Recently I went back to my 2012 horoscope and found it funny how things turned out quite close to the “predictions.” Now, my ego will always prefer rummaging through my natal chart to generic yearly BS, but I had to laugh out loud when I saw the Aquarian horoscope for 2013.
Apparently, the romance I have started at the end of 2012 will only keep on giving; “Putting up with a partner who does not honor and cherish my essence is a thing of the past;” and I might be “changing my residence.” Hm.
Career-wise, I seem to have spent the past few years “collecting the necessary research and finding a slew of inspiring mentors,” and it is now time to “get my genius concepts on the map where they belong.” Also, “Chances are that I am only living up to a fraction of my potential and yet doing incredibly well.”
Touché, Astrology.com. Touché. We’ll talk in a years’ time and see who’s done what, mmmkay?
When the laughter subsided, what I saw were my plans as I had already formulated them in my head, written out by a stranger’s hand for the entertainment of the general public. Funny.
The hourglass of 2012 is just about down to its last grains of sand. There are recaps and stock-taking in the media, the blogosphere, and the private lives of friends and family. I really do not want to do mine, but perhaps I should. Perhaps I will be glad of it some decades down the line?
It is too early to gauge the magnitude of this year. Usually, my brain is about ten steps ahead of the rest of me, figuring things out and getting upset that cannot catch up with myself. It amazes me to see it take a back seat to emotions and intuition. This year I have felt on my twitching skin, behind my eyeballs, in the core of my stomach and my bitten, mangled cuticles. Compliments of bravery and expressions of admiration for whatever it is that makes the choices I made admirable, are appreciated and politely accepted, but have yet to be internalized. For now, they feel as if they should be meant for someone else.
I do not want to use big words for this. And I don’t mean long, I mean big.
I have learned that we are teachers to our parents. We may kick and scream about it or insist that it should be the other way round [OK, I kick and scream about it], but we force them to rise and grow from the moment we are born. And it is our most controversial choices that allow them to grow the most. I have learned that my parents know, understand, and support me better than I ever might have hoped for. I also hope that someday soon I can not only understand, but accept this role in their lives.
I have learned that what I used to call intensity, abrasiveness, emotional amplitudes or being high maintenance deflates so beautifully when one calls it a quest for transparency. Thank you, therapy.
This has been a year of many lasts and firsts. Last weekends, last conversations, last embraces. And first nights spent in one’s old bedroom, first vacations and celebrations as a single person, first job and conference applications as a changed woman, and first kisses. It’s funny how being part of a couple drapes you in some cloak of diminished accessibility, and how people seem to come out of the woodwork when they hear you are no longer attached.
I have learned that, though the universe might have rattled me like a snow globe, it never lost sight of my happiness. The people that I trusted before justified that trust by sticking by me. Family came through in ways that I will be grateful for until the end of my days. My body got rid of some ballast, and perhaps I ought to change my profile to “106 pounds of… something.” My life was purged of pressures and clutter, leaving space and permission for grief, healing, and rebirth.
I was blessed with a love of cosmic proportions, and the beautiful, generous heart of a man who is a magician with words and deeds, a templar and a gentleman, an artist and an angel. He writes me songs and sends love notes in my language. He dreams of me and tells stories of who I am and what I do to friends and family with endless pride and joy. Kissing that stranger is the most natural thing I have ever done.
Tell me about your year, friends. And the year to come, as you see it now, even if you don’t see it yet. Then meet me here in a year’s time to sit and laugh about it all. Be happy, healthy, and blessed. Be in love with life, with yourself, and one another. Thank you for being here.