To Theme or Not to Theme?

We've Been Thinking About Themes

For most of my life, I avoided hosting. I always had ideas, but underneath them was the worry that people wouldn't enjoy what I planned or, even worse, that no one would show up.

A few years ago, I traveled for a cousin's 50th birthday, then another 40th. We rented beautiful homes, ate together, stayed up late and explored somewhere new. I was usually the one being invited, and I loved it.

Eventually, I wanted to be the one doing the inviting.

(It was so fun, I barely have any pictures, which is why I'll always hire a local photographer going forward!)

Becoming the Person Who Asks

For my dad's 70th birthday, I planned a surprise trip to Jamaica. We found a beautiful villa in Ocho Rios where our family could stay together, with a chef and a team to take care of us.

Being the person doing the inviting brought up an entirely different set of feelings. People were spending money, using vacation days and getting on planes. I didn't want the entire trip to revolve around my ideas simply because we were celebrating my dad.

Then people started asking questions. Were we doing anything special for his birthday? Should everyone wear a certain color? Did we have anything planned?

“A theme?” I remember asking my aunt. “Are they asking for a theme?”

I hadn't planned one.

Honestly, I thought Jamaica was enough. We had the ocean, a gorgeous house, a chef and, most importantly, we would be together. My family doesn't need much more than good food, a basketball game and enough time to sit around talking.

But there was another reason I hadn't planned much beyond that: What if I put all the ideas in my head out there and people didn't like them?

What if I was doing too much?

What Happened When I Shared the Ideas

When I admitted I didn't really have a theme, everyone started contributing ideas.

Someone suggested we all wear white for dinner. The villa recommended a local musician, who ended up playing long past the time he was supposed to leave because everyone was dancing under the stars. I made welcome bags with Brooklyn Tea, handmade candles and handwritten notes. My aunt orchestrated a family rendition of “Sunny.” And, oh yes, I got engaged that night!

Then there was the cake.

My dad's sister had passed away a few years earlier, and on special occasions she used to make him a pineapple upside-down cake. I shared that story with the chef, and she recreated it for his birthday. Throughout the trip, the villa team surprised him with little treats of their own.

It was personal, which is what made it special.

Your ideas aren’t asking too much. They’re part of the gift.

Maybe a Theme Is Really an Intention

I've been thinking about that experience again while rereading Priya Parker's The Art of Gathering. Parker challenges hosts not to confuse being “chill” with being generous. A good gathering still needs some intention and structure.

I think a lot of us play it safe when we're hosting, especially when the whole point is to make people happy. We don't want to ask too much, make anyone uncomfortable or turn something fun into something overly planned. So we hold back some of the ideas we actually have.

But maybe we should trust those ideas more.

I used to hear “theme” and think decorations, matching outfits or asking everyone to participate in something elaborate. Now I think it can simply be an intention for the time you're spending together.

If I could plan that trip again, I'd lean harder into creating a few intentional moments. For five days, I still wouldn't plan every hour. But I'd plan the birthday dinner, a few optional activities away from the villa and something special at the house.

We always make time for massages, which I fully endorse, but I'd also ask the team: What's something we can do here that feels specific to this place?

That's one of the luxuries of staying somewhere with people who know the place. You can arrive with an idea instead of a finished itinerary and let them help you shape it.

Gathering Requires More Intention Now

When we were kids, gathering happened almost automatically. We lived near one another, went to the same schools and churches, and our parents built community around us. Then we grew up, moved across the country, built careers and started families.

Now getting everyone we love into one place can require plane tickets, vacation days, money, childcare and months of planning. Being the person who asks everyone to come can feel vulnerable. I know it did for me.

But I had been thinking about it backwards.

Having an idea for how you want to spend that precious time together isn't asking too much. Sometimes it's part of the gift.

You don't need to choreograph every memory. You don't even need a theme. You can simply have a point of view about the experience you want to create and invite the people you love into it.

They might even have a few ideas of their own.

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