The Art of Knowing
Julie McGue
Author
Each spring when I leave Florida and head north to Michiana—where I spend the summer months along Lake Michigan—I add a side trip to Durham, North Carolina to visit my oldest daughter and her family. The timing is perfect. We celebrate an early Mother’s Day, and I get to see my two grandsons in their element: soccer practice, piano and ukelele lessons, or a youth basketball game. On one of the rainy afternoons, we watched a movie, played board games, and a round of hide-n-seek. And when that happened, I was transported right back to my own childhood, to the world I shared with my twin sister, Jenny — a world of whispered secrets, schemes, and a favorite ritual that we dared not get caught at: snooping.
It started innocently enough. We must have been around ten or eleven years old. After hours of raking leaves into the street for pickup, Jenny and I came inside smelling like smoke and dirt, our cheeks raw from fall’s chilly air. As we hung up our jackets and cruised through the kitchen, we noticed the mail on Mom’s desk. Underneath a pile of envelopes was the magical sign that the seasons were indeed shifting: the arrival of the Sears Wish Book. We grabbed the mail order catalogue—which was the size of a thick telephone book—and raced to our shared room.
If you took all of Amazon and printed it out, that’s how impactful the Wish Book was. The two of us would pore over every glossy page, circling items we wanted for Christmas: roller skates, pogo sticks, magic sets, and board games like the ones I play with my own grandchildren. After carefully crafting our wish lists on looseleaf paper, we placed them on Mom’s desk. She tucked them inside the cover of the Wish Book for safekeeping.
But Jenny and I had never been good at waiting or at leaving well enough alone, traits that are both advantageous and detrimental.
During a game of hide-and-seek with our brothers—much like the one I played recently with my grandsons—I stumbled into Mom’s secret stash of Christmas presents. I had chosen the second-floor cedar closet for my hiding spot, and as I slid between the out-of-season clothing, I discovered a slew of shopping bags. The moment I peeked inside one, my heart jumped. Nancy Drew books. Monopoly and Life board games. The ice-skating outfit Jenny had been dreaming about for months. Somehow, I kept my discovery a secret until bedtime when my twin and I were alone.
From then on, sneaking into that upstairs closet became an obsession for us. Snooping wasn’t just a curiosity; it became a ritual, a shared thrill we couldn’t resist. Like spies, we mastered the art of distraction and deception. One twin kept an eye on our family’s whereabouts while the other crept inside the closet for reconnaissance. The thrill was intoxicating. We’d whisper about our discoveries like secret agents: “She bought the bracelet!” “That one’s for Patrick!”
But after a few years, the thrill of snooping began to fade. One December evening, surrounded by discoveries that had once thrilled us, we sat together in silence instead of excitement. We couldn’t put words to the complicated emotions we were feeling.
By Christmas morning, we could barely fake the appropriate wonder and excitement. The wrapping paper felt flimsy, the gifts expected. Later, we admitted to one another that the “knowing” had drained the magic from the holidays. We realized that some joys lose their shine when you bring them into the light too soon.
Now, as an adult, I think about how that lesson still follows me. I still want to peek — not into closets anymore, but into the future. I want to know that everything will be all right, that my children and grandkids will grow into kind, happy people, that their stories will turn out the way I hope. But I have come to realize that there is a sacredness in not knowing, whether it’s a child’s surprise on Christmas morning or the slow unfolding of life itself.
Sometimes the best gifts are the ones we must wait to unwrap and experience. So when I played hide-and-seek with my grandsons on a rainy afternoon in Durham—their giggles echoing through the house—I resisted the urge to peek. I counted. I waited, letting the moment reveal itself. Because I’ve learned that wonder only stays wondrous if you let it find you.
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June 20, I look forward to connecting with fellow local authors at the Chicago Writer’s Association conference in downtown Chicago. This year’s event is at The Steppenwolf Theatre.
July 16-19, I will attend the Understory Writer’s Conference in Park City, UT. I can’t wait to reconnect with fellow authors who attended with me last year.
On August 15, The second book in my Let’s Go with Lulu kidlit series, DJ and Lulu Go to the Car Wash, launches! Details forthcoming. Story is based on the real-life story about adventures with my oldest grandson.
September 6-22, I plan to hike a section of the El Camino again with Laura Davis’ group, The Writer’s Journey. My return is driven by the need to do research for a third memoir about my journey through love and loss while hiking the Camino.
October 9-11, Next Fall, I will attend the She Writes Press author retreat at the Westin Rancho Mirage Resort in Palm Springs, CA. Thrilled to be selected as a presenter for the panel, “Marketing for Memoirists.”
Follow Julie by visiting her website, subscribe to her bimonthly newsletters, and listen to previous podcast recordings where she discusses topics like adoption, identity, family relationships, sisterhood and belonging.
“Sometimes the best gifts are the ones we must wait to unwrap and experience.”
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