You never quite remember the true hideousness of New York in July. You’ve heard mothers describe a similar sensation about child birth. That if they were to remain in touch with the degree of pain they felt during childbirth, that there’s no way they would do it again—and yet, they do. This is the only plausible explanation for not moving away from New York each May.
You’ve always been consumed with fantasies of elsewhere, Virgo. Not the club in your neighborhood, you hate dancing—elsewhere in the sense of anywhere but here. You operate under the assumption that if you were cajoling in the Austrian countryside, buying fresh produce each morning and taking long walks where you are unafraid of wildlife, then—and only then, would you finally be the fascinating woman (with erotic secrets!) that you are meant to be. You believe that anything wrong with your brain/life/habits can be blamed on your setting. Certainly your flaws couldn’t follow you across the Atlantic!
You make about 10% of the money that the fantasy, self actualized, hillside roaming version of yourself makes. But you are a gifted fantasizer, Virgo—so dangerously practiced in the art of self delusion that you lose sight of irrefutable fact (you cannot afford to stay in the Austrian countryside for any amount of time) and instead believe whatever you wish were fact (Austria is waiting for you, and once there, you’ll eat an apricot from a nearby tree and finally know true pleasure, pleasure that will never fade, pleasure that lasts a lifetime).
Unfortunately, not even your prodigal falsehoods are capable of deluding you forever. You accept that you won’t be able to leave New York every year for three months as you dream of doing. So you develop a small workaround instead.
You decide to use your fantasy powers as a tool of self help, and channel all of your energy into pretending your railroad apartment in Bushwick is instead a cottage in the Austrian countryside that you’ve rented for the whole summer. Anytime the world bothers you, bristles you, tries to cause you any amount of harm, you fully dissociate (under the flimsy guise of self care) and remember how lucky you are to be in Austria.
When you crawl back into bed immediately after breakfast, this isn’t from depression—no no, this is because you’re in a chaise lounge chair in the back garden of your gorgeous summer rental. In gardens, laying down during the day is luxurious—not sad.
When drunk people bellow outside your window all night long, you smile to yourself, quietly appreciating the jovial townspeople enjoying their one precious life. You’re visiting their world, you abide by their rules—if they want to scream all night then far be it for you to interfere with local custom.
When you aren’t allowed to use the bathroom at your credit union’s sister branch, (is it because you weren’t a member of their particular credit union? Aren’t they always screaming about how they’re sisters with your credit union? Family should let family use the bathroom at their credit unions, Virgo!!!!) you imagine you’re having a stressful traveling story instead of a stressful Monday story. Having to pee in your neighborhood is desperate, tragic. Having to pee elsewhere is buoyant, theatrical.
You’ll pretend the rats rounding you up for slaughter are local songbirds, flying beside you on your gorgeous twilight walk, happy to help you primp and prepare for an evening out by supplying any ribbon tying you may need. You don’t speak bird necessarily, but you understand that their songs are thoughtful compliments about your beauty and wit.
You pretend the garishly patriotic CubeSmart under construction around the corner from your apartment that will take up an entire city block is not a CubeSmart at all, but a circus tent—its loud design a promise of fabulous showmanship. This Austrian circus will show many marvelous acts of human accomplishment. It isn’t even an evil circus with elephants where you’d feel bad the whole time. In fact, all of the performers are unionized, they take a lunch break in the middle of the show!
This strategy works well for you for a while, Virgo. You manage to better ride the waves of your day when you have one foot in Salzburg. My hope for you, however, is that you can learn something from your surroundings, instead of actively trying to pretend they are something they aren’t.
You don’t need to live in a place that compels you to develop coping mechanisms each time you have to go outside, Virgo. Have you ever been to a lake? Lakes are great! The skies are aghast that every human on Earth isn’t clamoring over each other trying to live by a lake.
My advice for this week is to look a little deeper at the reasons you long for elsewhere—and my supplementary advice is that you should move to a lake (everyone should!).