For someone who my mom swears can’t stick to anything, I’ve gotten my 11:11 routine down pretty well. 

1111 is supposedly an angel number — a recurring number sequence believed to carry messages from higher beings — that represents manifestation. Some people believe that if you make a wish at 11:11 p.m., the universe will listen. I am one of those people. 

Which is quite surprising, considering that I had never been the typical spiritual type, nor do I believe in angels (have you seen the biblically accurate depiction?). Neither of my parents are Buddhist, despite it being the largest religion of my motherland, and my closest encounter with Christianity came from spending an evening with a biblical coloring book after a friend invited me to church. 

Instead, I had always considered myself someone grounded in logic. I trusted logic. I liked to know why things happened, where they were going and how they would end. If I came home from school and noticed my mom giving me a withering glance, for example, I would immediately run a mental calculation. What did I do this time — lose my water bottle for the third time this year? And which response out of the million I saved would give me the best chance at escaping quickly? Thinking through these situations analytically is what helped me feel prepared for whatever came. If I could map out how one thing would lead to another, I could always know what the best move was. 

But as much as I hated to admit it, my need to eliminate uncertainty was less about getting the best outcome and more about avoiding the worst. I didn’t want to admit I was scared — scared of the uncertainty of making new friends after moving, of others’ perceptions of me in certain extracurriculars and of whether my teachers judged me when I just wanted to make small talk. 

Growing up only amplified the amount and magnitude of uncertainties I faced, and as expectations shifted in high school toward making the most of every opportunity, inaction was not an option. So, I defaulted to what I knew best: analyze everything, map out how each decision might shape my future and choose the “right” one. 

But the uncertainty I now faced was no longer rooted in lost water bottles. I knew my mom would eventually forgive me, but college decisions felt less forgiving. With application season looming, it wasn’t an overstatement to say that all the uncertainty I felt could have long-term ramifications. And unlike before, the results weren’t immediate. Even when things seemed to be going well, there was no guarantee I hadn’t made a life-changing mistake. And so, with every decision that came my way, I doubted myself over and over. It was a paralyzing fear that every step I made might ruin my life, and it was even scarier to know that I might already be unknowingly living with the consequences of a bad decision I had made. 

One night, after hours of studying for a physics test, I was desperate to go to bed. It was already 11 p.m., but my mind kept circling the idea that one more hour of studying would make or break the score I wanted. Yet, the exhaustion of junior year got the best of me, and I could feel my eyelids dropping. At that moment, I remembered the superstition a friend had mentioned in passing earlier that day. I glanced at my digital clock, its bright green digits cutting through the dark: 11:11 p.m..

So I closed my eyes and made a wish.

Maybe 1111 really is a message from angels. I actually did very well on that physics test, and afterward, I just kept making 11:11 wishes. As silly as it is, making a wish every night before I go to bed quiets the overthinking doubts that I used to fall asleep with. It is a small reprieve when I stop trying to calculate a series of unfortunate events, and instead, give myself the luxury of hoping that things would turn out OK. Now, every night at 11:11 p.m., I light a stick of incense and wish for the things that sit heaviest on my mind to end well. 

In all honesty, I’m not sure 11:11 has any supernatural powers. It definitely can’t teach me physics, nor does it make any uncertainty disappear. What it does, however, is remind me that uncertainty doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Making wishes helps channel my mind to a more positive place, a place where I can put my full effort without being paralyzed by the fear of being wrong. It was through this process of putting myself in what I used to consider “danger’s way” that I discovered some of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had to date, and found people, classes and conversations I would otherwise be too afraid to choose.  

As I look toward my college years, I want to let go of the need to have everything figured out. I’m learning that not everything needs to be calculated or proven, and that sometimes, it’s enough to be confident that it will all work out. And yes, I still don’t know if I entirely believe in the idea of angels — but I’d like to think that they believe in me.