Today I Choose to be Enchanted – How to be Enchanted

I’ll never forget my first Broadway play—Les Misérables.

I went in with zero expectations. At 30, I’d never been to a live theatrical performance. Movies? Sure. Concerts? A few. But Broadway? That was for other people. Cultured people. People who understood art.

I was there for a work conference in New York. A colleague had an extra ticket. I almost said no—long day, tired feet, would rather order room service and watch TV.

Thank God I said yes.

The Moment Enchantment Arrived

The lights dimmed. The music began. And within thirty seconds, I was gone.

Not just watching—absorbed. The opening notes rolled through me like thunder. When the prisoners began singing “Look Down,” something cracked open in my chest. By “I Dreamed a Dream,” I was openly weeping. Not subtle tears—full body-shaking sobs.

I wasn’t just watching a play. I was inside it. Every emotion crashed over me in waves. The suffering, the hope, the love, the loss—I felt it all in my bones.

The businessman next to me handed me tissues without looking away from the stage. He was crying too.

Lost in the Magic

For three hours, I forgot everything:

• Forgot I was in New York for work
• Forgot my feet hurt from walking all day
• Forgot to be self-conscious about crying
• Forgot to check my phone
• Forgot there was a world outside that theater

I was completely, utterly enchanted. Swept away by raw emotion, immersed in something magical.

When Valjean sang his final song and carried Fantine to heaven, I couldn’t breathe. The beauty of it, the power of forgiveness and love triumphing—it destroyed and rebuilt me simultaneously.

The Aftermath of Enchantment

When the lights came up, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The colleague who brought me patted my shoulder. “First time?” she asked gently.

I nodded, mascara probably everywhere.

“It hits everyone like that,” she said. “That’s the magic of live theater.”

But it was more than that. It was discovering, at 45, that I could still be completely enchanted. That something could sweep me so far outside myself that I forgot who I was.

Chasing Enchantment

Since that night, I’ve been chased enchantment:

Phantom of the Opera: When the chandelier rose, I gasped so loud people turned
Hamilton: Left the theater speaking in rap (Curtis was concerned)
Wicked: Defying Gravity made me believe I could fly
Dear Evan Hansen: Ugly cried through the entire second act

Each time, the same complete absorption. The same magical transport. The same enchantment.

Enchantment Beyond Broadway

But enchantment doesn’t require Broadway tickets. I’ve found it in:

Books that consume me: Reading until 4 AM because I can’t stop
Sunrise over the ocean: That moment when the world turns gold
My granddaughters laughter: Pure joy that enchants everyone in earshot
Dutch pour paintings: When the colors swirl into unexpected beauty
Thunderstorms: Nature’s theater, free admission

The Anatomy of Enchantment

That’s enchantment: being so captivated you lose yourself completely. It reminds us that magic is less about illusion and more about moments that take us beyond ourselves.

Enchantment requires:

• Openness to being swept away
• Willingness to feel deeply
• Permission to forget yourself
• Courage to be moved
• Space for wonder

Why We Stop Being Enchanted

Somewhere along the way, we decide enchantment is for children. We become too sophisticated, too busy, too cynical. We armor ourselves against wonder because wonder makes us vulnerable.

Before Les Mis, I thought I was past the age of enchantment. Too practical. Too mature. Too… something.

That night taught me: you’re never too old to be enchanted. You just have to let down your guard.

Creating Space for Enchantment

At 61, I actively seek enchantment:

• I say yes to experiences outside my comfort zone
• I go to movies alone so I can cry freely
• I read books that might wreck me
• I watch sunrises even when I’m tired
• I let myself be surprised by beauty

The Les Mis Effect

That first Broadway play changed me. Not just because it introduced me to theater, but because it reminded me that I could still be enchanted. At 30, divorced, practical, guarded—I could still be swept completely away.

Now when people ask about my hobbies, I say “seeking enchantment.” They look confused until I explain: I collect moments of being swept away. I pursue experiences that make me forget myself.

Your Enchantment Awaits

What enchants you? What makes you lose all sense of time and self? What sweeps you into magic?

Maybe it’s:

• Music that moves through you
• Art that stops you cold
• Nature that makes you gasp
• Stories that transport you
• Moments that crack you open

Don’t wait for enchantment to find you. Seek it. Say yes to the extra ticket. Stay up for the meteor shower. Read the book that might destroy you. Let yourself be swept away.

At 61, I know this: enchantment isn’t childish. It’s essential. It’s what reminds us that life is more than tasks and obligations. It’s what makes us feel truly, electrically alive.

Les Misérables taught me that. One night, one stage, one story that cracked me open and let magic pour in.

Now I chase that feeling. And sometimes—in a theater, in a sunrise, in a moment of unexpected beauty—I find it.

That’s enchantment. Not rare magic, but available wonder. You just have to buy the ticket. Take the chance. Let yourself be swept away.

Even if you’re 30 and think you’re too practical for magic.

Especially then.