making rituals of routines

on the glorious ebullience of Sagittarius—and something you wouldn't expect from a Sag placement

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Photo by Jon Tyson

Hi friends,

I can’t remember a time, before recent years, when I didn’t rail against routine. Something in me always knew that if I wanted to be a great writer, I would need to pull from my own life experiences, in some way; and that soon morphed into the belief that if I wanted said experiences to be interesting enough for people to actually want to read them, I had to go out of my way make them more interesting. Well, that’s subjective, not to mention ever-shifting. What you find interesting as a sixteen-year-old differs greatly from what you find interesting in your twenties and thirties.

And as you can imagine, this attitude got me into trouble more than once.

At sixteen, I was misanthropic in that painfully earnest and angsty way that so many teenagers are. The difference is that I chose to act on it in ways that made me stand out even more. I skipped class sometimes merely to sit near the quad, on campus, reading excerpts from Oedipus Rex. (You can absolutely laugh. It’s objectively hilarious. And nerdy.) Either way, I had a chip on my shoulder at least as wide across as Mount Olympus.

At other times I’d ditch to do the normal angsty teen things—scamper over to the creek across the street from my high school, where everyone knew the potheads hung out, or else a whole crew of students would congregate after two juniors decided they’d be duking it out.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

We’re talking epic brawls in the dirt. Okay, so this was usually a one-and-done punch to the head—which we referred to as the dome, as in straight to the dome! Mouths always slow-moving with our familiar mix of California surfer-stoner slang—and one boy or the other was out. Naturally, this constituted as epic for a bunch of teenagers.

It was easy to incentivize my own bad behavior, a practice that dragged on clear into college and my late 20’s. Clearly, I was doing it for my art. I was channeling all the pain and negativity, the turmoil of being misunderstood (read: Othered), and making it something beautiful via my writing. Something greater, even fated.

I still catch myself doing it today. Feeling lonely or excluded? Play it up more, so that I can give the vividness of the emotion to a character. Then bestow it all upon the character, or relinquish it within the confines of a poem! Let the pages soak it up; let the lines bloat with it, rather than having to address what old wounds it has opened up in myself.

The problem with that method of coping is over time you learn to glamorize the feeling. I’ve written about glamorizing my sadness before; it’s not a pretty path, though I once convinced myself to find it romantic—that it’s lit with candles and lanterns, overgrown with luxurious flora and fauna—and have since been forced to contend with the rather more harsh reality time and time again.

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For my sixteenth birthday, my mother took me to see an astrologer, where my birth chart was laid out for the first time. It would be a long time before I’d understand its nuances, rather than summarily blaming and thanking, in equal parts, the fire sign energy evident in my chart.

Instead, I later convinced myself that this pull toward capital-D “Danger” was due almost entirely to my Sagittarius moon. Of course I was excited by the allure of darkness, by romanticizing the subversive. Of course my soul felt forever restless. And of course I found things like inner peace boring, and therapy pointless, and meditation as a habit impossible to take up on a regular basis.

Now I marvel at the neat order of the birth chart. Here, your issue with authority—makes perfect sense with this placement. Here, this planet situated in this house? Yeah, that’s your need to under- or over-share your trauma. Especially on the internet.

Here, the importance you place in your identity as a whole, on the ability to heal.

My fascination with astrology has always been in using it as a tool for understanding—both of the Self and others. In more recent years, as I made my way down the path of self-awareness, healing, and growth in spirituality, I learned more and more about myself with astrology as that tool. I learned not to pick fights just to “feel something”—that was unevolved Aries behavior. I also no longer find sitting with myself in meditation boring (that alone is a major win for any Sagittarius placement).

I’ve grown into myself in ways I once could never have imagined, and I’ll assure you that my Cancer placements are quite happy about that.

Ruled by Jupiter, the ebullient god of the sky and thunder, and a planet that bolsters anything it touches, it’s no surprise that Sagittarius is a fire sign that’s all about enthusiasm and expansion.

And, taking place at a time when the Northern Hemisphere nears the precipice of winter, it guides us toward the glitter of the holiday season as a means for escaping the crepuscular dark and biting cold of deep wintry climes. (Okay, so it was 73 degrees on Thanksgiving Day in NorCal.) After a particularly intense Scorpio season—though I do love my Scorps—it’s a lovely change of pace.

It’s possible, too, that we may get so swept up in all the excitement that we’re unable to see the trees for the forest. Sagittarians are so effusive in their joy, and their efforts to impart that on others! It’s what we love about them. They want everything to be better, for all parties involved, or at least to entertain—so much that they can at times turn to escapism—and then turn that desire all the way UP.

All for the sake of imparting a good vibe.

I don’t say this to pin Sag with the stereotype of flighty or unreliable; not because I’ve never experienced this of them, but because I’m not interested in astrological stereotypes.

In Greek mythology, Sagittarius, Latin for archer, was a centaur—half-man, half-horse—who embodied the attempt to break free from man’s animal nature in the pursuit of knowledge. (I promise this isn’t just an excuse for me to go on about centaurs again, like I did in the post linked below.)

Mythical creature sighting ahead

The ultimate seeker of knowledge, whether it’s through the pleasure of experience, through travel, or something else, they’re always hungry to learn.

Many Sagittarians I know are casual amassers of all kinds of knowledge, as well as arbiters of taste: they’re usually impeccably dressed, without much effort. They can and will drop random facts about NYFW shows from the early 90s, or else cult classic arthouse flicks on which those who haven’t been to film school are woefully uninformed. Maybe they did go to film school.

I should mention that my own moon sign is situated in the 6th house. In astrology, each slice of the “pie” that makes up the zodiac wheel represents a different house, each of which is linked to a zodiac sign. The 6th house rules health and wellbeing, daily routines and rituals, and habits. It’s certainly an interesting place for a moon sign to sit. A less-than-dreamy position, it insists on being heard all day long—not just when I feel up to processing my emotions.

My inner sixteen-year-old would be appalled to find that I’ve come to deeply enjoy my routines. Due in no small part to this newsletter, and so much so that I’ve reframed them. “Routine”, after all, sounds inherently boring—it invokes plodding commutes and the mindless punching of time cards. One definition of it is just that: something you commit by rote. Repeatedly, that is. Until it’s committed to heart. Or you’re bored to tears, whichever comes first!

And yet, my writing practice is one of the best things in my life, if not the best thing. My forever favorite—far more dependable than a soul plagued by disquiet. Perhaps it’s because the two go hand-in-hand. Maybe there will always be a restlessness in my soul: the same restlessness that has always driven me to write, and dream, and obsess over art—my own and otherwise.

It’s one that is alleviated by this hard-won modus operandi, however.

This intention to hold attention for the patterns and practices of my day-to-day.

And because maybe it is about making rituals of our routines, so that we can better prioritize the ones that help us unfold into our lives and show up in the ways we want to show up in the world. So that they’ll help to calm the restlessness instead of goading it. (Well, as much as possible.)

Most wouldn’t expect this of a Sagittarius placement. If there’s one thing Sag loves, it’s play, spontaneity, a good surprise—all of that good juicy stuff that keeps life exciting. And I love those things, too. The unexpected comes to be expected; sometimes we show up with our best-laid plans, and all, and they immediately go to hell. Some of the best art is made that way.

But, ritualizing my own routines—clinging to where I find joy and creativity in their stability, in my own consistency—has made me realize that I don’t have to be a tortured artist in order to be a prolific writer. As prolific a writer as I have ever been, outside of grad school. It’s a beautiful thing, and has helped me build a sense of much stronger trust in my Self, besides.

It’s also given me the most delicious freedom in my writing life. I fit myself along the grooves of this newsletter¹, and the new fiction I’m working on (as well as the old—my novel is still slowly humming along), and I feel excited by the page, again and again and again. It’s the kind of momentum Sagittarius lives for.

xx,

Kimia

1. It’s also why I include a section about what I’m currently creating ritual with in my witchy check-in missives.