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The robe stays in the closet

Year one of ceremonial magic, I spent $240 on a black robe with gold trim, a hand-painted lamen and a wand I'm still embarrassed about. Five years later the robe has been worn exactly four times. The daily work happens in sweatpants at 6:10am, between the alarm and the kettle. I don't regret the robe. It was a promise to myself that I was taking this seriously. But the promise that actually held was smaller and duller: banish every morning, write it down every night, even when nothing happens. Especially when nothing happens. If you're new and tempted by the beautiful gear, buy a cheap notebook first. If you're still filling it in a year, you've earned the robe.