I started this year a bit bored. Oh, how I wish I could go back to January-Sarah and say, “My chicken, cool your boots. It’s a bit boring, sure, but my word, it’s stable.”

Look at that reliable salary, I would add. Marvel at this IT human who always knows why the Sharepoint doc isn’t updating and invariably has the right cable in their desk drawer. You call this boring. I call it safe.

Not that it would have made a difference. January-Sarah, much like September-Sarah, doesn’t do well with boredom.

When it comes to choosing between freedom and security, I seem to be hard-wired for freedom, much against my better judgment. It makes for a rich life, if not always a calm one.

I blame stories. Specifically, stories in the magical realism genre — think Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Isabelle Allende, Joanne Harris.

These writers take the mundane and open up to the mystic. She isn’t a sex worker, she’s an ancient temple priestess from the pre-Christian era.

It’s not chocolate, it’s a gateway to your deepest desires. It’s not a book shop, it’s a portal to another universe.

This kind of literature has wired me to look for magic in the everyday. This makes everything interesting, because I am always waiting for connections, coincidences, and synchronicity.

When they happen I am delighted because, yes, it’s true! There is a universal force working endlessly in my best interest.

But I have yet to be pulled into an alternative universe, unearth superpowers, or meet an alien. And I have been looking.

My life leans more towards the interesting. I am available for adventures (there might be an alternate universe at the end), new experiences (maybe tonight at this full moon cacao dance sound bath ritual I will find my superpower) and new friends (are they going to be an ancient goddess reincarnated as a Cape Town local?)

This availability to the new makes my life fun, but also unstable.

I took on a new role in February this year, with my imagination fully engaged. The universe had a different plan for me, though.

Instead of starting my new role on the first of May as planned, I was retrenched two weeks before starting. Yes, I know. I didn’t know it could happen either.

On the 14th of April, 10 days from turning 50, I was unemployed. Yikes.

Since then, I have swung between two points of view. When I am more zen, I think, “Wow! That was a pretty direct intervention by the universe, so I guess I am meant to be doing something else. Best I get on with it!”

When I am more terrified, I think, “Wow. What on earth is happening here?”

In this state, I look heavenward and say, often aloud, “I hope you have a plan. Because I am literally out of plans.”

So far, no direct answer. But the great thing about being primed for magic is that I am always on the lookout for celestial nudges.

Yesterday, I chatted with the universe and asked for some new business to cover the tiny shortfall in my monthly budget.

By 1 pm, a WhatsApp message and a quick call later, I had it. On the back of this excitement, I bought a Powerball ticket. But erm…nope. (A woman’s got to try, right?)

This year isn’t exactly what I had in mind on January 1, when I did my annual reflection and dream journaling. Looking back, I realise am having the best time.

It’s the closest I have come in years to living magically, full of possibilities, glimmers, and dreams.

And who knows? That alternative universe could lie just beyond tomorrow’s school run.