Next week, I’ll celebrate my 50th birthday. Isn’t that a sobering number? Perhaps it’s because I’m the youngest of my siblings, or because I haven’t had children of my own, but for whatever reason I find it difficult to relate to the idea of being middle-aged. In fact, let’s be honest: at fifty, the chances that I’m only middle aged are, statistically, not that great.
So it’s a big birthday, and for weeks – if not months – I’ve been trying to figure out how best to mark the occasion. A party? A trip to some foreign locale? A simple dinner with friends and family?
Perhaps… nothing at all?
None of these options sounds quite right. The pressure of trying to imagine Something Special enough to commemorate this Special Birthday has become a bit of a worry, frankly. Doing anything at all, in fact, feels like the very worst Leo stereotype, a grandstanding “Look at me, look at me!” gesture. Yet to do nothing at all would just seem… sad.
What’s the truth about Leo? Are we the attention hogs of pop astrology legend? If you wish to make that argument, there are numerous high-profile and flamboyant examples who could be entered into evidence (I’m looking at you, Madonna). But overall, I’d say we’re about as likely to be egotistical as the next person, regardless of Sun sign. After all, everyone is born with the Sun in his or her birth chart; the desire to be acknowledged and loved is a human characteristic, not confined to those born in late July and the first few weeks of August. When we’ve cut our teeth on Sun sign astrology, perhaps we’re inclined to stereotyping; we look at Leo and are immediately on alert for signs of hubris, exhibitionism. But are these traits really any more prominent in Leo than in people born with the Sun in other signs?
The Leo in me objects: No. It’s just that when the lion stands out, we do it with more style and elán.
Heh. Sorry. I couldn’t resist.
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I look back at the last fifty years with plenty of palms-to-face horror and embarrassment (the bad perms! the dubious wardrobe choices!), but also with a certain satisfaction that I’ve accomplished much of what I set out to do. I’m proud of those achievements. I’ve garnered a bit of recognition here and there, too, which is essentially Leo 101.
But at the close of a half-century as a Leo, I can see very different goals in my future. When Leo wants too much to be admired (and I’ve been guilty of that my whole life), I think it’s because he or she is trying to fulfill a noble impulse in a way that nevertheless guarantees satisfaction won’t be found. Leo’s noblest impulse, I believe, is not a search for love and admiration per se, but rather a wish for engagement of the heart. It’s a craving that, at this point in my life, I’m convinced can only be fulfilled by throwing one’s whole heart into passionate pursuits for their own sake – and most of all, by loving others wholeheartedly, as well.
At this New Moon in Leo, the Sun and Moon lie close to Venus. The truth is that alone, none of us is anything special. Even the greatest artist, inventor, or statesman relies on a symbiotic relationship with those who appreciate the art, marvel at the invention, and are inspired by the oratory. This New Moon reminds us that we can only be something special when we love, and are loved in return.
As for me, I doubt I’ll do anything earth-shattering to commemorate my birthday. You’re unlikely to catch me on the evening news, bungee jumping off the Coronado Bridge. But that’s not to say that I don’t plan to have a special day. After a very hectic year, I’m giving myself the gift of a week off. In the days leading up to my birthday, I plan to emulate my lion cousins of the Serengeti, lounging under an Acacia tree, surveying the plains from a posture of comfortable repose. I’ll gaze across the shimmering mirage of my tiny biography toward a distant but ever-more refined point, where a lion joins her pride and bends her knees beside refreshing waters, drinking til her heart is full.
