I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things that seem like magic, even though I objectively know they are not.

The steam rising off my skin in the bath.

The sound of crunchy autumn leaves falling from the trees in our backyard. I like to picture the leaves hyping each other up, saying “Let’s go together!” to any leaf friends who are holding onto the final wisps of fall. To be fair, I do the same thing, clinging to sweaters and flannels for dear life, refusing to admit that it’s cold enough for a coat.

Every Sunday evening, I take a hot bath, as if the steam and warm water can somehow shield me from the inevitable reality of my busiest day of court, Monday. I rest my arm on the edge of the tub, pulling the shower curtain back just enough to let the light in. It feels like a hidden superpower as I watch the steam rise from my skin, droplets hanging in the air. I move my arm in a little circle, just to see the steam swirl and take on whatever shape I choose.

I objectively know it’s a combination of light, heat, and moisture that creates this effect, but when I’m in the bath, I simply do not acknowledge the actual forces at play. The only force I think about is myself, the sole creator of said swirly steam.

I feel the same way about the leaves, that when I step outside they fall from the trees in a chorus of my conducting.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve been thinking about things that seem like magic, about imagining myself as the force behind phenomena that are otherwise easily explainable–I turn 30 in a few weeks, and I am trying to manifest more everyday magic as I move into a new decade.

The closer I get to 30, the more I embrace not knowing the “why” of everything–even when I know full well that a well-settled “why” exists. We all deserve to feel like a source of power, and that’s the energy I’m trying to bring into my 30s, every day in some form.

Power in steam, in light, in gravity, in autumn, in turning 30.