Part of me wishes that I did believe in astrology.
Because then I would finally have an existential scapegoat. Somewhere to point when life doesn’t turn out the way I want.
It just sounds so comforting.
Knowing that no matter how many rejections and disappointments and depressions and failures come my way, there will always be a magical external force over which I have no control that will justify them all. Because a benevolent and protecting cosmic power has carefully constructed my entire existence, endowing me with boundless reassurance and infinite hope.
Everything is going to be fine. Mercury in is retrograde. Hallelujah.
That means I don’t have to launch my new business venture for another four weeks. And now I can finally carve out that sixty hours I need to catch up on the past three seasons of my favorite zombie apocalypse series.
Behold, the bliss and beauty of belief. It replaces personal responsibility. It gives us something to blame and be angry with other than ourselves. Something to place our faith in so we don’t have to face the hard work ahead alone.
Tell me that doesn’t sound soothing.
It’s like seeing a baby snuggled up in a warm blanket. Her innocence makes you wish you had the audacity to convince yourself that everything happens for a reason and isn’t some cosmic accident in the cold randomness and whirling chaos of existence.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
What do you not believe in that you secretly wish you did?
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That Guy with the Nametag
Author. Speaker. Strategist. Inventor. Filmmaker. Publisher. Songwriter.
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