It’s Magic: A New Year’s Reflection
As I step into a new year, one song keeps returning to me: *It’s Magic.*
Not because it promises fantasy or escape, but because it understands something quieter and far more honest — that magic often reveals itself only after we’ve done the work.
*If you’d like to listen or watch as you read, here is the video version of Doris Day’s “It’s Magic.”
The first time I remember hearing It’s Magic was while watching the Doris Day film Romance on the High Seas. I was captivated not just by the melody, but by the way the song seemed to float effortlessly, as if confidence and joy could simply arrive on a breeze. At the time, I probably thought of it as a lovely movie moment. Only later did I begin to understand how much depth lived beneath its lightness.
Although It’s Magic is a love song, I’ve come to see that love doesn’t belong only to romance.
It also lives in commitment, growth, and the courage to keep showing up.
When I listen to this song now, it feels different than it once did.
It no longer sounds like wishful thinking.
It sounds like recognition.
Looking back on the past year, I see a series of moments where I simply said yes.
Not always confidently.
Not always comfortably.
But consistently.
This was the year I brought my Doris Day show to the stage, sharing music that has shaped me and given me joy for as long as I can remember. I remember how nervous I was at the beginning of that performance. My heart was racing, and for a moment I felt the full weight of stepping into the spotlight.
But when I began to sing It’s Magic, something shifted. I felt myself relax into the music, and almost without realizing it, the nerves melted away. In that moment, I remembered why I sing—to connect, to tell a story, and to let the music carry me.
It was also the year I completed my degree in Music Industry, an experience that stretched me in unexpected ways. Being a mature adult surrounded by teenagers and young adults wasn’t always easy. We came from different generations, with very different tastes in music and points of reference.
At times, the gap between us felt wide.
Yet those moments challenged me to stand more confidently in who I am as an artist and to value the depth that comes from lived experience.
That journey took me to France, where I spent four weeks completing an intensive immersion program as part of my degree requirements. The pace was demanding and the days were full, but the learning extended far beyond the classroom.
Outside of class, I was fortunate to experience moments of beauty that balanced the intensity of study. I stood inside the newly renovated Notre-Dame Cathedral, attended the opera in Paris, walked the winding paths of Mont-Saint-Michel, and spent time in La Rochelle, where the rhythm of coastal life offered its own calm.
One afternoon there, I witnessed something I never expected: an incredible school of dolphins,at least fifty of them, moving together through the water. They seemed to fly through the ocean, effortless and joyful. I had no idea dolphins traveled as far north as La Rochelle, and standing there watching them felt like a quiet reminder that wonder often appears where we least expect it.
At the end of the program, my husband Leonard joined me, and together we traveled through Brittany and Normandy. After weeks of intense focus, that time together felt like an exhale. We visited the D-Day beaches, spent time in St. Malo, walked the streets of Rouen, and wandered through Monet’s Garden in Giverny.
Those days brought perspective, gratitude, and a deep sense of connection to everything that had led us there.
I also stepped into vulnerability in new ways by performing in Brave the Stage, a program put together by Savannah Stage Company. The coaching I received was thoughtful, supportive, and deeply encouraging. It helped me trust my instincts, refine my presence, and step forward even when I felt uncertain.
Saying yes to that experience reinforced a lesson I kept learning throughout the year:
Growth doesn’t come from waiting until we feel ready.
It comes from moving forward while we’re still figuring things out.
Alongside all of this, I made meaningful changes to my health. Over the course of the year, I lost twenty pounds through steady choices and consistency. What mattered most wasn’t the number, but the renewed sense of strength and energy that came with it.
None of these moments felt magical while they were happening.
They felt like effort.
Like discipline.
Like vulnerability.
Like showing up again and again, even when it would have been easier not to.
And yet, looking back now, I can see the magic clearly.
That’s what It’s Magic has come to mean to me.
Not luck.
Not illusion.
But the quiet reward that comes when we stay open, do the work, and learn to trust, even when we’re only taking the next small step and don’t yet see the whole path.
As this new year begins, I’m carrying that lesson with me.
I don’t need everything mapped out.
I just need to keep showing up, stay curious, and allow the magic to unfold in its own time.
Because sometimes, the most magical thing of all
is realizing how far you’ve already come.
With a song in my heart,
Eileen