to remember that life goes on, and while we might not want to blithely return to normal, we do want to find a way forward, a way to harmony and—dare I say it?—exuberance to greet each day as a new adventure. 

I’m reminded of the Sun card in the tarot, which is the epitome of Big Summer Solstice Energy. It comes to us when we need hope, to remember that joy is an incredible healer. Upright or Reversed, it’s always a good card to get. In fact, it’s considered the most positive card in the deck, and for good reason.

It tells you to lighten up!

Relax, it says, know that the hard times are over. It’s also an important reminder that you are magic—this light luscious feeling of the Summer Solstice? It’s always inside you, even when you’re experiencing the darkest part of winter.

So when I find myself fighting waves of winter—the heaviness, disorientation, stagnation that comes with finding my way in the world again—the Sun calls to me and reminds me that there is an eternal fire inside me. 

The Sun does the deeper work, too, of casting light on the shadows—of our minds, of our hearts, of the things in our lives that need to be brought to light so that we can work through them and move forward with lighter hearts. Sometimes, we need a loving gaze to show us that we are strong enough to face what we need to, wise enough to learn from these revelations, and 

I’ve been marinating on the Sun card as I’m relearning the art of joy this summer. 

I’m allowing myself to move at a slower place…which means I might be as productive as I’d planned, but, as I’ve learned from years of teaching and writing, the important stuff always gets done. In the summer, I have the luxury of prioritizing all the things that fall to the wayside come mid-semester, and it’s important to savor that ability, as anyone who lives by the academic calendar can relate to. 

So instead of pushing myself to squeeze in more work or crank out one more project—more heavy winter energy I’m working through as I allow my mind and heart to be more expansive post-pandemic—I throw open the windows and doors to let the fresh air and light in. I light beeswax candles and harvest lemon balm and lemon verbena from my garden, both of which are the ultimate happiness herbs.

On the solstice, I cleaned my home and washed my floors down with vinegar and lemongrass essential oils. I set my bed with lilac-scented sheets and swept the dust from my bookshelves and mind. I chatted with my plants as I watered and pruned them. Then I went to converse with my tarot and see what the Sun had to tell me—the card before it is what I need to leave to the past, the card after, my future.

Today, I puttered in the kitchen and played with herbs, filling a mason jar with wildflowers for my kitchen table and writing desk. I pickled fennel. I steeped lemon balm and tulsi in cold water for a refreshing and soothing beverage. I listened to stories that made me feel bold and magical.

I lingered with my own stories.

I let them whisper their secrets to me so that I may better know myself and live their epiphanies out in my daily life.

Now, I let the honeyed balm of the season coat my skin and my thoughts. I surrender to the long, light-filled days, to the uncertainty, to the soft, yielding yes energy of summer.

And, in all this, I let the sun warm my body, my mind, my heart, a soft, sweet reminder that life can be joyful if we only, like sunflowers, turn our gaze to the sky.

Image of a blue sky with a radiant sun. In the center is The Sun card of the tarot with the Wheel of Fortune and The World cards behind it.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

Want even more inspiration to make your dream life a reality?  Follow me on Facebook, Pinterest, and  Instagram.  Thanks for following!

What To Do When You Feel Small…

Go big. Unfurl and take up all the space you can, like a seed cracking open and spreading ragged roots into the earth and green tendrils to the sky. Be loud like the morning finch — he may be tiny, but he has a voice that can reach the heavens and a golden chest filled with sunlight. 

Don’t be afraid of what your song can do.

And when you are no longer scared of a pair of air-filled lungs and the spell they breath to life, go bigger than that.

Spread your arms wide and hold the Universe close. Find your story in the constellations that map our histories — what was, what is, what will be. Surely, your fate is written somewhere between the Big and Little Dippers. You have to become a giant if you want to reach those pin-pricks of light. They may have the answers you need, so you must risk expansiveness.

But that’s the catch: Sometimes your body has forgotten how to stretch.

What do you do then?

If you don’t know how to go big, go even smaller than you feel, so far inside yourself that you forget the outside world and instead make your home inside a four-chambered heart — don’t leave until you remember what it means to be a living, breathing being. Find yourself in the thump-thump of muscle and wet walls squeezing you tight.

When you feel even smaller than that, talk to the smallest thing you know. I asked a ladybug once how she felt about being no bigger than a sunflower seed. She just opened her polka-dotted wings and took flight. I knew what she was saying. She might be small, but she is red and fierce, and everyone knows who she is when she lands on their fingertips. You’d think she was being snippy, but I knew she was just stating a fact. Not that she cared much, either, if she were mistaken for a button or a bead. Her hard-shelled wings protected her from the inhumanity of indifference.

I talked to an elephant once, too, just to understand what it meant to be big. He didn’t seem to know he was a giant of an animal. By elephant standards, he was medium-sized, and, well, he didn’t spend much time thinking about those things when he could fill his mind with peanuts and hay and stories everyone else forgot. 

Those lost memories were so powerful, he told me, so much larger than him that it didn’t much matter what size he was. I told him he might think he wasn’t much to look at, but he sure had big, beautiful ears, and he blushed at that. I knew he wouldn’t forget me, the same way I knew I’d always remember the time I made an elephant’s cheeks go red. 

In fact, that average elephant with his gloriously large ears got me thinking about all the things I’d overlooked, all the things I’d never taken the time to listen to. So I spent some time with forgotten things and, though my ears are no bigger than tulip heads, I let them take in the whispers and quiet songs of the things we fail to notice as we go about life.

Take the plant called borage. An uncharitable name for a starflower. Does she care? Does it stop her from blooming violet and yellow flowers and making the earth around her sing with life? The bees don’t forget her, even if others can’t name her by sight. The hummingbird can’t get enough of her nectar, and so she makes more and more for him, eager to feel his tongue against her petals. There is beauty in the forgotten. Such freedom in being overlooked. So many things you can say and do when you learn the art of invisibility. Without it, she would have never known the hummingbird’s kiss.

So long as you know how to find yourself, she tells me, that is all that matters. So long as you give your attention to those who deserve it. Where do you think all her nectar comes from? The bees and the hummingbird fill her with pollen and the sky showers her in sunlight. It is their secret dance and it is enough that only they share it.

To everyone else, she is just another plant. To them? Divinity. 

She plucks one of her violet flowers from her green, furry body and presses it against my tongue. I am grateful for her story and suddenly feel full and sweet. I wondered if this is how she feels when the bees settle in her center.

That night, I dreamt I found the constellation with my story written across it. It was like looking into the bottom of a star-speckled well or the inside of an apple. That’s all I can tell you — the rest is between me and the stars. And the violet flower coating the roof of my mouth. 

Secrets, I’m learning, those private, quiet things, can be quite delicious. 

One day, I stopped talking. Stopped asking questions. Stopped wondering how to quit feeling small and even gave up trying to change my size altogether. Instead, I let the silence fill up the space around me. I let the world around me grow large and full and technicolor.

I watched two black cats sprawled across a windowsill, tails lazily flicking back and forth. Noticed how they took up all the space they wanted, just like the silence. They would not consider themselves small. They would not stuff themselves into bad-luck labels, even if they did like stuffing themselves into boxes. They, like all sensible creatures, favor big hearts over small minds. They know you are lucky to bask in their presence. 

And, somehow, they are right.

Now, I no longer think of myself as small. I am not confined by this skin or the pain others might press upon it. I am breath and heartbeat and the red blush of a ladybug’s kiss on my fingertip. I am the conversation with an elephant. The starflower in my mouth. The cats watching me write. I am not small, though I take up little space.

I am all the ways I touched the world just by being myself. 

I am one word after another, spilling from my mouth, my pen, my heart. 

I am the words I cannot speak. 

I am the stories that have made me feel small, and I am the stories I will write to remember that I am big. I am the spaces — they get bigger and longer each time I feed them — when I forget to think about my place in the world and simply listen to the morning finch. 

That bird.

He knows how to give me wings. He knows how to fill my chest with sunlight. I put down my pen and open the window above my writing desk to let his birdsong wash over me.  In the end, this is all that matters:

His brilliant voice.

The big sky above us.

This small moment.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

Want even more inspiration to make your dream life a reality?  Follow me on Facebook, Pinterest, and  Instagram.  Thanks for following!

Winter is for Sacred Simple Pleasures

It’s a cold and cloudy day, a perfectly cozy winter’s day, promising much-needed snow and quiet time. I’m sipping cinnamon and anis-laced coffee this morning, gazing out the window above my writing desk, and relishing the cozy warmth of my home. It’s strewn with twinkle lights and smells of beeswax and more cinnamon. It’s filled with books, herbs, and all the things I love, including my two familiars gazing out the window beside me. It’s a comforting and warm antidote to the brewing storm outside.

Truly, it is the perfect day to indulge in self-care. There’s something about this heavy weather that invites us to slow down and take care of ourselves. Maybe indulge a little.

Honestly? I’ve always said magic is a hard, gritty thing. It takes work. You can’t just light candles, say positive affirmations and then expect the universe to drop miracles into your lap. You’ve got to work for it. Stay grounded but hopeful—and always, always be proactive in cultivating a magical life. Self-care is like that. I mean, you can light candles (again), say positive affirmations (again), and…expect to feel reborn. Sure, light your candles. I love my beeswax candles because they cleanse the air, smell like honey, and are just plain pretty. Affirmations can be powerful spells that help you grow. Candle magic is a thing. You see, magic and self-care have a lot in common—I mean, we think of candles and affirmations for both, right? 

In fact, seasoned witches know that radical self-care is the backbone of magical living.

It means slowing down and feeling hard feelings. It means talking with those you love to find a way forward. It means pinpointing a place in your life where the energy is stagnant and then working through things so the energy can be free-flowing. Sometimes, it means you need to reimagine your life. Things that were once generative and inspiring for a time can become sour and toxic if we hold on too long. Energies change, and it’s time to move on—it’s life’s way of making sure you keep growing. It’s also about being able to acknowledge and celebrate the moments when your life is flourishing and where energy flows. And yes, self-care is also about exercising, eating right, sleeping well… basically treating yourself like a small child who needs a lot of TLC.

But here’s the thing I’ve discovered: that work can be exhausting.

It takes a lot to face hard things, to sit with those feelings, and to map a way forward. It can be hard, too, when you experience joy because sometimes you realize you haven’t allowed yourself to experience enough of it. Who hasn’t been stingy with their joy from time to time? All this to say that sometimes, as we stay steady, conjuring change through our routines as rituals, we need a breather. 

And that’s where the fun—and ever so important—part of self-care comes in. 

I admit it: I like my candles and positive affirmations. I’ve spent the afternoon making cinnamon, orange, and peppermint bath bombs so I can indulge in festive bubble baths and share them with loved ones. I’ve also become obsessed with “fussy” skincare routines of oil cleansing, honey face masks, and painting my nails. I’ve added touches of glitter to, well, everything. These silly things—so often the things we think of when we think of self-care—are just as important as all the other hard stuff you have to do to really take care of yourself. There’s nothing like brewing a pot of mint chocolate tea, curling up on the couch in a pile of blankets (and cats), and going down a Pinterest rabbit hole to learn about the best tips for face care or what the heck latte makeup is (what I normally wear, as it turns out). 

Or there’s the pure gothic delight of listening to ghost stories while knitting by twinkle light, or, yes, watching a cheesy holiday movie for a popcorn and pizza movie night. Sometimes, it’s taking a day to go to the salon and indulge in holiday shopping. Or cozy up by the fireplace and do nothing but daydream and snooze. See what I mean? It’s frivolous and fun…and so absolutely necessary.

Choosing joy is when we let the magic in.

It’s when we allow all we’ve worked for and conjured to settle and take root and manifest in the way that is healthiest for us. It’s the fallow time when we reset and rest and let nature do its work. We can’t always be go-go-going. In fact, it’s a good way to clog up your energy and inadvertently sabotage your conjurings! All good magic is a hard, gritty thing, true. But it’s also a soft thing, a thing that needs energetic flow and divine receptivity to balance out the dirty business of cleaning up our lives.

The holidays are the perfect time to slow down and indulge in sacred simple pleasures; the sillier and more joyful, the better. All the better, in fact, to conjure magical living this year and in the next…

Image of a book, candle, and cup of tea, with winter foliage and blanket with the text, "Choosing JOY is when we let the magic in..."

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

Want even more inspiration to make your dream life a reality?  Follow me on Facebook, Pinterest, and  Instagram.  Thanks for following!

The Witch Who Lives Down the Hall...

One of my favorite books as a child was a now-out-of-print story called The Witch Who Lives Down the Hall (1985), which you can listen to and view here. In this book, a young boy is convinced that the woman who lives down the hall from him in his new apartment complex is a witch. Why does he think this? Well, she casts spells on a magic carpet (does yoga), whips up potions (makes soup), hosts coven meetings (reading and music clubs), has a black cat, and is basically loads of fun.

The thing is, the child is not wrong. His neighbor IS a witch, only not in the way we would think.

She is the embodiment of everyday magic. Everything she does is infused with mindfulness, joy, and a touch of enchantment, as seen through the eyes of a child who can find wonder and whimsy in all things. She might not make literal potions, but isn’t a bowl of soup the perfect healing spell when we need it? So she doesn’t have a flying carpet, but her yoga practice invites an elevated perspective. Then she has her black cat and we all know black cats are pure magic!

I was reminded of this story a few years back when two little girls moved into the apartment down the hall from me. I saw them watching me from the courtyard. They took in my black cat sitting on the windowsill. Caught glimpses of me on my magic carpet (I mean my yoga mat), and stole peeks through my window at the large collection of books that just had to be filled with spells. Most importantly, they were enamored with my patio garden that overflowed with herbs, flowers, and other wild, growing things.

Obviously, mine was a witch’s garden with ingredients for spellwork.

I caught them once, picking petals from roses I’d put out to dry and taking a pinch of this or that herb. They took their stash to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and used it to make potions. They danced around the fountain and chanted. They poured water into cups and mixed flower petals and herbs into them, making up wild songs as they did so.

One day, the younger sister returned to collect more rose petals just as I came out to water my plants. The older sister, well, she did the big sister thing and ran straight up to my patio, worried they were in trouble for stealing my rose petals and herbs.

In trouble with A WITCH, no less!

They’d read enough stories, it seemed, to know they shouldn’t upset a witch even if they couldn’t resist stealing from her garden. Or maybe they just didn’t want to get in trouble with their parents for disturbing a neighbor. Who knows?

“We’re sorry for taking your stuff. It’s just we needed it,” the older sister quickly explained while pulling her sibling away from the patio. “We’re making spells.”

“What sort of spells?” I asked, and they knew they didn’t have to fear me.

Readers, they had A LOT of spells, and it was wonderful to talk with them about the stories and worlds and potions they were making. I also showed them what they could freely take from my garden. All the dried rose petals they wanted. Honestly, those dried roses were so pretty I didn’t want to throw them out, but I also couldn’t possibly keep them all. I showed them how to pluck green tendrils from my herb plants and explained why they shouldn’t pull the heads off fresh flowers. This ensured they had fun, but my garden didn’t suffer from their enthusiasm.

Hey, I’m a practical witch.

One afternoon, I found them chanting in front of my patio garden, with a stick in hand—a wand, no doubt—and splashing water from the fountain across my plants. My familiar was most curious, watching them through the window as they went about their witchy business.

I peeked out to see what the fuss was about.

“It’s a growing spell!” The eldest explained.

They noticed, they said, that some of my plants were looking a little ragged. Their spell was going to bring them back to life. Every day after school, they ran through the courtyard to check on their spell’s progress. I told them that sometimes spells take time. We’d chat, and they’d ask me questions about all sorts of things. About my cat. About my yoga mat. About the soup cooking on the stove—they smelled it in the hall on their way to their apartment. I could see, through their eyes, that I was much like the strange woman in the children’s book, with all sorts of mysterious things in my home filled with little enchantments.

About a week after they cast their spell over my patio garden, the tired plants started coming back to life. Did their spell work? Or did those cold-weather plants just get their second wind once the heat of the summer waned and cooler temperatures coaxed them back to life? Personally, I think it was their spell. They were certainly proud of their casting abilities, and I was happy to see my plants doing so well. And, eventually, when those girls moved away, I would think of them every time I gathered dried rose petals.

I will always remember the time I got to be the witch who lived down the hall.

It brought me back to when I was their age, reading that strange little book that taught me true magic is the everyday. It’s those small enchantments—intentional living, synchronous meetings, daily rituals—that make life magical.

It reminded me, too, not to take for granted the ordinary magic I’d conjured for myself. We can get used to things, the daily workings of our lives, so much so that we can forget what it takes to craft a meaningful life and how the simplest magic is often the most extraordinary. Magic isn’t in flying carpets and cauldrons. It’s in yoga mats and cast iron pots (although, who is to say which is which?). It isn’t in grimoires or crystal balls but in cookbooks and how the light dances off water in a fountain.

We forget, as we age, that magic is all around us. That we are magic. It’s inside us and all around us, no complicated rituals necessary. And sometimes, life gives us a gift—two little girls who remind you that you are, in fact, much more magical than you feel at the moment, or a woman who lives down the hall from you who must certainly be a witch—to show us that the enchantment we’re looking for is right under our nose.

And, truly, isn’t that what witchy business is all about? Everyday conjurings for a magical life.

As I gather pumpkins and hang autumn twinkle lights with my familiars—I have two now—in preparation for Halloween, I think about the joys of being the witch who lives down the hall. I think about the new stories yet to unfold, the ones that have nourished me over the years and the ones I will one day write, and, most importantly, which ones will jump from the page and into my life as this children’s story did. After all, stories are the deepest form of magic, and there is a quiet conjuring that happens when we find the medicine we need in the pages of a good book.

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Threads. Here’s to a magical life!

The Magic of Being an Amateur

In Everyday Enchantments, I have a tribute to the joys of being an amateur and another on what it takes to truly become an expert at something. These bite-sized musings came from a lifetime of experiences that reinforced the idea that everything we do must be done To Perfection and the moments in my life that were truly awe-inspiring because I wasn’t aiming for perfect, just relishing the sheer pleasure of doing something that feels good.

As a child, I couldn’t just do ballet because I liked wearing a tutu and twirling. No, at a certain point, my teacher made it clear that I needed to Get Serious and commit to the point shoes and all the aches and pains that come with more professional dance. What a way to ruin the joy of dance for a little girl that just wants to twirl! (Thankfully, my parents were advocates of being happy amateurs in the things that brought us joy; otherwise, I’d be a wreck. But they gave me permission to immerse myself in the arts and other interests without the pressure to turn it into a profession or side hustle.)

Those issues came up later when I dove into Latin dance. I took classes simply because some of my favorite college and grad school memories were staying out late dancing with friends. Even though I knew very little about the specific dance steps, we still managed to have a good time. I decided to treat myself to dance lessons once I got full-time work, an investment meant to carve time for myself outside of my life as an educator. I was allowed to learn other things simply for the sake of learning and enjoyment.

And enjoy myself I did, as I learned that Latin dance was not just salsa or merengue but bachata, cumbia, and a variety of other equally sensuous and celebratory dances. But at some point, the pressure started: if you *really* want to learn dance, if you *really* want to be good, you need to go to class every night, dance at every social you can go to, and *really* immerse yourself in the culture. Sure, okay. Some of that is true and works well as you’re learning new skills and wanting to get comfortable on the dance floor. But the truth was that this rigidity, the idea that I must eat, breathe, and live dance, made me more self-conscious, more afraid of making mistakes, and less able to enjoy myself on the dance floor. It took me time to realize I loved to dance for the sake of moving my hips and getting my wiggles out, much like the tutu-wearing girl I once was. and there’s nothing wrong with that! In fact, there were many other casual dancers like me—people who enjoyed a turn about the dance floor without getting too caught up in the dance culture surrounding it.

And let’s be real, I like doing other things. I love finding a new recipes in the New York Times cooking section to try over the weekend. I like getting lost perusing seed catalogs and learning the best ways to start your seedlings in February. I like knitting while binge-watching shows—haphazardly making blankets that are too big with stitches that are too uneven to be considered beautiful by anyone but me or someone lucky enough to cuddle under those messily-crafted blankets with me.

I like a rousing game of bocce without using regulation-grade balls imported from Italy. I’m sure someone out there understands why they are important to a good game, but I’m not one of them. I’ve gotten back into sketching and watercolors. That’s right, I’m a hardcore doodler and love my how-to-paint kits. A professional artist, I will never be. I also love learning Spanish, listening to podcasts, watching shows, and reading literature in the language—but I doubt I’ll ever comfortably speak it. When I try to study too hard, my tongue gets tied, and the words stop flowing, as Spanish is inextricably linked to my complicated feelings about my racial and cultural background. But if I bask in my appreciation of this heritage language? Then I learn, then I enjoy, then I keep at it.

I like, in other words, taking up new pastimes and learning new ways of looking at the world. My latest hobby is joyfully ignoring the well-meaning but high-pressure people who tell me I just need to practice more at [fill in the blank] and eventually, I’ll be The Best or, at least, Very Good. How about I just enjoy what I‘m doing?

I’m also always working through graduate school traumas issues rooted in perfectionism (heaven forbid you say, do, or write anything that isn’t automatically flawless!). I like being a novice. An amateur. The person who isn’t afraid to look like a fool, make a mistake or try something new. I like that I can dance freely now, without the pressure to perfect every step, or grow some of the tastiest tomatoes without being a master gardener, or even pluck at my violin strings without fear of sounding less-than-symphony ready. 

In fact, I’ve developed a profound love for doing things I’m not good at over the years. There’s magic in being like The Fool in the tarot, always open, always ready for new experiences and possibilities, focused not on a specific outcome but on the act of exploration.

This is the energy I bring to the new year: the soft, receptive magic of doing things I love loudly, happily, and with no intention of mastering any of them. What will you playfully practice this year? What delights will you devote yourself to?

Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

The Bruja's Guide to Everyday Magic

With the publication of Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living, many readers have asked me what I mean when I say I write about and practice ‘everyday magic.’ In fact, a number of people have picked up my new book expecting complex spells and occult practices, only to be disappointed by pages filled with anecdotal stories and tips about energy, intention, and conjuring so subtle it’s part of our daily lives. The irony, of course, is that these simple acts of energetic awareness—what some people call mindfulness or intentional living—are actual magical practices! These daily conjurings might lack some of the sparkle and flash of more elaborate mystic practices, but they are some of the most powerful forms of spell casting and an important foundation for any kind of magical practice.

I’m all about keeping it simple. Our thoughts are spells. Our energy tells us everything we need to know about a specific situation or person, as does their vibe. Our daily habits shape the kind of life we want to live—so we need to be intentional about it. We can also sometimes get a little carried away with the theater of the occult world, so much so that the real magic gets lost under the hocus-pocus. I think of it as burning incense to cleanse your home when the space is dirty and what you really should be doing is giving it a good scrub down. Light those incense, sure, but don’t ignore the important task of tending your sanctuary. It’s not just dust and crumbs on the floor, but stagnant energy that needs to be cleared out through the literal act of cleaning. That’s the thing with magic: the best kind is simple, but also hard work.

Hard work—but worth it. So if you’re just beginning your journey into the mystic world or are a long-time pagan or witchy soul wanting to get a refresher on foundational practices, check out my Bruja’s Guide to Everday Magic below.

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Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

Keep It Simple

When I started Enchantment Learning & Living what feels like a lifetime ago, I did so with the intention of exploring a central truth: true magic is in the everyday. That’s the tagline of much of my creative work and the backbone of my own brujeria practice.

Spiritual Gatekeeping

I wanted to get away from the idea of complex spell-work and esoteric occultism that often felt like gatekeeping to what should be an organic fluid practice. Like the church insisting they are the conduit through which God, or the numinous, speaks, these more complicated approaches to the craft can imply that people can only connect to that mystic energy within themselves and without if they perform intricate rituals. We must have an Instagram-worthy altar, a collection of large, expensive crystals, and an herbal apothecary filled with hard-to-find often dangerous herbs.

Don’t get me wrong. We all have our ways of conjuring, our rituals, and spells, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You can even enjoy that Instagram-worthy set-up! The trouble occurs when we get so lost in the performance of our witchiness, yield to consumerism that tells us we can’t be magical unless we have that ultra-expensive [fill in the blank magical tool]. It’s easy to get lost in the ritual and theater of the occult, so much so that we can forget the purpose behind our spiritual practice: to reconnect to self, the universe, to others in a meaningful and life-affirming way.

This is also a way to keep people out of elitist witch circles—if you can commodify spirituality, you can choose who can and can’t have access to these energies via simple economics and cultural appropriation, which is a byproduct of this commodification. More simply, it sells the idea that you are not enough on your own to manifest what you need to, which is simply untrue.

Spiritual Bypassing & Performative Conjuring

We also run the risk of spiritual bypassing when our practice is so focused on the pomp and circumstance of witchy business. We fall into the trap of “love and light” and good feelings only, suppressing the bad so we don’t have to do the hard shadow work to truly heal. We can, in essence, get so lost in the spectacle of the occult that we successfully avoid whatever it is we need to deal with.

And it’s not just witches that do this. I’ve seen this in the yoga community, where people misuse a powerful practice to numb, rather than heal. Buearocracies roll out their anti-racism agendas that amount to nothing more than a publicity stunt—it’s easy to feel like they’re doing the hard work when a shiny new poster says they are. Actual social justice is much harder and takes more work, hence it’s easy to fall back on feel-good performativity than it is to wade into the waters of genuine activism.

The real work—spiritual, social justice, relational—happens when we show up and aren’t afraid to get messy, uncomfortable, and grounded. And, yes, sometimes those spells, rituals, and social media posts help with that—as long as people don’t stop there. That’s why one of my witchy principles is that magic is a hard, gritty thing. You have to show up and do the work every day. It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t always feel good, but if you keep at it…good stuff starts happening.

Keep It Simple

So…what do we do, knowing all of this? Easy. We keep it simple. My upcoming book, Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living, takes a practical approach to magical living. You don’t any money to perform these proverbial spells and rituals. You don’t need fancy tools or a scholarly background in the occult. You don’t even need a lot of time. All you need is a desire to conjure more magic in your life.

Put even more simply, this book and my personal practice are all about knowing that there is magic in the mundane. As the book blurb says, “It’s a less mumbling 'double double toil and trouble' over a cauldron and trouble and a more cooking a delicious soup in a beloved cast iron pot. It’s simple. It’s mundane. It’s magic!”

You won’t find love spells or hexes in this book, but you will find simple practices rooted in self-care and energetic awareness designed to help you live a more magical life. Perhaps this is what makes this book “an alternative guide” because it side-steps the hocus pocus people expect from witchy books and gets real about the hard work it takes to conjure a more magical life.

It’s a simple concept but difficult to put into practice. I’ve been marinating on this concept more recently as reviews of my latest book are rolling in. It’s a striking contrast as the reviews can be broken into two camps: the people who are upset that they didn’t get a grimoire filled with complicated spellwork and the people who utterly and completely appreciate a more practical—alternative—guide to magical living rooted in basic energetic and mystic principles with examples and tips for how those practices play out in real life.

The magic is in the repetition, the overlap between cultivating radical self-care and developing a pleasure magic practice. These things work together to form a powerful, magical whole. And yeah, on the surface that might seem boring to practitioners who want more sparkle and flair to their witchy practice, but—and I say this with a profound love of glitter and shiny things—sometimes all that sparkle is distracting you from the very real work of sweeping up a dirty floor and thinking twice about welcoming in people who always track in mud, literally and figuratively.

Oh, and that soup in your beloved cast-iron pot? That’s a comfort spell. Pointing out, as I often do in this book, that it’s harder for women of color to acknowledge that they are allowed to do less and enjoy themselves? That’s a protection spell and boundary-setting spell. It might seem like overkill to those who haven’t had to constantly assert their right to wellness and a balanced life. But to us? The repetition is part of the conjuring and an invitation to fellow people with marginalized identities to claim our right to joy, pleasure, and the magic of everyday life. No complicated spells required.

So as you go about your daily life this week, pay attention to the energy you bring to your work, your play, your relationships. Treat every action as a conjuring, every cup of tea as a potion, every word that slips from your lips as a spell. Then see where the magic takes you.

And remember, as I always say, true magic is in the everyday.

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Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe to my newsletter below for regular doses of enchantment. Want even more inspiration? Follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Here’s to a magical life!

On Twinkle Lights

I sometimes forget the light. When it is cold and dark and I am tired of being brave. I sometimes dwell on all the ugly tangles and hidden sneaky things when the moon is out—so bold and beautiful in her naked glory. Why must I see only the shadows she casts, rather than relish her bright light that sends hungry shades fleeing?

I sometimes forget that the darkest of winter isn’t the darkness of the soul. It’s my time to tend my roots and veins, my unfurled spine and dreams tucked between my ribcage—all the things that don’t need sun to grow, just my attention. So I make space. I spread out long and wide across my mat and relearn a body with so many stories packed inside it. What a relief to let them breathe and expand! I get big and bold in my daydreams, too, crossing continents and universes when I must stay put inside my apartment. Then I let my stories get louder, sweeping away the clouds with their piercing joy. We are allowed to know the ripe sweet burst of pleasure even when we’ve forgotten what it tastes like.

I sometimes forget to be the light. When it is so much easier to go dim and stop stoking the fires of my heart. But then I see tiny dots of hope in the darkest corners of a very dark year, reminders that when the earth seems dead, it is merely sleeping, gathering energy to bloom again in the spring. And there is always a spring.

Those little twinkle lights—so small and fragile—hardly anything at all. But enough to pierce the heavy cloak of midnight. Enough to poke holes in heavy thoughts and watch them sink to the bottom of my consciousness. Enough of them to light up a whole room—even just the one that refuses to be swallowed up in despair. Now that’s a worthy achievement.

They remind me that I can be a tiny spark of hope and not the wild bonfire I’m always expecting myself to be. I don’t have to keep feeding the dry-wooden fears that too-easily ignite and burn out of control.

I once forgot to make my home in the dark so that I may see the light. Now? I watch the setting sun. I feel the cold and silence creep in with the dusk. And I smile.

Time for twinkle lights and conjuring best done in in the velvet embrace of night.

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Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday fantasy, and absolutely delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you.  If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is the everyday, subscribe here.

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