What Becomes a Good Man Most?
This is a real, not disingenuous question: What are the qualities traditionally associated with masculinity that are undeniably constructive? Toxic masculinity is finally being called out. (To the astrologists among us, this may be a result of hyper-masculine Aries being in Uranus, the shit-stirrer, for the last seven years.) But it makes me realize that we’ve been in a “boy, not man” moment for a while. Insensitivity, acquisitiveness, hyper-aggression, and stunted entitlement have continued to reign supreme–namely the negative, unevolved traits associated with masculinity. But rare are the the self-sufficiency, determination, solicitousness, and impeccability by one’s word that once were associated with “real men.” Or were they?
Given that every balanced person channels both feminine and masculine energy (gender restrictions being a plague across the board), what are the qualities associated with masculinity that we need to cultivate personally and collectively, regardless of our gender presentation? Goddess knows I had to find my inner butch once I was on my own and had to set up computers and wi-fi, fix radiators and toilets, even build shelves. Only then did I realize that I’d always expected 
people who identified as male and/or masculine to do such things. Now I am working mightily to channel more positive masculinity in myself and in my friends, lovers, community–more “make it happen, captain” Jupiter energy. Because I’ve gone as far as I can with radical receptivity and swallowed as much toxic masculinity as I ever want to swallow (pun intended, always). It’s time to integrate powerful, positive proactivity–bold and well-intentioned “asks”–into the protocol. But first I have to figure out what divine masculinity actually is. And must personality traits be gendered at all? It’s a clusterfuck of questions, but one I feel compelled to tackle. With healing Chiron in Aries and contemplative Mercury Retrograde in Pisces, it’s the time to do so and please chime in. It’s all about the yin and yang, baby.
Mercury Retrograde’s Waterworks
As I write this, I am sobbing uncontrollably because I just rewatched The Best Holiday, which doesn’t get its due as the best weepie of the decade so far. I was moved to watch it because–drum roll please!–Mercury goes retrograde in Pisces today, where it will remain until the 28th. All the usual caveats apply–back up your electronics, buy travel insurance, postpone signing on dotted lines. Since Pisces is ruled by Neptune, the master of illusions and delusions, be patient with miscommunications and confusion of all sorts. But wait, there’s more. With this retrograde taking place in the planet of intuition and deep feelings, we’re all going to be ultra-emotional, especially as tomorrow’s new moon is also in Pisces and Mercury is conjuncting with Chiron, which governs healing and past pain. Kittens, everything’s going to hit us like a ton of bricks. Our soft underbellies will be revealed.
You know what? It’s going to be great, because where ever Mercury drops anchor, we get a crash course in how we communicate in that area of our lives. So we’re all going to get better at expressing our feelings, and learn how to move forward with our hearts, 
Fillettes se promenant by Édouard Vuillard
not just our heads.
Fillettes se promenant by Édouard Vuillard
Expect long-delayed conversations with lovers, friends, and family members with whom you have a block. Expect to cry a lot. And expect truly transcendent moments of connection and love when you least expect it. Pisces always brings heart magic, and who doesn’t need more of that?
If you’ve been thinking of scheduling an intuition reading, this is a great time to do so. Mercury retrograde forces us to dig deep, and with Pisces running the show, such soul work can be amazing.
Fetal February, I’m Ready to March
Today was terrible. I got a huge splinter in my foot, sat down at the kitchen table, and then it collapsed right out from under me. It’s a yellow 1940s formica behemoth I found at the Chelsea flea back in 1993, and it just crashed to the floor, taking my computer and a full mug of coffee and a vase of flowers and water along with it. The poor thing’s screws had rusted out and I guess so had I.
The last six months have just been so relentless–the last vestiges of that bad breakup, the jury duty, the significant loss of my savings and steady gigs, and through it all I’ve keep going and going because that’s how I’ve always been. Jiving and driving, nickel and diming. Surviving not thriving. It’s the New York hustle. But today my kitchen table crashed to the floor and I collapsed with it. Because if I’m being honest I don’t know how I’m going to afford a new table, let alone pay my rent in two months. Mama’s tapped. Not just of money but of the ability to hustle.
It bums me out when people on the educated left act like there’s a them and an us when it comes to real struggle in this country right now. Life is hard for so many Americans, especially with such larcenous leadership. An IRS agent I spoke with last week–of course I’m having tax tsuris–actually used that phrase. “Larcenous leadership.” But he didn’t have to say that for me to feel it. Whenever I ride the subway I’m jacked right into everyone’s pain. So much suffering lives right below the surface, sometimes on the surface too, and most of the time I think this is just how life really is.
I don’t come from money and members of my family have been on public assistance my whole life. Some have worked the kind of factory jobs more likely to give you cancer than benefits. Some have stripped and turned tricks, and not in that faux-hipster way. Some have landed some super fucking hairy stints in the military. Some have landed even hairier stints in prison.
I’ve had a different path. My mom married a man who valued education, and I grew up on the wrong side of a nice town and then went to college. I had a dream of becoming a writer and living independently, and I did it. I even did it in my dream city. But I forgot to dream of living comfortably, and I never really have. I haven’t taken a real vacation or had insurance in more than a decade. It’s been 15 years since I dated a person who had my back whom I’ve also loved. I’ve never owned a piece of furniture that wasn’t used or drastically marked down. And now I don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills in the months to come.
Through it all I’ve kept trucking trucking trucking, trying to write even when my worries and loneliness have made it like squeezing the last toothpaste from the tube, trying to be there for my clients because I can see their paths even when I can’t see my own. But today my kitchen table crashed to the floor and somehow that was the straw that broke this badass’s back. I crashed to the floor too and just cried and cried. And then a friend called out of the blue because he “could tell he was supposed to.” And a bunch of friends messaged suggestions about how to find a cheap table–one even offered to help pay. And so I picked myself up and 
figured out how to reassamble my table until I could afford a new one.
Even cleaned my dirty floor.
I am healthy and have a roof over my head and food in my fridge and a reikitty on my foot and people who love me even if there’s no “my person” and maybe never will be. I am smart and strong and can do a lot more than I’ve done so far. So I have to trust there’s a you who can receive me, and a me who can receive you. I have to trust there’s a future different from our past and present. And I have to trust this foot can heal–with such bald physical metaphors, what else can I manifest?– so I can walk into the sacred unknown.
Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, February.