Two days ago the moon was 79% illuminated (waxing gibbous), and I started my period. Today the moon will be 95% illuminated, and come Friday, a glorious full moon!
This morning my husband and I went to a trailer and sat in a board room with six or seven child education professionals from the Irvine Public School district to discuss ways in which we can help our seven-year-old son, Henry, succeed in getting to school on time. He has over thirty unexcused tardies for the year, averaging in one to five minutes lateness. Usually what happens is there is traffic, the bell rings right when we pull up, and because Mrs. Cole is a stickler for all things pedantic, rather than slipping into the classroom unbeknownst to the collective excitement of the day new, he is told to collect his tardy slip from Ms. Stacey at the front office (a good five minutes walk from his classroom), and return once class is more or less in full swing to hand in a slip, which, I was told, effectively does nothing but is required none the same.
Of the seven stern-looking women, one who called herself doctor because she had the child psychology degree to uphold, there was a middle-aged man who immediately took issue with me saying, “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I have my moon in Sagittarius (laugh), so I’m always late.” He opened with, “I don’t know what your sign has to do with anything. I’m a Virgo, so whatever that means.” People often find territorial lines drawn when they speak in present tense. What did he really want? He wanted me to come up with concrete plans to reveal to the other women that I was taking things seriously. “So I’ll set an alarm for earlier and not be late. Is that what you want to hear?” The tension in the room was palpable! I guess I wasn’t following the decorum he really wanted me to follow. Whoops. Sucks to be the lone male ranger in a career field inundated by estrogen. What with the daily grind, the hourglass of life trickling down to nothingness, storylines and bad habits littering existence–any emotional encounter–any transaction–can give rise to the acid eating at our souls.
So I’m validating myself here. I have had experiences with men, enough now to know most want to hold onto their convictions, be treated with wide-eyed admiration, and want to judge before I turn around with my incisive Scorpio gaze and see right through them.
Preemptive strike?
Once upon a time a wonderful acting instructor named Charlie told me, “I know it must be harder for you, as a empath.” Present tense labelling, again, but this time with compassion and, well, empathy finessing the tone. Sometimes I encounter men cut from a warmer fabric. There is a grace and kindness about these men that cause me to turn into someone I am not completely either. I am not any one person in any situation. Others draw out from me what they want to see, what I want them to see, and the whole impact is synastry, an ebb and flow of differing values, perspectives, experiences, and lenses. Sometimes we click. Sometimes we lose steam. Sometimes we never get off the launchpad. Sometimes it’s a little touch and go, and in the end, I realize I’m not myself any more than I am any less myself in other relationships. Context is huge. What came before matters.
Surrender to what is.
Let go of what was.
Have faith in what will be.
H.M.K. 