Confessions of a Lifelong Magic Lover

Magic has always found me.

Long before I ever stepped foot into the Magic Castle, long before I met a man in a purple suit, magic lived in the smallest corners of my childhood. It showed up in a living room that smelled of cookies, in a lazy boy recliner, and in the laughter I shared with my grandfather.

My First Magician

My grandpa was my very first “magician.” He never owned a top hat or a deck of marked cards. He didn’t know sleights or misdirection…at least, not the kind you see on stage. But he knew exactly how to make wonder appear.

He’d sit back in his lazy boy, the footrest squeaking open, and I’d take my place at the end of the chair—his permanent audience of one. Then the show would begin.

With a twinkle in his eye, he’d make cookies disappear. A moment later—poof—they’d reappear behind my ear, in his shirt pocket, or magically already in my hand. I believed him completely. I didn’t care about the method. I cared about the mystery, the laughter, and the way he made the ordinary feel enchanted.

Those living-room “performances” were the first spark. The beginning of a lifelong obsession.

A Magic Crush Named David Blaine

As I grew up, my taste in magicians grew with me. Enter David Blaine—the street magic legend, the mysterious performer, and the first magician I ever admitted to having a “magic crush” on.

There was something about his quiet intensity, his minimalist approach, the way he held a moment until you had to lean in. He made the impossible feel personal. I watched everything he released. I studied reactions as much as tricks. He wasn’t just performing magic—he was inviting people into it.

Little did I know that years later, I would start a life with someone who brings that same sense of connection to every audience he meets.

My Almost Magic Castle Moment

When I was in high school, a friend of mine had an invite to the Magic Castle. I had no idea what this magical place was, but as soon as I learned, I knew I had to go.

There was just one problem:

I wasn’t old enough.

After a few dramatic teenage schemes which included the idea of getting a fake ID, I ended up giving up on the dream.

Years later, 20 years later to be exact, the universe gave me a second chance. Another invitation. This time, I was finally old enough, and I was super excited.

I walked through those doors…and fell instantly in love.

The building felt alive. The staff felt like storytellers. The art of magic—everywhere.

It was the kind of place that wraps you in a feeling you can’t quite explain until you experience it yourself. I didn’t know then how many memories I’d make there, or how deeply connected I’d someday become to its halls, its people, and its magic.

Life With the Man in the Purple Suit

These days, magic isn’t something I admire from a distance.

I get to live it daily—with Jonathan, The Man in the Purple Suit.

I get to watch the way he makes a room brighter just by walking in. I get to see children light up, adults lean in, and hearts soften under the spell of something joyful and unexpected.

The art of magic isn’t just tricks. It’s connection. It’s permission to play again. It’s the courage to believe in the improbable.

I used to sit at the edge of my grandpa’s recliner. Now I sit at the edge of stages, green rooms, castle hallways, and theaters—watching magic unfold again and again, this time from my final magic crush.

Every day, I get to witness the impossible happen. Every day, I get to see faces light up. Every day, I’m reminded why I fell in love with magic in the first place.

It’s the wonder and joy in brings.

~ Jamie