Hosting American Thanksgiving in Canada is always a little strange.
There’s no built-in holiday here—no magical Thursday off in the middle of November. Nothing pauses for gratitude and no one expects to be fed. So when my house filled with the joys of Thanksgiving last weekend—roasting vegetables, warm spices, tinkling glasses, and the low hum of laughter—it felt like a time outside of time.
I went a little nuts about planning the event.
Carefully curating the guest list, I invited people who didn’t necessarily know each other, but who are dear to me and who I felt shared an appreciation for joy, community, and sensory delight. For weeks I prepped, planned, chopped, and seasoned… insisting I do most everything myself (partly because yes—I like to control the menu)… but mostly because I wanted everyone to arrive already relaxed. Already welcomed. Already invited into receiving.
When the day came, it all just… worked. Better than worked. It came together in that effortless way that only happens when the right people meet at the right time and something bigger than you guides the rest.
The food and wine were delicious, of course, but the thing that kept my heart soft all through the day was the people.
How open they were to step into this unknown space authentically…
How much warmth they brought into the room without even trying…
When we sat down to share what we were grateful for, I asked everyone to participate—not just say their piece and move on.
“If someone says something that resonates for you, don’t keep it to yourself. Raise a glass. Call out ‘Hear, hear!’ Let’s participate together and celebrate the things we’re all grateful for.”
I didn’t intend to create a Thanksgiving drinking game, but hilariously, that’s what happened.
Overwhelmed by wine and turkey, friends and gratitude, we went ’round and ’round sharing our love of sunsets, our admiration for insulation (yes, insulation! In snowy Canada it’s a big deal ❄️), and our appreciation of the privilege we all share.
What happened was a kind of communal alchemy.
As people spoke, we echoed each other.
As one named a gratitude, others raised their glasses, murmured appreciation, added their own small warmth to the moment.
Thank you for the roof and the walls.
Thank you for the food we eat every day.
Thank you for our children.
Thank you for the goodness that somehow keeps showing up, even in the midst of every hard thing.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Those repeated thank yous—tiny, simple, earnest—began weaving something through the room. The kind of intimacy you can’t force. Strangers leaning in. Friends softening. People meeting one another in that tender in-between place where gratitude becomes its own kind of prayer.
The Energy Magic Transmission this month lived in a completely different current.
Where Thanksgiving was warm and communal and full of laughter, the session held a quieter frequency—something inward, spacious, secret, and intimate.
Gratitude moved differently there.
Not around a table… but through the body.
Not echoed aloud… but rising up from the depths.
Not shared in a room full of people… but felt in the subtle terrain of one’s own inner landscape.
There’s a moment in this session when Gratitude stops being something you think about and becomes something that moves you.
It loosens what’s been clenched too long, becoming—not an emotion but a state—a texture… a tone… a frequency running through the body.
It’s hard to describe.
Energy Magic always is.
But if Thanksgiving was the outward expression of gratitude, this session was the inward one. A deeply personal expression. One that shifts your system in ways no list of “thank yous” ever could.
As my Thanksgiving gift to you, I’m releasing the full Energy Magic recording for everyone.
No paywall. No barrier. Just a simple offering from my heart to yours.
Whether your life feels full or heavy right now, whether gratitude comes easily or feels far away, this practice can meet you exactly where you are.
May it soften something.
May it open a little space.
May it bring you home to yourself in some small, quiet way.
