3 lessons I've learned from the Libras in my life

on belonging, beauty, justice or the lack thereof, and LOTS of recommendations

Oct 07, 2022

low angle of forest at daytime — Photo by David Kovalenko on Unsplash

Hi friends, lovelies, and magical humans,

We are close—so close that it’s discomfiting—to the end of daylight savings, the time of year when 5pm suddenly plunges one into what feels like the witching hour, but for now, there is the October morning light. I watch as it refracts the prismatic reflections of the disco balls, large and in miniature, in my room, and I find that it’s easy to romanticize Libra season.

I mean, that’s largely the point, isn’t it? As we sink into the clutches of the harvest, the time when the things of nature start to die, we espouse the traits of a sign that is, first and foremost, concerned with the ideals of beauty, harmony, and community.

As an Aries, I may be Libra’s polar opposite, her stubborn and independent star sign sister, but I know for a fact that the Libra friends and loved ones I have in my life—and I have attracted many over the years—have come into my sphere to teach me about community: both its trappings and, most especially, the gentle comforts belonging can bring. Expected and unexpected.

I do think that sometimes Libras can benefit from more solitude. That they tide over the busyness of their lives with the busyness of others—and that the constant socializing and commingling can blur into codependency, and mean that they don’t always take the time to figure out who they are on their own. There’s also something to be said here about people pleasing, and how it can be easy to lose yourself in others when you don’t carve out space to color inside of your own lines.

But the truth is that the Libras I know thrive at the heart of their circles and communities. They have more friends; more crushes, dalliances, and lovers; and attend more weddings than anyone else I know (true story). They say things like, “I love love!” and pride themselves on making others feel welcome. With so many acquaintances and so many social gatherings to flit off to, though, less evolved Libras may not always have time to prioritize deeper conversations or connections.

In my natal chart, Libra rules the 4th house, the house that represents family and home life. It makes sense, then, that I am so close with my family; that even when I don’t see them, I am in constant conversation with my siblings, whom I see as built-in best friends; my parents, who I’ve stayed close with; and my cousins, who are another kind of best friend. If Libra is not close with their “original” family, they create their own—and they teach you how to knit yourself up within its bonds. They are the friend or loved one who at least attempts to ensure you don’t feel alone.

And we adore them for it.

Anyway, without further ado, here are 3 lessons I’ve learned from lovely Libra:

Appreciation for beauty in all its many forms—and attention as a form of mindfulness.

I’ve written in this newsletter before that your attention is a superpower, and if that’s true then can’t it also be an extension of mindfulness practice? A method and mechanism with which to achieve a higher state?

As a sign ruled by Venus, Libra is concerned with Venusian ideals, the most traditional of which is beauty. Read: the art of making things appear more so, or of revealing their beauty, or even simply holding in their attention that which they find beautiful to perceive.

Paying real attention to something, taking the time to bear witness and absorb, especially at a time in human history when we are constantly inundated with more more more MORE, distraction, options, everything all at once! can absolutely be a form of mindfulness. Even of prayer, though I don’t usually like the term for its religious connotations.1

That said, does this then make beauty the altar at which Libra prays? You bet.

Sometimes the rose-colored glasses, and the perpetual seeking of resplendence, make it hard for them to absorb anything that exists outside of this worldview. Many of the Libras I know are not only averse to conflict, but actively avoid it; they will sometimes keep something that is no longer desirable in their lives in order not to ruffle any feathers, even if they know it’s not ultimately right or good for them.

We can’t make everything beautiful, of course. And attempting to do so can easily push one into the realm of rampant superficiality, toxic positivity, and more. But we can transform certain things, says Libra, one of those things being our conception of relationships—how we show up for others and how they can show up for us in return.

“Delusions of grandeur” as a lifestyle.

Like Leos, for Libras, their grandiose attitudes are about more than mere delusions of grandeur—they are a lifestyle. This may sound frivolous, and if unchecked, it certainly can be.

But also, if you haven’t yet subscribed to the “be delusional” mentality, Libra season is your time to shine. I’ve discussed it on this newsletter before, but if you’re not familiar… what I mean by this is that manifestation is very much about “faking it until you make it” and then some. Believe that it’s possible, and only then will you be able to see it come to life for you.2

Justice does not always play out the way we want or expect on an individual scale.

Justice may not play out the way we hope or expect at times—most of the time, more likely—and it does not always seem fair, at least to our admittedly limited frame of human comprehension.

As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes unfairness is simply the status quo. As much as I often attempt to call attention to situations of injustice, especially ones that are close to my own heart, in part by writing into my wounds (as Roxane Gay would say); and by immediately turning to the page in times of darkness and trauma, the way I did last week when I wrote about the ongoing human rights crisis in my parents’ homeland of Iran.3

Where is the justice here? And if “no one is free until we are all free,” when will the tyranny end?

It’s been especially triggering to witness, put into stark relief, the silence and inaction of certain parties, media outlets, and more on this topic. It’s always triggering to see revealed the prioritizations of white bodies versus brown bodies—quite literally, the binary of “over there” versus “over here” played out in real time.4

But I have to believe that at some point, in this lifetime or others, the scales will ultimately balance themselves out. That’s putting it in the simplest of terms, yes, and I’ll continue to cling to that belief.

It’s a Libra lesson if anything: after all, they are the embodiment of Lady Justice, represented by the scale or balance. It makes sense, then, that so many of them are social justice warriors, volunteers, nurses, activists, and more. And if there’s anything this world needs, it’s more of these.

What I’m reading: I am slightly unhinged in my reading habits, so I will freely admit to you that at any one time, I’m reading at least 7 or so books—give or take. Okay, so it’s more like 10 or 11, but a few of those are usually on an indefinite hiatus. I get sucked into one book, then another; I start an audiobook, then another; I follow things up with a new memoir or self-help book (though I hate the title of that genre, or at least the connotation behind it).

Earlier this week I finished reading a short story collection called The Lonely Stories, which features essays from many of my favorite writers—luminaries like Jhumpa Lahiri, Jesmyn Ward, Lev Grossman, and Helena Fitzgerald, who writes Griefbacon here on Substack.

“When I became a writer my desk became home; there was no need for another. Every story is a foreign territory, which, in the process of writing, is occupied and then abandoned. I belong to my work, to my characters, and in order to create new ones I leave the old ones behind. My parents’ refusal to let go or to belong fully to either place is at the heart of what I, in a less literal way, try to accomplish in writing. Born of my inability to belong, it is my refusal to let go.”
—from Trading Stories, first published in The New Yorker (read it here, I highly recommend)

It also includes the likes of Lena Dunham, who, despite a recent misguided attempt to pronounce herself a LGBTQ+ icon (honestly, I shudder with embarrassment just thinking about it), is undeniably a gifted writer.

It’s a collection that has refueled my interest in the power of alone, what it means, and the myriad ways in which we can feel that way, regardless of whether we are “alone” in the literal sense or not. It was collated in 2020, and many of the essays are a callback to the confusion and loneliness of those first few months of mandated lockdown.

I may be a little late to the read—wish I’d picked it up when it was published, truly—and a few of the essays concluded too briefly for my liking, sure, as some complained on Goodreads. But more completely blew me away. My highlights were the above-mentioned Jhumpa Lahiri essay, Javelinas by Claire Dederer, A Strange and Difficult Joy by Helena Fitzgerald, Reliquary: A Quartet by Lidia Yuknavitch, and The Ugly Corner by Dina Nayeri.

I have long thought: What is lonely but the feeling of being alone? And if that’s true, then what is reclaiming your alone but attention to the presence of Self—as a kind of prayer, a poem in a body, an experience (look! You are a soul within a meat suit, as they say; look! You are a spiritual presence currently experiencing the physicalities of life on this hurtling piece of space rock we call Planet Earth).

See also: This Literary Hub article about writing a book that I simply cannot get out of my head since I read it over a month ago now. It’s that good.

See also also: This post from Yrsa Daley Ward. Yrsa has an uncanny ability to write into things as if she is peering directly into my soul, and is one of my all-time favorite writers, on Substack and otherwise. If you’re not familiar, please do yourself a favor and give her a read. And if you’re looking for a sign—consciously or unconsciously—dare I say this is it?

Lastly, Mona Eltahawy’s essay When Girls Erupt, published this week in her Substack newsletter, Feminist Giant, is nothing short of absolutely fucking incredible.

“Before (the revolution), I was saying ‘no.’ Then the revolution came, and I began to say, ‘I demand.’”
If women are volcanoes, as Ursula K. Le Guin once said, what happens when girls erupt?
TL:DR the patriarchy is FUCKED, that’s what happens.

What I’m watching: I recently finished watching the most recent season of The Industry, which has been lauded by many as the bridge between Euphoria and Succession, and which I thoroughly enjoyed despite the fact that it’s full of a. completely inscrutable dialogue and b. completely unlikable characters. I mean seriously, anytime you start to like or at least feel for a single one of these characters, they do something so unutterably selfish and conniving that you’re left wondering, what the actual fuck. Maybe that’s what makes it so compulsively watchable??

I’m also watching Bad Sisters on Apple TV, which is also compulsively watchable, but for entirely different reasons. I mentioned above that I am very close to my family, and I see a lot of myself in Bibi especially (though I am not a “Cyclops lesbian superhero”, as she is referred to in the show). I would, however, do anything for the people I love. I may also have the tendency to get a little intense and mercurial at times (we love self-awareness! Although I swear it’s my Cancer placements!).

I have a running list of Halloween movies—not necessarily scary, but certainly spooky—to start combing through this month, the first of which was none other than Hocus Pocus 2. No, I am not ashamed to admit that I actually really enjoyed it! A delightful romp, though cheesy, but that was to be expected—let’s not forget this is Disney we’re talking about here. And I found myself more than a little disappointed with the musical numbers; I mean, really, who chose the songs? But overall, there were plenty of laugh-out-loud, as well as satisfyingly meta moments, interwoven throughout, and I simply wouldn’t be a proper witch if I didn’t appreciate the way it really made Salem pop, bringing it to life in the most fittingly magical way possible.

Bette Midler, Kathy Najimy, and Sarah Jessica Parker were all three an absolute joy in reprising their original roles, although I wish we could have reunited with the actors who played Max and Dani Dennison and Allison as well.

Do you agree with my take—or not so much?

Other honorary mentions from my espooky szn movie list:

Spirited Away
Practical Magic
The Nightmare Before Christmas
Beetlejuice
The Lost Boys
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Jennifer’s Body
An American Werewolf in London

Love it? Hate it? Want to share other recommendations? 👇🏼

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