Learning to Be a Sagittarius

First thing on the phone with my friend Vanessa, I ask, “Do I not believe in horoscopes because I’m a Sagittarius?” She’s hesitantly agreed to chat with me, a non-believer, about the zodiac.

Unlike me, Vanessa was born and raised in the Bay Area, she’s not just one of the bajillion Oakland transplants who flock here for the diverse, ever-shifting culture of this unique place. She’s got all that easygoing California cool I strive to emulate. I met her the first time I ever crossed the bridge from San Francisco to the East Bay, when I interviewed for a room in her home. Once I moved in, she immediately proved herself to be a great listener with a naturally artistic outlook and tons of creative edginess, constantly on the lookout for opportunities to connect with and understand other people.

That was over seven years ago and we’ve both lived in way too many different apartments since then. We’ve lost track of most of our former roommates over the years, but I still count Vanessa among my truest friends. Since before I met her, she’s consistently released stream-of-consciousness zines full of her wry observations and sardonic wit. She also led a punk rock band until the tragic Ghost Ship fire demolished the scene. After that, she quit drinking and smoking cigarettes. Both had been among her main coping mechanisms for dealing with loud shows and parties. As a result, whatever punk and experimental music scene that folks have managed to rebuild from those ashes has not received the benefit of her direct participation.

I admire Vanessa for so many reasons. She’s funny, a little dark without being negative, great at connecting like-minded people, and has stuck with one artistic endeavor—her zine—longer than anyone else I know. She’s got inherent wisdom that I respect a lot. That’s why I’ve always found her heartfelt belief in the zodiac to be, well, a bit curious.

I’m not from California, myself. I’m a Jew from Philadelphia, a city where hitchhiking robots go to die, so unlike Vanessa, I’m a neurotic who has been known to accidentally ruin the vibe through the sheer force of my uptightness. I’m that killjoy who prides herself on being accurate, rational, and rejecting belief in anything with even a whiff of the supernatural. Yet I find I’m strangely envious of her easy embrace of the zodiac. I can’t help but think my life would be more fun if I thought of myself not just as an anxious Philly Semite, but as a Sagittarius.

I decided to ask Vanessa what it means to be a Sagittarius and hear it with an open mind.

In answer to my first question, whether the reason I don’t believe in the zodiac is because I’m a Sagittarius, she laughs. “Could be true, might be very true,” she says. “Maybe because some Sagittarians don’t want to believe things unless there are facts. Though I have another Sag friend who has a magic shop and is super into the zodiac, so maybe you’re just not in touch with that spiritual side.”

It’s a good start. It means I might learn to believe—all hope is not lost. “What does it mean to be a Sagittarius?” I ask.

“Well,” she says. “You’re a fire sign, so you take charge, though you may be a little chaotic in how you take charge. You speak your mind and don’t hold back.”

“That does sound like me,” I say. No one has ever accused me of failing to assert myself.

“Yeah, I lived with another Sag who was loud and didn’t care that he was loud. Sagittarians have this brutal, fiery honesty. But sometimes it’s good because fire can cleanse. Sometimes the truth needs to come out to clear the air.”

I think about it. I’m not sure if I’m loud, but I am a consummate truth-teller. I definitely care if people find me loud. I’m more likely to confront someone with straightforward, evenly-delivered, cutting honesty. I ask her to tell me more about Sagittarians.

“Some of my favorite Real Housewives are Sagittarians, like NeNe Leakes. They’re hilarious and often the life of the party. Also Britney Spears. It’s an intelligent sign, but an impulsive one. They like new beginnings and fresh starts.”

I have moved to entirely different cities, like, five times in my life. Twice all the way across the country. Each time, I’ve made the decision rather quickly, then embraced it fully, as if it had been my plan all along. Some might consider that “impulsive.”

“Like the archer’s arrow,” Vanessa says, referencing my sign’s symbol. “You shoot your wish out to the world then head where it lands.”

“The archer always sounded a little murderous to me,” I say, unsure.

“Oh, definitely.” Vanessa responds. “It’s like, watch out! You’re a force to be reckoned with. But it might take some time to embrace it. Like, I’m a Taurus and for the longest time, I hated that my symbol is a bull. But then I was like, well, bulls are cows and cows are beautiful, gentle creatures—until provoked.”

Vanessa tells me that over the course of this past year in the pandemic, she’s really embraced her inner Taurus.

“I was sort of in denial about my Taurusness, but now I see how true it is. I want to be comfortable at all times, and that means that I’m stubborn to change. And also, I’m not only a Taurus. I’m queer, I’m an anarchist, I can’t be defined by just one thing. But yeah, I’m cautious and slow to adjust, and like a bull, if I’m quietly stewing long enough, my anger can boil over and I might charge at you! I’ve gotten way better about that, though.”

I’m intrigued by the notion that a person can alter the qualities inherent to their sign. So, does that mean that, no matter what the stars make us, we can still change it?

“Sure!” she says. “People can work through their shadow side. Like, you can be evolved or unevolved. It depends on whether you’re willing to really examine and challenge yourself or not. That may be why you care if you’re loud—because you decided to care if you’re loud, and once you decided to care, you did something about it.”

I think back on my childhood when I was definitely louder. One time I got shushed in a movie theater and it so embarrassed me, I swore never to behave in a way that would result in an angry “Shhhhh!” ever again.

“You’re really way more chill and compassionate than a lot of Sagittarians are,” Vanessa assures me. “Like how you’re vegan and care deeply about fighting injustice against humans and animals. Some of them are more self-centered, but when a Sag directs their attention outwardly, they’re a great ally because they’re willing to have long and complex conversations, and they’re so good at direct communication.”

I’m flattered. “You know what?” I say. “That really means a lot to me. Thank you.”

After talking it out with Vanessa, do I believe in the zodiac now? No, not exactly. But there are a lot of labels we embrace for ourselves, whether they be “queer,” “anarchist,” “vegan,” “Sagittarius,” "Taurus," or anything else. We lose the parts of each label we don’t feel apply and display the other parts with pride. We’re all in a constant quest to figure ourselves out and define ourselves. We’re a jigsaw puzzle of concepts and ideas, pieced together to form a version of the whole that we can look at and say, “That’s a true picture of me.”

So perhaps I am a Sagittarius. It may not be the centerpiece of my puzzle, but I think I can take it, cut it to size, and fit it neatly into my personal landscape.