The Mirror Incident That Started This Spiral
Today was not supposed to be a double feature.
The girls accidentally shattered my mirror last night, which apparently means they just signed a seven-year contract with bad luck before they even know how to spell “superstition.” Tiny cuts. Tears. Millions of glittering shards scattered across the freshly washed clothes I had piled on the floor because I had not had a chance to hang them up yet. The entire scene looked like the climax of a low-budget horror movie directed by a mother running on iced coffee and overstimulation.
And honestly? It got me thinking about how much bad luck I have probably accumulated throughout my lifetime.
Not just from broken mirrors. From all the chain emails I ignored in the early 2000s.
The Internet Used to Feel Haunted
If you grew up during the MySpace era, you know exactly what I am talking about.
Forward this to fifteen people or your crush will reject you.
Repost this bulletin or your family will suffer tragedy.
A ghost girl named Emily will stand at the foot of your bed tonight if you ignore this.
The internet used to feel haunted in a way social media never does now. Every corner carried complete and utter chaos. Glitter graphics flashed like cursed relics, LimeWire threatened your family computer with instant death, and every chain message felt like it had been typed by a thirteen-year-old practicing dark magic in her bedroom.
Every profile song auto-played at max volume. Everybody’s “Top 8” caused emotional warfare. Somewhere in the background, an AIM door slammed shut dramatically because somebody got blocked after posting passive-aggressive Fall Out Boy lyrics.
And threaded through all of it was superstition.
Digital folklore.
Copy-and-paste curses spreading through middle school girls like urban legends around a campfire.
The wild part is that a tiny piece of us believed it. Enough to hesitate before deleting the message. Enough to wonder if ignoring it might somehow invite disaster into our lives. Enough to forward it “just in case.”
The Tiny Rituals We Pretend Do Not Matter
That is the thing about superstition. Even deeply rational people carry little rituals around with them.
We knock on wood.
We avoid opening umbrellas indoors.
We hold our breath while passing cemeteries because somebody once told us spirits could climb inside us if we did not.
We spill salt and immediately throw some over our shoulder like unpaid extras in Practical Magic. Is it the left or right shoulder? I can never remember.
I do not genuinely believe my daughters’ futures were destroyed by a broken mirror. But I still stared at that pile of shattered glass and thought, Fantastic. As if we needed additional character development.
Superstition blooms in the spaces where people feel powerless. Human beings have always searched for tiny ways to negotiate with uncertainty. Lucky numbers. Birthday candles. Crossing fingers before difficult conversations. Small rituals that create the comforting illusion that maybe life can still be influenced by something softer than chaos.
Humans are painfully aware that life can change in an instant. One phone call. One diagnosis. One text message. One “we need to talk.” We are fragile little creatures trying to negotiate with chaos using birthday candles and lucky numbers.
Which brings me to 11:11.
The Wish I Keep Making Anyway
I rarely notice the time throughout the day.
My brain filters through numbers constantly without attaching meaning to any of them. Yet somehow, almost every morning, I catch myself glancing at my phone at exactly 11:11 as if something quietly pulled my attention toward it.
And I catch myself making the same wish.
I would love to tell you I have evolved beyond things like wishing on repeating numbers, but apparently my emotional support delusion survived adulthood.
So I still do it.
Every morning.
Same time. Same wish.
Which feels strange considering I do not even fully know what I believe anymore.
I think spirituality, superstition, coincidence, intuition, and yearning all blur together eventually. A repeating number feels comforting. Chaos feels unbearable.
Maybe 11:11 is pattern recognition mixed with hope.
Maybe it is ritual.
Maybe it is grief wearing costume jewelry.
Or maybe people just need moments that feel sacred in order to survive modern life.
Why Humans Keep Looking for Signs
I think people underestimate how exhausting uncertainty actually is.
The human brain hates loose ends. We want reasons. Patterns. Explanations. We want to believe heartbreak arrived carrying meaning instead of randomness. We want to believe timing matters. That missed opportunities happen for us instead of simply to us.
Superstition slips into the cracks left behind by uncertainty.
Maybe that is why people cling so tightly to angel numbers, psychics, tarot cards, lucky charms, and little rituals nobody admits to believing in publicly. Deep down, most people are searching for reassurance that life still has narrative structure. That there is still an invisible thread connecting things together instead of a series of disconnected disasters wearing different outfits.
I keep thinking about an episode of Charmed where Phoebe was writing about signs and how the universe leaves little clues for people when they are headed toward something important.
And honestly? I understand the appeal of thinking that way.
But lately, I keep wondering how much of “seeing signs” is actually just the human brain recognizing what the heart already attached itself to.
Because when somebody is consuming your thoughts, your brain starts quietly highlighting everything connected to them. Their name suddenly appears everywhere. Their favorite song feels unavoidable. Their car model becomes suspiciously common. You catch 11:11 because some hopeful little part of you was already searching for something to hold onto before you even realized you were looking.
Not necessarily because the universe placed it there.
Because your attention did.
And weirdly enough, I do not think that makes the feeling less meaningful.
Maybe the “sign” itself is coincidence. Maybe the real meaning comes from what it reveals about us instead. About who we miss. About what we hope for. About the people who continue echoing around inside our heads long after they are gone.
There is something painfully human about that.
Maybe that is why signs matter to people in the first place.
Maybe that is all people are really searching for in the end.
Reassurance that hope is not embarrassing.
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