There are few things in this life that can’t seem to be explained by scientific methodology. We know why it rains, we know why we have seasons, and we know why and how element A reacts with element B to form molecule C. But what about those phenomenon that don’t necessarily have a rational explanation? (And no, I’m not talking about why anyone would want to re-make the already perfect nostalgia vehicle/classic “Top Gun.”) I’m talking about the incurable sickness that suddenly abates and disappears, or the dead automobile that starts despite obvious mechanical deficiency. I’m talking about magic/belief/faith.
There are two types of people: dreamers and realists. Realists see the world in terms of abc and 123 whereas dreamers see the world as the possibilities between the letters and numbers that coincide with experiences in life. Realists rely on what is, dreamers cling to what could be. Neither is better than the other, all things equal.
During this time of year, the dreamer in all of us seems to awake from the hibernation that overtakes us when the mercury rises as opposed to the slumber that results from temperatures plummeting and days shortening. There’s something in the air at this point in the calendar; there is belief that there is a jolly old elf that hears our wishes and grants them according to our behavior. Even as an adult who knows better, the thought that Santa could exist, if only in my mind, is a comfort to me. And now that I have children, this belief has only magnified. There’s something magical and satisfying as nothing else is than looking through a child’s eyes during the holiday season. The Christmas cartoons, the songs, the anticipation of snow (not so much in SE Texas, but it DOES happen every once in a while!), the gathering of family— it all harkens back to a more innocent time, when there was a guy who slid down the chimney on Christmas Eve; when there were reindeer who defied the laws of physics and nature; when the best place to be was in front of the fire, surrounded by loved ones sipping hot chocolate and laughing at stories of the past and waxing poetic about times to come.
As an adult, my responsibilities and my job dictate that I don’t spend too much time in dreamland. Meetings to attend, deals to seal, and hands to shake— no time to spend lost in thought for an extended period of time. But there are times when an event will occur that seems to fly below the logic radar, hovering between that line that separates something you would mention to anyone and something that mentioning to the wrong people might get you a stay in the Straight Jacket Hotel. There’s something inside me that wants to believe that there are things that happen because of magic or divine intervention. There’s something comforting in the knowledge that, perhaps, mankind CAN’T explain everything with a math formula and a test tube.
Maybe we have it figured out when we are kids. Maybe the world really IS a magical place with infinite possibilities and spirits that watch us and guide us along. Maybe there really IS a guy that lives in the North Pole and has a stable of reindeer that pull a sleigh through the air. Maybe it’s the adults, with their need for order and logic, that have it all wrong.