Are you superstitious?

So, are you superstitious? Let’s unpack that! According to my dusty old dictionary, superstition is an “excessively credulous belief in the supernatural.” But let’s be real—one person’s “woo-woo nonsense” is another’s “sacred ritual.” Me? I’m over here casually strolling under ladders like I’m auditioning for a daredevil circus act. Friday the 13th? Pfft. I waltz through that day with the confidence of a bull in a china shop (minus the broken dishes, because adulting).

Now, does this make me immune to life’s little “oopsie-daisy” moments? Absolutely not! But here’s the tea: I refuse to side-eye black cats or blame Mercury Retrograde for my Wi-Fi crashing. Cold, hard logic? That’s for Vulcans and Star Track enthusiasts (looking at you, Mr. Spock). A world where everything must “make sense”? Sounds about as fun as a spreadsheet party. No thanks—I’ll keep my humanity, complete with its glorious chaos!

But synchronicity? Oh, my friend, that’s my passion. I live in a world where nothing is a coincidence—it’s all a cosmic wink. Meet a stranger? Clearly, the universe sent them to hand-deliver a life lesson (or maybe just a killer cookie recipe). A bird lands nearby? That’s Mother Nature’s TED Talk just for me. Clouds morph into shapes? That’s the sky’s way of doodling motivational posters.

Call me “superstitious” if you must. Scoff at my habit of high-fiving fate. Roll your eyes at my belief that the universe is my overly enthusiastic bestie, conspiring to make my dreams come true. But here’s the thing: my life is a glitter-filled parade of magic, wonder, and the occasional “wait, did that just HAPPEN?” moments. Logic can keep its pocket protector—I’ll be over here, dancing with serendipity, sipping cosmic lemonade, and living my best enchanted life.

Who’s with me? (But seriously, don’t walk under that ladder. I take zero responsibility for paint cans.)