October 8, 2025
I’ve always had a soft spot for the number 13. Some people treat it like it’s radioactive, skipping row 13 on airplanes, avoiding hotel rooms with the number, or whispering about Friday the 13th like it’s cursed. Me? I think 13 is misunderstood.
For me, 13 isn’t unlucky, it’s the rebel of numbers. It refuses to play by the “safe dozen” rules. Twelve eggs. Twelve donuts. Twelve months. Then here comes 13, knocking on the door like, “Hey, I’m extra.” And honestly? I kind of respect that.
I think about how much power we give to numbers and symbols. If you tell me 7 is lucky and 13 is unlucky, I have to ask: says who? Isn’t that just a story we made up and kept repeating until it felt true? In my house growing up, 13 was just the number after 12. But somewhere along the way, it picked up this whole superstition about bad luck.
I like turning it upside down. Why not make 13 my “good luck” number? Why not celebrate the idea that sometimes what we fear is actually where the fun begins? If 12 is tradition, then 13 is possibility.
That’s how I try to see it anyway. Life hands us enough serious stuff, we don’t need to waste time worrying about what floor the elevator skips. And if I had the chance, I’d happily live on the 13th floor, sit in row 13, or wear jersey number 13. To me, it’s not a curse. It’s a wink from the universe saying, “Don’t take yourself so seriously.”
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So… how do you feel about the number 13?
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