I've been reading my daily horoscope on a near-religious basis since I was eighteen years old and there's only one astrologist that I turn to for these forecasts: Holiday Mathis. She's masterful and wise and eloquent. I haven't found a better written horoscope column than hers, though, I can't take full credit for discovering it.
It was the year 2000 and I was hostessing that summer at a swanky restaurant in Downtown Houston to make extra money before moving to New York that August. I noticed that an attorney from L.A., who was in town on a three-month long case, would ask for the Houston Chronicle every time he came in for lunch. He told me that, despite traveling far and wide, he had never read a better horoscope column than Holiday's. Like him, I became hooked.
What I love about the way Holiday Mathis writes her forecasts is that there's always some guiding principle in it. She never says bogus things like "You will meet your one true love at the coffee shop around the corner at 3 p.m. on Friday." Her words paint a bigger perspective about life, and the beauty in her art lies in how she connects all of that greatness to you as an individual. "How does she know?" you'll wonder.
There are indeed times where you wish she didn't know. Like on the morning of Wednesday, June 19th, 2013, when I read this:
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 23). It goes something like this: You stray from the boring path, get lost, struggle, think you know where you're going, wind up worse off, try again, find your way back and are happy for the adventure of it all.
I mean, the woman summed up my whole adulthood in one sentence! If that's not talent, I don't know what is. I couldn't have said it better myself. You'd think she had to have lived a hundred lives to be that wise.
Please, oh please, tell me that this is not the story of my life, Holiday Mathis.
This particular forecast really scared me because it's true. If you were to follow my life story up until now, you'd find that it's a bunch of scribbles instead of a strong, steady line. If you want to experience what that might feel like, imagine a really bad parallel parking job where you have to make a million minor adjustments before fitting into a parking spot. Yeah. That. It gets to the point where you wish the universe will just throw you a bone. Or, better yet, a fortune cookie. With the answer to all questions inside.
Then again, I'd have no material for this blog. (Could enough scribbles become a masterpiece? Like a Cy Twombly?)
Anyway, point is, I'm taking matters into my own hands. I'm going to consult a psychic.