The best trick of all

Discovering your hidden self.

And now, for my final trick ... (Photo courtesy Getty Images)

When I read the text, I literally gasped.

Tickets purchased! The show is at 10 so we will have plenty of time to recover from the beach and get cleaned up, rested, cocktailed, etc.

Ten, as in 10 p.m.? These days, I go to plenty of events that start at 10 a.m. — birthday parties, puppet shows, open houses — all centered around my child. I do not, however, go to events that begin at 10 at night. More often than not, I’m asleep by then.

I couldn’t help myself:

I’m sorry is that a typo

You greatly overestimate how late I stay up

Julian replied quickly:

Welcome to vacation babe!

The tickets were for a show at the Chicago Magic Lounge. The vacation was in, you guessed it: Chicago. Julian is one of my beloved college roommates and my late husband’s best friend. I was headed there with Becca, another beloved roommate (and the editor of this newsletter), to belatedly celebrate Julian’s 40th birthday.

One of the ways we were celebrating, apparently, was by staying out super late.

I wish I could tell you that I took the news in stride — that I laughed, remembered how lucky I was to take this trip, and let the worry go. Instead, I stressed. For the week between Julian’s text and our flight, I fretted about how the lack of sleep would affect me.

In 2020, after my daughter was born, I didn’t just experience the usual exhaustion of new parenthood — I couldn’t sleep at all. Severe insomnia spiraled into hallucinations, fueled by postpartum hormones and lingering trauma from a frightening birth. Three weeks after becoming a mother, I was back in the hospital; this time, in the psychiatric ward, separated from my newborn for three long days.

That experience changed me, and I never want to repeat it. So much so that I chose to not try for another pregnancy. Since then, I’ve treated sleep with near-fanatical devotion: exercise during the day, no screens before bed, a book always at the ready, sleep mask, nose strip, fan on, lights out at roughly the same time each night. It pays off: I usually wake up rested and recharged. I am a good sleeper.

We all have stories we tell ourselves. Sometimes, as Joan Didion wrote, we tell them in order to live. But the opposite can be true, too. Sometimes we tell stories that keep us from living. We say we’re too shy, too old, too awkward. We insist that we can’t, won’t, shouldn’t.

At least I do. And our trip to Chicago pushed hard against that story.

The magic show was amazing. We arrived a little after 9 p.m., which gave us time to enjoy a pre-show cocktail and some impressive behind-the-bar magic. Then, we were ushered into the main theater — through a hidden door, of course — and treated to close-up tricks right at our table: chosen cards reappearing, dollar bills vanishing. The art-deco space glowed, every detail carefully considered, the air buzzing with anticipation. Everyone seemed happy to be there.

By the time the main performance began, it was 11 p.m. — Central Time, which meant midnight back in Atlanta. And you know what? I didn’t care. I was mesmerized. I laughed, I gasped, I delighted in seeing the wonder on my friends’ faces. On the way back, we traded theories about how in the world the magicians pulled it off.

I didn’t get to bed until well past 1 a.m. And I slept wonderfully.

Our trip to Chicago was brief — shorter even than my stint in the psychiatric ward. The last time I’d visited Julian was in February 2020, just weeks after learning I was pregnant, not long before my last trip with Becca, less than a month before the world shut down.

I’ve changed considerably since then. We all have.

But the trip reminded me of the parts of myself that have always been there — the person I am away from the responsibilities of home, the demands of work, the needs of my family, the fears of an uncertain world. I slipped back into the easy rhythm of friendship, the kind of bond only time can forge. We reminisced about the past and daydreamed about the future, while somehow managing to stay fully present. Julian, Becca, and I moved effortlessly from heavy conversations to light, silly jokes, pausing more than once to note how happy we were to be together.

For me — someone who can cling to routine and define herself by familiar rhythms — the weekend felt nothing short of magic.

I am so glad we made this happen.

Whenever I spend too much time online, too much time typing away at my laptop or scrolling mindlessly on my phone, I start to feel disconnected from the world around me. I read articles and comments as if they hold the key to what I’m missing, rather than experiencing reality for myself. Working from home, raising a little one, and — yes — favoring an early bedtime, I can forget to do that oft-repeated refrain: get outside and touch grass.

Here’s another story I sometimes tell myself — or, maybe the internet tells me: that the world is nothing but bad actors and inhospitable circumstances. That the best we can do is control what we can, buy what we need, stay in our bubbles, and scavenge for scraps of happiness and comfort in a world set on breaking us down.

That story? It makes it impossible to live.

We arrived in Chicago on a Friday afternoon and left midday Sunday. After navigating the maze of O’Hare, then taking the train to the bus, we dropped off our bags and wandered to a neighborhood pub called O’Donovan’s, a place we picked at random for its proximity and spacious patio. The weather was gorgeous, the décor eclectic, and the women’s bathroom revealed a secret garden, with flowers spilling from the ceiling across walls and mirrors.

It was the perfect place to begin. That evening, we caught a jazz performance at The Green Mill and ended with a truly rancid but iconic drink combination known as the Chicago Handshake. The next day, we swam in the lake, lounged with books, laughed over silly videos, and got ready for our night of magic. On Sunday, we grabbed a final breakfast before heading home.

On the bus ride to the train station, Becca and I sat across the aisle from each other, trying not to take up too much room with our suitcases. We were both immersed in our thoughts and our phones, revisiting memories and photos from the weekend. I remembered the Magic Lounge emcee sharing the history of magic in Chicago, starting with close-up tricks at a bar named Schulien’s. Curious, I googled it.

As the bus rumbled along, I learned that the iconic bar had closed in 1999, after more than 110 years in business. Today, the location operates under another name: O’Donovan’s. The same bar where we’d started our trip.

I gasped, again.

oh. my. god. I texted our group. I am about to share some truly mind-blowing information.

Julian responded with the eyes emoji. Becca, chuckling from her seat, wrote: I’m sitting across from Katie on the bus and have no idea

I typed quickly: The bar where we had our first round of drinks? O’Donovan’s?

Yes, Julian shot back.

IT USED TO BE SCHULIEN’S

Becca shrieked, Julian replied WHAT, then WOW, then: this newsletter is gonna be 60,000 words long.

Becca summed it up perfectly: This weekend brought to you by MAGIC.

Whenever I write a newsletter, I make a point to link to my sources. Strangely, the link that I shared on that text thread — the one recounting Schulien’s storied history — is no longer appearing. It vanished, like an illusionist’s sleight of hand. (Here’s a better link, if you’re curious.)

I swear it existed. lol at “you visit often.”

Like any good trip with friends, our weekend was packed with inside jokes and references. There were too many coincidences and funny moments to count. If I tried, I’d be pushing 60,000 words and no doubt losing a few thousand readers.

Part of me wondered if the weekend was, indeed, magic — not at all like real life. Or maybe that’s just what it feels like to truly be present in the world. To be relaxed and open enough to notice the small moments that make life seem like it’s full of nothing but good people, all of us trying to make the best of what we have.

Still, if the weekend wasn’t magic, it was at least very lucky: we were blessed with good weather, good health, good moods. I even returned to work on Monday feeling renewed and focused.

But the greatest trick was discovering my hidden self. The easygoing friend who can stay out late. The person who is more than a mother, a worker, a productive body. The woman with more than one story to tell. For a long time, I feared I’d always be defined by loss, only a grieving widow. Now, it’s a different tale.

I am a good sleeper and an even better friend. I am a devoted partner and mother, and someone who greatly benefits from a weekend away. I am flexible. I value routine and surprise myself when I break it. I’ve lived through hard times and learned to find the light. I can, I will, I should.

Just by the fact of being human — of living such a rich, interesting, emotion-filled life — I am magic. We all are.

What story are you telling yourself? What would it look like to tell a different one?

xoxo
KHG

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✨ Speaking of magic

My friend Meredith created a beautiful printable zine inspired by my essay about our doomed chinaberry tree — and, more deeply, about the state of the U.S. Seeing words I wrote paired with her beautiful floral art is so cool. Having a physical representation of an essay I’d written is even better!

And even better than that? Meredith made the zine free for all My Sweet Dumb Brain readers. Just use the code MYSWEETDUMBBRAIN to get your free copy. Thank you, Meredith!

Sometimes, writing online feels like tossing thoughts out into the void — and for me, reading can sometimes feel equally fleeting. If you, too, are looking for a tangible way to hold onto words, this is the zine for you.