Mysticism Brings Out the Meh in Me, But Am I Being Too Big a Jerk About It?
I have no idea whether my Scorpio is rising, falling, or just being a normal old constellation and I couldn’t care less… but who wants to hear another grumpy guy bitch about it?
Small talk sucks, everybody knows this, but it is unfortunately a necessary evil when you’re first getting to know somebody. Most of the questions are pretty painless — where do you work, how’s the weather, do you think President Harding was fully responsible for the Teapot Dome Scandal, where are you from, etc. — so it’s easy to power through it and move on. But there is one question that I dread, no matter the situation: When were you born?
On the surface, this seems like a benign question. But I know the query wasn’t designed to find out my age but to make broad assumptions about my personality traits based on the date and time that I was dragged into this bleak world. Regardless of where the conversation goes from here, it is only a matter of time before I get the response of, “Oh, that’s such a Leo thing to do.”
I fucking hate astrology. To paraphrase the great philosopher Han Solo, there’s no mystical energy that controls my destiny. And certainly not a group of stars that some Mesopotamians thought looked like a lion over 6,000 years ago. So for the past 40-odd years, I’ve answered any inquiry into my chart with a mixture of scorn, profanity, and a judgemental grunt. How original, right?
As bored as I can be by astrology, I’m sure it’s even more boring to hear me prattle on about how dumb I think it is. Not to mention dismissive, egotistical, and just plain rude. Yet, for years I acted like a true Leo and thought the world revolved around me, believing people would be riveted and convinced by my takes on the zodiac, crystals, aromatherapy, or whatever thing I felt compelled to rant about.
After being asked my birth time by countless people over the years something finally clicked in my brain — I’d been acting like an enormous asshole. The actual question isn’t important, but the context. When people ask about your horoscope they’re interested in who you are, just trying to make some sort of human connection… this is a good thing! But I was turning their kindness into an opportunity to be needlessly mean. And yeah, I know this sounds like I’m making a big deal about a trivial thing, but nobody wants to be known as an unapproachable grouch.
Now when the discussion turns toward astrology I smile and engage with it in the same slightly detached way I would discuss my opinions of the G train (OK, bad example, that would lead to even more yelling and indignation). I don't have a whole lot of insight to add, so I just listen. And in the end, I learn something about what the person I’m talking to is interested in and maybe even some of their general philosophies on life. You know, the stuff that comes from having an actual conversation with someone instead of spouting off like a know-it-all bozo.
This new approach seems a lot better for everybody involved. People don’t hate me and I don’t give them a reason to do so. Win/win. I’m sure I probably came to this thanks to the strong emotional connection I have to my belief system, a clear indicator that my Venus is in Cancer… I’m just kidding. I have no idea what the hell any of that means, but if you want to tell me in the comments, I swear I won’t be a prick about it.
My eyes glaze over when people talk about astrology, too. That said, I was walking down the street one time and a guy came up to me and asked, "Are you an Aquarius by any chance? You walk like you're an Aquarius." I am. It was strange.
I disagree with you on all of this and I love it.