Confetti Cannons

Hey, reader! I’m Hilary. That's me up there in the ruffles eating a ruffle. My friends call me Hil. You can too. 

I’m a fairly ordinary person. I live a simple life and I like it that way. But there’s this one thing about me that makes me feel slightly special. A switch somewhere between my brain and my beliefs that I can’t turn off. It’s anchored so deeply that it makes me wonder if it was put there on purpose. And it might seem dramatic but I know that it’s true - I was born to celebrate. 

I can still remember the day my grandfather tied a berry balloon around my tiny toddler wrist. It felt both heavy and light. A weight meant to lift my spirits - inviting my soul to notice that this moment was one worth marveling over. I was captivated by the glimmering ribbon which beckoned my eyes heavenward to watch a mysterious purple orb bounce freely in delight. With each bob and impending weave, it boldly declared that today was meant to be noticed. And although the magic of that moment popped a few hours later on the jagged pavement, it started within me a search for the special. 

Fast forward a few decades and I’m still on the hunt. I take note of the notable in the searching eyes of strangers on the street, in freshly-picked produce lining the stand on a quiet country road, in the familiar bass line of a classic songbook standard. I catch glimpses of grandeur in firsts and lasts, and the forgotten minutes lost to rhythmic routines in-between. And when I find it - I can’t help but show it off. 

Somewhere along the way, I’ve learned to mark time by making memories out of ordinary moments. To me, it’s like breathing. I inhale common and exhale confetti. If I get too caught up in the hustle and forget to breathe, the world starts turning a grim shade of grey. 

Yes, I was born to celebrate. But here’s the thing. So were you. I truly believe that. Here's my confrontational question. Do you? 

This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandma Velma and her daughter, my mother, Heather. She made the most amazing birthday cakes. I’ll have to show you sometime. My favorite was a dome of double chocolate that she decorated to look like a Barbie doll in a fancy ballgown. If you asked her, I’m pretty sure she would have told you that celebrating didn’t come naturally to her. Maybe you feel the same way. A lot of people do. 

But I’d argue that there’s a secret compartment in a hidden quadrant of your brain where your Maker hardwired a confetti cannon. It’s just part of our factory settings. (We haven’t been able to prove it yet because x-ray imaging is black and white and confetti is well...all of the colors, so it’s hard to pick up on the screen but one day science will back me on this.) 

For now, I have evidence from other sources:

• I know that we were created to celebrate because we clap when other people clap.

• Because we cry every single time they move that bus on Extreme Makeover Home Edition.

• Because you just stopped reading when you saw a picture of a mother and her daughter lost in a moment and it made you smile.

Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but your confetti cannon just went off. 

Maybe you’re on the fence like Velma. Maybe you don't think you're good at this. Maybe you don't feel like celebrating sounds fun. Maybe the thought feels a bit too bubbly or downright draining.

But, maybe you just didn’t know you had a confetti quadrant.
Maybe I could help you see it. 

Can I tell you that celebration is more than a feeling? That it was a gift from your Creator woven into the fragile fibers of your soul. And it's designed to shoot off sparks of wonder an unlimited amount of times. 

If I could have one more conversation with my grandma, I’d tell her all about her secret brain bomb. I'd want her to know how often I saw it burst. I’d tell her that piling frosting three tiers high and shoving a doll torso in the middle still impacts my life 30 years later. And since I can have another conversation with you, I will remind you as much as I can - that you were born to celebrate. I'll believe it for you until you do. As a self-proclaimed “special seeker”, I’ve got to let you know that one look at you and all bells and whistles alarm on high alert. You are remarkable. And there’s something inside you that’s waiting to come alive hiding behind bobbing balloons and Barbie cakes and magical makeover buses. Should you dare to look for it, you’ll see confetti at every turn.

Let’s go set off some cannons, shall we? Just bring your belief. I’ll bring a broom.