The Subtle of Wanting More
May 1, 2025
The Subtle Art of Not Being Afraid
July 1, 2025The Subtle Art
of Finding Magic
by Charles Efiong
"We are all artists, painting on the canvas of our lives. And while it’s tempting to always reach for well-defined strokes and complementing colors, sometimes the carefree, crooked swooshes that color outside the borders is more authentic."
I didn’t want to go. It was one of those long, exhausting weekdays where my body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry in the hot Abuja sun. Attending a child dedication wasn’t even on the list of things I could be persuaded to do. It was for a coworker I barely knew, and the prospect of sitting through what I assumed would be a drawn-out affair (Nigerians are always extra) didn’t exactly excite me. But when my boss asked if I’d accompany him, I decided to tag along, telling myself it was a chance to get a free ride most of my way home.
We were the first to arrive, because ‘African time’. My instincts were immediately validated, we walked into this small room I knew wouldn’t take much to be overrun with people. The officiating minister hadn’t arrived and their absence seemed to throw the whole program into disarray. There was a lot of nothing happening and I could tell this was the couple’s strategy to try and buy some time. As time passed more people began to arrive and the room seemed to grow smaller. It started to feel like someone was trying to fit the whole world into this living room. Guests stood awkwardly by the door or perched on the edges of chairs as the host shuffled people around to make room for new arrivals. Each time someone arrived, the tightly packed seating arrangements had to be adjusted like a giant game of human Tetris.
It quickly became clear there wasn’t much of a plan - or if there was, it had been left to fend for itself. One person tried to announce the next activity, only for someone else to interrupt with a different suggestion. A third person eventually took charge, improvising an order of events on the spot. There was something almost comical about how everyone was winging it, running back and forth like stagehands in a play where half the cast had forgotten their lines. The host had set up a system to enable absent guest join the event online (this made things worse), in addition the static feedbacks from the interference of the cellphones and the microphones, I can boldly say that those who dialed in experienced a very different event from those of us who attended in person. We were not on the same page literally and figuratively. The online folks were a good 5 seconds behind us and most times the connection will totally go offline leaving one or both parties in the dark for a few minutes.
It was quite Ironic that in a room full of adults only the baby being dedicated seemed to have their ducks in a row. I kept wondering what will happen if she decided to throw a tantrum but she never did, she was indeed on her best behavior.
I sat there, tired and quietly amused by the sheer “Nigerian-ness” of it all. It wasn’t just the lateness or the impromptu adjustments, it was the willingness to go the extra mile for little to no reason. But then, somewhere in the chaos, I saw it.
There they were, the young couple at the center of this imperfect storm. Newly minted parents, overwhelmed yet glowing. She had that unmistakable maternal pride, the kind that radiates even through exhaustion. He stood protectively close, a look of quiet joy in his eyes. They didn’t seem to notice the cramped room or the lack of structure. Their focus was on their child, a tiny bundle of white lace and innocence who had brought them here.
And as I watched them, something shifted in me.
The event wasn’t polished, but it was authentic. Family members and friends had carved out time on a weekday to be here, to celebrate this new life and the love that created it. People laughed, teased, and connected (on many occasions a lot louder than I would have appreciated), their voices filling the small room with an energy that couldn’t be anything but disorganized.
Yes, the microphone crackled. Yes, the room felt more like a crowded bus than a celebration venue. But this wasn’t beside the point, this was the point. The shared joy of those who came, and the undeniable love that pulsed through the room was indeed all over the place but it took me being still to observe the patterns.
By the end of the evening, as I sank back into my chair, I realized how much I had misjudged the event. It wasn’t substandard, it was human. It was chaotic because it was alive.
I spend so much time chasing perfection that I forget how authentic imperfection can be. This couple, with their stumbling yet heartfelt celebration, reminded me that life’s most genuine moments often come wrapped in chaos. They shine all the brighter because of it.
And that’s the thing with life, it has a way of slipping past us unnoticed, hidden in plain sight beneath the layers of routine, deadlines, and the never-ending chase for "something more or something perfect." Yet, if we pause long enough to look, we might find that the true treasures lie in the moments we often overlook or the moments we are too busy looking to fix because we believe something went wrong.
Consider the sunlight streaming through a half-open window, casting golden patterns on the floor. Or the uncoordinated rhythm of raindrops, revealing secrets as they trace paths down a glass pane. These moments, easily missed, are fragments of magic that remind us that life, in its essence, is priceless.
I’ve often wondered why we’re so drawn to extraordinary stories, the ones that speak of heroes, grand adventures, and breathtaking triumphs. Maybe it’s because they mirror the depths, we wish to explore within ourselves. But what if the true adventure lies not in seeking the grand but in seeing the beauty of what is already here?
There’s a delicate strength in vulnerability, in sharing our stories and fears, in standing still long enough to feel. It’s in the unspoken connections we forge with strangers, the way a kind word can turn the tide of someone’s day, or how silence shared with the right person can be the loudest statement of all.
Somehow, we’ve been trained to believe that life’s value lies in its milestones, in the diplomas, promotions, weddings, and accolades. And while these moments deserve celebration, they are not the whole story. Life is also found in the spaces between: the quiet coffee breaks; the midnight musings; the laughter over nothing in particular; the unplanned, uncoordinated and unexpected moments that are literally priceless as we can’t recreate them no matter how hard we try.
I’m reminded of a quote by Mary Oliver: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” The beauty of this question isn’t in its demand for a grand answer but in its gentle nudge toward reflection. What if the answer isn’t about doing more but feeling more? Loving more? Living more? (This part vaguely reminds me of John 10:10)
We are all artists, painting on the canvas of our lives. And while it’s tempting to always reach for well-defined strokes and complementing colors, sometimes the carefree, crooked swooshes that color outside the borders is more authentic. A life well-lived isn’t always the one that’s prim and proper; it’s the one that’s truest to itself.
So, here’s to the magic in the chaos, the poetry in the noise, and the art of simply being. Perhaps the secret isn’t in searching for extraordinary moments but in letting the ordinary become extraordinary by the way we choose to see it.
As I left that evening, tired but strangely lighter, I felt grateful that I had shown up. For in their celebration, I found a quiet reminder of what really matters: love, family, and the people who show up even when they don’t have to.
