Reclaiming Magic in a Muggle Life

I’ve always had a big imagination and a rich inner world. I’ve always believed in fairies, spells, and magic—so it’s no surprise I became a white girl who taps into astrology, tarot, and the occult sciences. What’s the harm, I wonder?

Life is magical. You can feel it in the subtle dance of tree branches, in the crashing of waves against ancient rocks. And yet, I want more. I crave more. I long for the kind of magic where my ancestors watch over me, where the planet Jupiter blesses my path, where tiny beings play in the forest I walk every day. Is that too much to ask? Am I naïve—or am I simply a dreamer?

Photo by Constantino Co on Unsplash

As a child, life was brimming with the potential for adventure. Growing up on the adventure movies of the ’80s and ’90s, my imagination often felt more real than the world around me. A mountain wasn’t just steep terrain—it guarded the beyond, the tomorrow. How could I look at a green valley and not think of Frodo and his quest? Stand by the ocean and not imagine pirates clashing over buried treasure? Wander through a forest and not summon fairies, gnomes, or leprechauns?

Social media today romanticizes the mundane and elevates the little pleasures in life, transforming routine into ritual. I take it further. I’m a 36-year-old professional with a master’s degree who hears the whispers of Mother Earth in the breeze between the trees. My inner child still plays with the fairies in the woods and the otters in the sea. I fly with the eagles that circle above my neighborhood and talk to robins and crows. The little snakes I meet along the path carry messages—remnants of witchcraft and ancient wisdom long forgotten.

So again, I wonder: what’s the harm in my ways? Why is adult play limited to sports, games, or sex? Why not revive the old traditions of folklore and legend? Why not invite a little magic into our very mundane muggle lives?

Here’s to more wonder. More awe. More whimsy.