The Gift of Everyday Magic

The world can feel so heavy sometimes. There are days when it’s hard to find a corner untouched by suffering or strife, and yet, in the midst of it all, there are moments—small, fleeting moments—that remind us of what is still beautiful and good. These moments aren’t loud or showy; they’re quiet and often ordinary, but they hold incredible power.

In our family, one of these moments comes from the tooth fairy. When my oldest lost her first tooth, she woke up to find a coin tucked beneath her pillow. Over the years, the magic grew. When she swallowed a tooth at five, we explained that the tooth fairy would still know. When the tooth fairy was late, we said, “She can’t fly in snowstorms.” Now, with my second losing his first tooth, the story has taken on a life of its own.

My oldest and my second have created their own mythology around their “individual tooth fairies” and how these magical figures seem to know exactly what each kid likes. They debate the details, trade theories, and even discuss “evidence” provided by a friend who claims to have a photo of a tooth fairy. It’s not about the fairy itself; it’s about the connection these stories create—the wonder, the joy, and the shared moments of imagination that bring us together.

Magic can appear when we least expect it.

Just this week, during recess duty with third grade, I found myself standing in awe of a red balloon. Towards the end of the period, it floated up into the sky, and the teachers and I stopped to watch as it rose higher and higher, marveling at how it continued climbing into the atmosphere without popping.

The students noticed us looking and began gathering around, tilting their heads back and pointing to the tiny red speck. When some of us could no longer see it, the children eagerly helped, saying, “There it is!” Their excitement was contagious. For a few minutes, we were all united by that balloon—students and teachers alike—sharing in the simple wonder of its journey upward. Like the tooth fairy’s magic, the red balloon taught me that even the smallest moments can unite us in awe. They invite us to pause, look up, and find wonder together.

This magic isn’t limited to childhood rituals or unexpected events; it's also found in how we choose to move through the world. In a time when so much feels fractured, the small acts of kindness, respect, and gratitude we practice each day become their own kind of magic.

Kindness is the courage to pause, to really see someone else’s experience, and to respond with care. It’s about going beyond our individual circles—extending kindness to those we may not know well, or those who might feel different from us. Sometimes, kindness means surprising someone with a gesture that makes them feel seen, loved, and appreciated. Other times, it means holding space for someone as their whole self, even when parts of that self feel challenging to us.

As a parent and educator, I try to carry this perspective into my work with children. When a student tests my patience or a moment feels particularly frustrating, I remind myself that everyone is here on a journey to figure themselves out. Some days that journey is messy. Adults have the privilege and responsibility to guide children gently, modeling the very kindness we hope they will carry forward into the world.

This doesn’t mean excusing every behavior or forgoing boundaries; it means seeing each child as a whole person, capable of growth and worthy of respect. It means approaching them with curiosity instead of judgment, understanding instead of frustration. The small, thoughtful actions we take—whether it’s offering a smile, a listening ear, or a moment of grace—can have an enormous impact on how children see themselves and their place in the world.

Our spiritual traditions remind us that small moments are often where the greatest meaning resides. The stories of the Torah—Noah building the ark, Miriam dancing by the sea, Moses standing before the burning bush—teach us that miracles don’t always look like lightning and thunder. Sometimes, they look like resilience, joy, and courage in the face of uncertainty. These stories inspire us to find awe in the everyday and to live with intention, even when the path feels unclear.

When we teach these stories to our children, we’re inviting them to see the world as a place filled with possibility. Allowing them to believe in other kinds of magic—the tooth fairies, the daydreams, the whispered hopes—gives them space to embrace joy and creativity. It helps them build a foundation of wonder that will carry them through life.

The beauty of magic is that it doesn’t require perfection. It lives in the pauses: a shared laugh at the dinner table, a spontaneous hug, or the quiet understanding between siblings debating their own version of a fairy tale. Whether it’s a red balloon defying gravity or a tooth fairy’s late-night visit, these moments remind us to slow down, to honor the relationships that sustain us, and to reflect on the opportunities we have to bring goodness into the world.

This season of gratitude, I am reminded that magic doesn’t have to be grand or extraordinary to matter. It’s in the ways we show up for each other. It’s in the care we give to our relationships and the values we pass down to our children. It’s in the kindness, respect, and gratitude we practice—not in spite of life’s challenges, but because of them.

May we all find these small moments of magic and cherish them, for they are what make life truly meaningful. May we have the courage to protect that magic—for ourselves, and for the ones we love.

What unseen moments of magic in your life might be waiting for you to notice them?