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March | 2026 In January 2025, I sat around a table in the middle of the Mayan jungle in Mexico with sixteen people I had never met before. We came from completely different backgrounds, but shared a simple vision: to bring people from our own lives back for a week of reflection, growth, and connection. When I arrived, the smell of flowers in the middle of winter, the birds singing songs I had never heard before, and the warmth—it hit me like taking the first breath after a long tunnel. Complete relief. An invitation to pause, to connect, and to create community. That first evening we gathered for dinner. The table was set, but there was no seating chart, no guidance—just sit wherever you felt called to sit. I was the last to arrive at the retreat center and found myself begrudgingly seated at the head of the table next to the owner. A gentle soul, at least ten years my junior, who had made some very good choices early in life and now found himself here—creating a retreat center in Mexico as a counterbalance to his corporate life in the city. I took a deep breath and shifted from Kat the introvert to Kat the host at Magpie, greeting everyone with a warmth I authentically meant, though I had to summon it from somewhere deep within a season of uncertainty. We began with our purpose here, which always invites a pause for me. As I listened to the others share their vision for the retreats they planned to host, I realized everyone had arrived with a clear mission. I, on the other hand, had simply found a place that made me ache to create space—but I didn’t yet know who I wanted to create it for. So I fumbled a little, poked fun at myself, and eventually landed on the truth. I’m here on this earth to hold people—both in celebration and in their moments of deepest loss. Many people shy away from those spaces, but I find myself drawn to them. Everything I’ve done in my life has been shaped around creating spaces where people can arrive exactly as they are. A long pause hung in the air between strangers. Knowing smiles and quiet eye contact passed around the table, gently acknowledging the vulnerability of being human. Kirti, our host, then explained how dinner works at Kaba Luum. Over the course of two to three hours, we will move through four to six questions. We’ll circle the table one question at a time, with each person having a few minutes to share. No one interrupts, comments, or builds on what was said. It’s simply an opportunity to listen—to know one another more deeply without making the moment about responding. By the end of the evening, we parted with a shared sense of connection and knowing. Sixteen people from all over the world, embracing one another because we had listened. It’s been a year since that dinner in the jungle, and I still carry it with me. Now I imagine recreating this at Magpie. We would begin with a table of 10–12 people. A prefix dinner served family-style, much like our event dinners, with a blend of menu items and specials that Chase brings together. Seats would be limited given the nature of the evening. Throughout the evening we would move through four to eight questions—questions that invite vulnerability in ways that are accessible, thoughtful, and deeply human. In Mexico, our group made up of people from very different worlds—corporate leaders, therapists, and other practitioners, with men and women evenly mixed—yet we found an unexpected depth between us. Right now we are living in a time of deep need for one another—yet so many of the places we turn pull us further apart. So this would be a place to come home to. A table where conversation moves beyond rambling and toward something deeper.
Toward listening.
Toward connection. If this speaks to you, I hope you’ll join me. If there’s enough interest, we’ll begin hosting a dinner midweek in the coming month. I’ve included a short survey below to gauge interest. xo,
Kat
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