When I looked up superstition, I was surprised by how sharp some definitions were. A few make it sound like a flaw in thinking. But that has never matched how it feels to me.

Britannica offers something more balanced. It suggests that superstition is simply one of the ways people have tried to understand uncertainty. That feels closer to the truth, especially here in England, where so many old beliefs still linger quietly in the background.

Some superstitions began as common sense wrapped in a story. Don’t walk under ladders was never about magic. It was an early safety warning. Even the old idea that bridesmaids shouldn’t wear green has roots in folklore, scandal and for a time, poisonous dyes. What survives now is only the faintest echo.

I’ve realised that a lot of superstition is really old wisdom in a folkloric coat.

I don’t believe the universe is keeping score, but I do understand the small rituals people keep. A familiar object, a repeated gesture, a moment of steadiness before doing something uncertain. That isn’t superstition to me. It’s human. And if I sometimes imagine a little magic in the world, maybe a glimmer in the woods with Patch, a stone on the windowsill catching the light — that’s simply my way of staying open to wonder.

So no, I’m not superstitious in the traditional sense. But I do understand why people reach for these old beliefs. They’re about being human, and that feels like the most grounded truth of all.

And perhaps that’s all superstition ever was, our way of finding a little steadiness in a world that has always been bigger than us?