A majority of the time, I feel lit up from the inside out, this quiet energy that makes the world feel lighter, warmer. My magic.

To me, magic is noticing the small things: the way a conversation over chips and queso would leave me smiling for hours, or how a bike ride could turn a hard day into something bearable. It was feeling deeply present, as if my life wasn’t just happening to me, I was living it on purpose.

But to be honest, lately, that magic feels like it’s thinning.

I can’t pinpoint a big moment where it “vanished”. It slipped away slowly, like water draining through a crack you don’t notice until the glass is empty. Somewhere between the routine of work, school, and all the little responsibilities that pile up, I stopped feeling curious. I moved through my days on autopilot. “I am too busy” became an excuse to not do the things I love.

For a while, I thought maybe this is what a transition looks like, the magic we feel in certain seasons of life is only temporary, and eventually we all settle into a dimmer version of ourselves.

But, I don’t believe that. Not anymore. My magic doesn’t come from me alone. It comes with the people I interact with, the conversations that make me forget to check the time, and the way fresh air untangles my thoughts.

When I sit outside with friends, trading stories until the sky turns dark, my magic stirs. When I’m hiking a trail and the only sounds are birds and my own breathing, my magic stretch awake.

It’s not about forcing myself to “get it back.” It’s about creating a space for the moments and people who breathe life into me – the ones who remind me that magic isn’t something I lost, it’s something I can keep finding, again and again.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the truth: magic isn’t a permanent state. It’s a living thing, passed between people, caught in the wind on a summer evening, waiting at the top of a hill you haven’t climbed in a while.

With joy,

Sage 🧚🏼‍♀️