Not From the Stars


As teenagers, we’d finish our chemistry homework and then stay up all hours of the night staring at adhesive glow-in-the-dark stars and reading our horoscopes. When I was in college, after a night bartending for then-Governor Jeb Bush and a room full of politicians, I drove to Panama City to get my first tattoo: a Libra symbol with a crescent moon.  Then, as adjunct professors crammed in a tiny office at a major university, my desk mate and I would write our astrological forecasts on the whiteboard that covered the back wall of our cinderblock room. I’m a rational, well-educated person, but in my heart, I have always loved the thought of the heavens being a magical place. The Universe is infinitely vast and cosmically powerful; to me, the science makes it all the more mystical. It only stands to reason that I’m drawn to the practice of astrology, even if it is in an I-also-like-believing-in-elves (see tattoo #2) kind of way.

Yet, in spite of all my rationalization and education, and with my understanding of selective bias, I still believe there is something to one of the tenets of astrological philosophy. As Libras, we are the only zodiac sign that is non-living. We are the scales, the balancers of all other signs. And while that is
"Libra" by Josephine Wall
normally the part that I like to brag about, it is also the part that causes the most trouble. Because Libras balance everyone else, they are notorious for being completely petrified when it comes to making decisions for themselves. I am no exception to this rule. I have a hard time deciding which parking spot to pull the car into in the morning, so when it comes to major life decisions, the entire process is, well, challenging.

Over these past two months, I have faced more life-changing decisions than I have in many, many years. What made this so difficult was that I couldn't say anything. Only a few people have any idea what I’m even talking about. Normally, when I’m forced to make a major decision, I talk to everyone I know. I look for insights I hadn’t considered, reasons I’d ignored. In the end, I have always been lucky enough to realize that my heart and my mind were in sync. Even though I didn’t like making the decision, deep down, I already knew what the answer was going to be.

But this time was different. I had to explore on my own, talk in generalities, and close the door when I got the calls. When I was asked about my decision last week, I knew I needed more time. So I spent the weekend listening to my instincts, my emotions, and my desires first; then I reflected, planned, and considered the long term. Both options had incredible potential, but one option was exciting and risky; the other was smart and safe. For the first time, in all of my years of labored Libra decision-making, my head and my heart didn't seem to agree. And since they didn't agree, I struggled. I kept looking for signs, some guidance from the stars that would serve as the final line on my list of possibilities. But for every sign my heart found, my brain simultaneously added another point. 

Eventually, though, I made a decision, and it's a good decision.  It protects my family, our future… and me.  It makes sense. It does more than make sense – it's perfectly designed. My brain is jumping up and down with happiness, but there’s a tiny part of my heart that wonders where that free-spirited, foolish girl went. I keep telling my heart that, in a few months, we'll all agree that this was the best decision. But hearts are tricky. After all, they still believe in the magic of stars.


Shakespeare's Sonnet 14

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy, 
But not to tell of good or evil luck, 
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; 
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, 
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, 
Or say with princes if it shall go well, 
By oft predict that I in heaven find: 
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 
And, constant stars, in them I read such art 
As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; 

     Or else of thee this I prognosticate: 
     Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.





 

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