Emily Articulated: Thirteen magical nights

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

It is said there is a stretch of time — 13 nights — beginning at the winter solstice, when the veil between worlds is the thinnest. It’s a time for mortal beings to reflect, to make amends for what has passed and to harness the nearness of the spiritual realm to call in a new year with intention. These nights go by many names, rooted in Germanic, Celtic, and Norse traditions: “Rauhnächte,” “The Thirteen Magical Nights” and “Twelfthtide” — each evoking the dark, cold (and often wild) nature of winter.

I learned about them on Instagram (I figured I’d come clean before you were impressed with my knowledge of folklore).

On said occasion, a woman’s face filled my screen above the handle @thatglassgowwitch. She sat before a crackling wood stove, green frames reflecting warm light. In a soft Scottish lilt, she invited viewers to walk The Thirteen Magical Nights with her through a ritual of wishes. The practice was simple: write 13 intentions as statements of fact for the year ahead.

“These represent the life you are calling in for next year as though it has already happened,” she explained. “For the first 12 nights, after the sun has set, you select one to burn — without reading it. They are offered unseen, with trust. You burn them gently, knowing that what carries you forward does not need an explanation. The intention is release.

“Then on the 13th night, the second of January, you read the final intention,” she said. “This one stays. This is for you to tend. A touchstone for the year ahead — something to return to when you feel lost, tired or unsure which direction to take. It’s not about doing it perfectly. It’s about trust, and showing up to the dark with care.”

Now, I can acknowledge that this might sound dangerously close to “manifesting” — a slippery neighbor to drinking raw milk while yelling at your naturopath for suggesting you take the flu vaccine (the nerve!). Still, there is something undeniably useful about naming the kind of life you want and getting specific about how you might arrive there. Call it clarity. Call it purpose. Call it intention. Call it manifesting, if you must. At its core, it’s simply a practice of paying attention.

So I heeded @thatglassgowwitch and wrote down my 13 wishes as though they were already true. And even though we’re past the solstice, I thought I’d share them here — in case they offer a spark of inspiration or permission or a gentle nudge for anyone else stepping into the new year with intention:

I lead my life with a spirit of generosity — of time, resources and kindness. I do not keep score. I trust in my ability to make the world better through small, selfless acts.

I participate regularly in aspects of community that are meaningful and sustaining. I support people and organizations that create connection, gathering and kinship — and I seek opportunities to create my own.

I engage with social media cautiously and with intention. I honor my boundaries and discern when it deepens connection and when it erodes it. I take breaks when needed and return with clarity and self-control.

I keep a consistent writing practice and expand the ways I create and share my work. I take myself seriously as a writer and dedicate time, energy and resources to deepening my craft.

I embrace the excitement of a picked-up hobby (embroidery and mending) and the joy of being bad at something new. I extend the life of garments through playfulness, patience and repair.

I prioritize learning, using and engaging with the Spanish language. I seek meaningful opportunities to expand my fluency and confidence in speaking.

I am mentally strong, grounded and peaceful. I dedicate energy to building resilience through reading, learning and therapy. I experiment with strategies to support myself through stress, anxiety and unprocessed grief.

I am grateful for my body, and I treat it with kindness and respect every day. I prioritize strength, endurance and care over appearance, and refocus judgment on love.

I think of myself as an artist. I make time and space for creating, lean into familiar mediums and explore new ones with curiosity rather than judgment.

I put myself out into the world in a visual way — sharing work, performing, being seen — even when it feels uncomfortable.

I deepen my connection to cooking, using food as a way to nourish myself and cultivate connection with others. I expand my skills through curiosity and repetition.

I seek experiences that exist solely for joy and play. I do this alone and with friends, without justification or productivity attached.

Finally: I let go of what no longer serves me — habits, expectations, versions of myself — to make room for what does.

I don’t know which wish will be mine to tend this year. But I offer it (and the rest) to you, as we move through the darkness together and walk, slowly and imperfectly, toward the ever-growing light.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.