Ever been in a car, in a city, when it's late and all the lights are competing with eachother? And you feel so strange, like you're a part of this huge city and yet you're isolated in your own head. Then you go through a tunnel and you can hear the whooosh and it feels like you could be traveling through time and it's so easy to pretend that this is some magical phenomenom. Because the lights are so pretty and the sounds are exciting and how could it be possible to be so content with the world? And just like that, you're convinced it's magic.

Or maybe you're so far out in the country that it should be the setting in some historical book. And you look up to the endless sky, where the stars are constants and the moon beckons like an old friend. Maybe you've seen this your entire life, but shooting stars still make you catch your breath. Maybe that's your magic; wishes screaming across the speckled sky. And you feel like the world is yours and it's not such a scary place and it's so beautiful that it almost hurts. And, honestly, how is that anything short of magic?

But ya know what's really lucky, truly magic? I've been able to experience the best of both. I feel at home in the largest city, where I'm not alone in my insomnia at three in the morning on a Tuesday in August. But I'm safe and comfortable in a small town that goes quiet after seven in the evening. That's what leads me to believe that it's magic; the fact that this world is so diverse, so beautiful, and yet fitting in is possible virtually anywhere. And that's extraordinary.