My fascination with horoscopes likely started the day I was born, since I was born on a day where the Sun was in a certain spot of its wobble. This set in motion days that start with the Sun and end with the Moon, illuminating my every move, when appropriate.

I know horoscopes are not wholly accurate, but I like to read them. Not passively either. Sometimes, I actively search for horoscopes that please me.  Similar to popping placebo pills, a good horoscope injects motivation in an otherwise lacklustre routine. There is a satisfaction in seeing what a stranger prescribes me based on a mere birth date.

The psychic stranger knows nothing about me, but their words can be a great way to boost my mojo when advice from friends and family becomes stale. My horoscope reading became more frequent when I fell into a rut. I resided in this rut for a while, briefly believing that it could make a good enough home. During this time, words from those who knew me most did not resonate. I chanced upon another personal metamorphosis and felt their views lagged behind my changes. Troughs of immaturity mark the initial phases of these metamorphoses. Whatever logic or love familiar voices imparted, I was adamant to seek stranger advice. From someone who did not know me and could not advise me based on my past selves, some of which were steeped in my past insecurities. The familiar and loving voices rang a cacophony when my self-esteem was most faded.

Turning to horoscopes gave me fresh, unfiltered hope.

I was ready to grab onto these words of encouragement, using them to climb out of the rut I was in. There was steady improvement, because I took these words to heart. Whether I was reading them correctly or not didn’t matter (there is apparently a more ‘precise’ way to read a horoscope). For whatever reason, a part of my mind assiduously tracked horoscope-based successes, biasing me in using this as a self-care ploy. Like a superstition-laden athlete, my performance improved in different areas, including my mental and emotional states. These small, encouraging phrases smoothed the gaps left by any lack of control I felt. Generally, we want to feel in control, and this desire pushes us to seek comfort in irrational or superstitious behaviours. As long as there is no harm, these tiny deceptions can produce very real mental and physical health gains.

Careful to not go way of a cult follower, I took my horoscope with a light confidence. I did not pour my entire faith in these fortunes, I just let myself be open to some of the more favourable bits. While this self-interest resembles the self-indulgent behaviour tagging some astrology believers, I, along with my rational mind, managed the reigns. If I was going to be enticed by cosmic whispers, it must be for the good.

Any benefits I derive from my horoscope viewing is only because I believe in the benefits. I admit it’s a dressed-up placebo – and that knowledge won’t topple its power.      Positivity seeps into our subconscious, but so does negativity. No need to consume an entire horoscope, balanced by both the good and bad.  Like a picky eater, take what’s good from the horoscope and compost the rest.



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