There was a craft-type fair a week before Thanksgiving of last year, called “Nerdmas” that I was a part of. It’s a hodgepodge of vendors selling anything and everything to people looking for a specific something to buy their loved ones for Christmas. Think fantasy, sci-fi, anime and comic book stuff.

My husband does art – painting, sculpting and, recently, digital art. He’s gained a tiny amount of success selling cat dragon prints and we’ve branched out to stickers, bookmarks and magnets.

I am a baker. I work under the name Sugar Moon Sweets, but the two of us call ourselves J and J Creative, and this was our first joint effort. It went surprisingly well, and I marveled at several things: the sheer amount of cookies I sold and how this was the most successful selling of Joe’s artwork, as well.

What stuck with me the most, though, was how comfortable I was in my own skin for the first time in many years. In my twenties, I spent my time around a lot of people who proclaimed themselves Wiccan, but I was dismissive and clung to my cloak of agnosticism (still too scared to even utter the possibility of atheism). I explored this train of thought and decided to Google if there was such a thing as a Pagan who didn’t believe in magic. Lo and behold there is such a thing. There is a Reddit for people who call themselves S.A.S.S. witches (Skeptical, Agnostic, Atheist and generally Science-Seeking) and this is how my journey began.

Or, more correctly, begins. I bought a chalice, a feather, a votive, some incense and just forgot everything for a couple of months.

I’ve spent more time trying to come up with the perfect altar than figuring out what exactly it is I’m supposed to be doing.

I know that I decided to commit when I realized that this is more about ritual, and that magic is subjective (I am not the type of person who believes I can levitate and fly on a broom). I know that spells are merely mantras for self reflection and empowerment.

I am heartbroken and wounded. The world is a swirling vortex of anger and uncertainty: I need this.

I can be on antidepressants and anti-Anxiety pills, but Happiness is not something you can medicate yourself into becoming. At best, you can function 95% normally. At worst, you become a zombie.

This is a journey to find myself again, and maybe (just maybe) find a slice of happiness, too.

In these dark and trying times, I hope you can relate to my fumbling attempts to be a better person, and I hope you’d like to go on this journey with me.

Let’s laugh, cry and grow together. What do you say?