I'm Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

One of the things I love about celebrating someone's birthday is the magical moment when they're asked to make a wish.

There's probably a lit candle in a piece of cake or pie, a brownie, maybe even a donut.

And after everyone sings happy birthday, the person stops to silently consider what they want most,

what's most on their mind or in their heart, before taking a deep

breath and blowing out the candle. They know better than to ruin a wish by saying it out

loud. I'm especially enchanted by this moment when the wishmaker is one of my own

children. My kids and I have a tradition where they get to choose the meal and the dessert I make

on their birthdays. I invite our family over for dinner,

and we all sit down and have that chosen meal together, all 13 of us. I watch their faces closely

during that magical moment. When they take that deep breath before blowing out the candle I've lit.

If hope is an emotion you can see on a person's face, surely it's visible before a child makes a wish. But wishes aren't only reserved for

birthdays. I make a wish any time I look at the clock and it reads 1111.

I make a wish when I see a shooting star,

or when I find a shell on the beach and throw it back into the waves,

my version of tossing a coin into a fountain.

I've been known to make wishes when I see anything in nature that moves me,

a rainbow, a low orange moon,

a hawk on a light post or tree branch.

Because why not?

It can't hurt.

When it comes to wishing, I think more is more.

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