Confessions of an Aged Aquarius

For some reason today I feel the need to check in with myself about my astrological sign: Aquarius, the water bearer (January 20-February 18). Don’t like it? I’m quite comfortable with that, but recommend you head elsewhere.

I’ve never been one to hold a ton of stock in a horoscope on any given day, but the general description of Aquarian types has rung true for me since I can remember. I once read that I was born both under the sun and moon of Aquarius (whatever that means), making me even more likely to reflect Aquarian tendencies. Likewise, I was born almost smack-dab in the middle of Aquarius-ville, February 5.

[For those into this sort of thing, I will remind you that Aquarius is a fixed (hello pig-headed), air (demanding) sign.]

While I’ve always glommed on to certain favourable Aquarian traits like humanitarianism, originality and being a woman ahead of my time (I think there’s something about ego too), I have wondered some about others. First, there’s the fact that an Aquarius is supposedly fiercely independent. In relation to my parents and being the master of my own “domain”, I think that this describes me well. I in fact think that aging is awesome (so far) primarily because of the increased autonomy it gives me. Obviously, this feeling could change depending on what life brings. On the other hand, I don’t feel that this independence, sometimes referred to as fickleness, applies at all in terms of my closest relationships. In fact, I can be clingy as all get out. Likewise, I am also in no way detached from emotion. My emotions and I spend far too much time together, in my opinion. Anyway, no surprise there, but interesting to me nonetheless.

There is something else that has stuck with me since I read it some time in teenagehood. Apparently, Aquarians are frequently forward-looking and progressive in youth, seeing new and creative solutions to problems. This sounds nice. But I also recall hearing that in older age, Aquarians become more and more fixed on these ideas, discouraged when they are not accepted or whole-heartedly adopted by others and at worst, become tyrants in respect to other people’s thoughts. I thought I would report that I am not sure when it happened, but that moment has arrived. It’s official and rather unfortunate. My people tolerance is dipping to alarmingly low levels. The problem? I like to hear differing perspectives on issues and assess them for myself. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I am also opinionated. Fine. I hate confrontation and deal with it very badly. Rather inconvenient. Thus, engaging in discussion with people that I disagree with, particularly if they are unwilling to consider another point of view or speak respectfully about the topic, puts me in a multi-day tizzy. At times, the image of sitting in a cabin chewing on furniture and stewing in my own strangeness is exceptionally appealing.

This is a recipe for a cat lady if I have ever read one.