Between Everywhere and Nowhere

Tag: Astrology

  • I Used My Natal Chart…

    I Used My Natal Chart…

    …To Better Understand My Life Path

    I think anything and everything can be a means of understanding our minds, our lives, the dynamics surrounding us, and so on.

    As I mentioned before, I have been interested in astrology for some time now. Honestly, I do not take astrology as fortune-telling or a way of predicting the future. I rather see it as a way of attributing some meaning retrospectively — a different lens through which I can look at my own life.

    In order to better understand what my existence might mean to me, I decided to take my natal chart into account. Of course, none of this is science-backed or concrete. Still, there is something fascinating — even a little fluttering — about the thought that the universe, the planets, and their mathematical relationships might have left some kind of imprint at the very moment you started breathing in this world.

    It may mean something. Or it may mean nothing.

    But I find it interesting to look at it anyway.

    Honestly, my natal chart seems to have received quite a generous share of oppositions and squares — the so-called challenging aspects — rather than conjunctions, trines, and sextiles, which are generally considered more harmonious. It is often said that having more harmonious aspects may indicate that life flows more easily.

    Apparently, I was not given the smoothest possible version of the tutorial.

    Sun Square Saturn

    This is one of the most prominent aspects of my natal chart.

    While the Sun represents core identity, self-expression, authority, and, traditionally, the father, Saturn is associated with restrictions, delays, responsibility, maturity, and limitations. When they form a square, no wonder it is considered a difficult aspect.

    I have even come across a few places saying something along the lines of, “We feel very sorry when we see this aspect in a woman’s chart.” One can easily be convinced that this aspect means lower self-esteem, hardships in life, delays in self-realization, problems with authority, even difficulties involving one’s father, and so on.

    But I think there is something easily underestimated here.

    If you were born under this aspect, and if Sun Square Saturn is one of the main themes of your life, then never forget that you are a Sun Square Saturn, too.

    You develop endurance because your life requires it. You become patient because things take time. You learn to think strategically because not everything can be forced.

    And once you realize and accept that this is simply one of the ways your life tends to unfold, you stop spending so much energy asking, “Why me?”. Instead, you start moving forward consciously, knowing what you are dealing with.

    Here is the perk of a difficult aspect: not an easy life, but a stronger self. And a stronger self knows how to appreciate what it has achieved.

    You know how much effort, patience, and intention went into it. You appreciate it more consciously and more maturely, because you know exactly what it took to get there.

    And what you build may stay with you longer, simply because you were an active and conscious part of building it.

    Moon Opposition Mercury-Jupiter-Uranus-Neptune

    My Cancer Moon forms oppositions to all of the planets I mentioned above in Capricorn, with the exception of my Aquarius Uranus.

    This opposition is also considered one of the more challenging configurations, as it creates a tension between the Cancer-Capricorn axis.

    According to astrology, my life would always be somewhat of a rollercoaster between my emotional and material needs.

    And honestly, my emotional side can be in turbulence almost all the time.

    Yet, I am still grateful for the tension this aspect represents.

    First of all, I know and respect my feelings.

    I know how my body and mind tend to react to a certain feeling. I have learned to recognize my emotional surges. I am learning when to simply feel and when to step back and think.

    I have learned to get to know both my mind and my emotional side because of this turbulence.

    Maybe Saturn saved me with its trine in this case. Who knows?

    The more I read about astrology and think about life paths, the more I realize that perhaps everything we go through can somehow navigate us towards what we are supposed to do.

    From an astrological perspective, the North Node is said to give us clues about our journey in this lifetime.

    North Node in Libra in the 5th House

    The more I looked into my chart, the more I became interested in the idea of the North Node.

    Mine is in Libra, a sign associated with harmony, diplomacy, justice, partnership, and balance. It is also in the 5th house, traditionally associated with pleasure, joy, creativity, art, self-expression, and the things we do simply because they make us feel alive.

    So perhaps all the turbulence I mentioned above is also leading me somewhere very different from where I might instinctively go.

    Perhaps I am meant to learn to express myself without putting pressure on myself to be flawless.

    To deliberately choose the lightness of life. To enjoy art and music.

    To spend time with people and build meaningful bonds. To allow myself to experience pleasure without feeling that I first have to earn it.

    And maybe, most importantly, to understand that life does not always have to be a problem that needs solving.

    But what did my chart give me to work with in order to get there, apart from all the rollercoaster rides?

    Jupiter Conjunction Mercury & My Gemini Ascendant

    When I retrospectively analyze my natal chart, I like to think that this aspect points towards one small corner of the direction suggested by my North Node.

    Jupiter conjunct Mercury is said to be associated with an interest in writing, a love of learning, curiosity, broad thinking, problem-solving, and many other things that I happen to enjoy.

    My Gemini Ascendant seems to reinforce the same theme. Gemini is associated with curiosity, communication, collecting information, making connections between ideas, and, naturally, words.

    So maybe the universe did not necessarily want me to have an easy life.

    Maybe it wanted me to exist among all the crises while feeding my brain, trying to understand who I truly am, and sharing what I think — even if what I think is not exactly rocket science.

    Perhaps this is why writing feels less like a separate activity and more like one of the ways I make sense of all of it.

    And Apparently, I Have the Potential to Be an Alchemist

    There is another interpretation of my chart that I find particularly amusing.

    When the aspects in my chart are interpreted as a whole, I am said to have the potential of an alchemist — someone who can transform difficulties into something meaningful, turning the heavier experiences of life into something valuable.

    I have to admit; I am not quite there yet. I am still in the phase of turning my life experiences into panic attacks rather than alchemy.

    Apparently, I still have some work to do.

    I am still learning how to navigate my difficult moments. I am still figuring out what certain experiences are trying to teach me, and sometimes I am simply trying to get through them.

    Maybe that is also part of the process.

    Perhaps we do not always have to become as impressive as our supposed potential suggests.

    Maybe not being the “alchemist”, our chart promises us to be just yet is also a way of flowing with life.

    Maybe we are allowed to be ordinary while becoming who we are supposed to become.

    Maybe This Is What the Chart Is For

    Life — or simply the dynamics around us — makes us face a lot of challenges.

    I do not think squares and oppositions have to be interpreted as punishments, just as I do not think trines and sextiles are guarantees of an easy life.

    Perhaps they can simply be ways of looking at the things we repeatedly encounter in ourselves.

    The point, for me, is not whether my natal chart actually predicted my life. It probably did not.

    The point is that looking at it made me notice things I had already experienced but had never put into words.

    It made me look at my difficulties from a little distance.

    It made me think about what they have taught me, what they have taken from me, and, perhaps more importantly, what they have given me.

    Perhaps, in this lifetime, we are meant to learn when to be selective like Saturn — to practice Schopenhauer’s hedgehog dilemma, finding a distance where we are close enough to form a warm circle, but far enough not to reach each other’s spines. Perhaps Saturn’s rings remind us that stability does not always mean keeping the world away, but having enough gravity to decide what becomes part of our orbit.

    Perhaps we are meant to become aware of our power like the Sun — of the fact that the same force that nourishes can also burn — and learn to shape that power through our will and reason.

    Perhaps we are meant to learn from the Moon that nurturing does not mean having no boundaries. That we can care deeply for others while still protecting the parts of ourselves that need protection.

    Perhaps we are meant to become mature enough, like Jupiter, to decide what deserves to grow.

    Because not everything we encounter needs to be expanded.

    Not every thought needs more attention, not every desire needs to become a pursuit, and not every possibility needs to become a reality.

    Maybe that is what all these symbols are ultimately pointing towards: not becoming someone who has mastered every aspect of life, but becoming someone who knows what to do with what the flow has given them.

    Maybe we are not meant to get rid of all those sharp corners in our charts, but to smooth them out until we create our own version of a harmonious flow.

    Maybe we are meant to look at our squares and oppositions as aesthetic objects, move through them, and use them as portals to a more mature version of ourselves.

    Or maybe we are simply meant to find our conjunctions and sextiles without constantly bumping into the corners of our squares and bruising ourselves along the way.

    Maybe we are allowed to decide what it all means.

    Maybe what we want is exactly what is supposed to happen.

    Or maybe even thinking that way is part of the plan.

    Who knows?

    Note: If you are interested in the symbolic and romantic meanings attached to the planets, you might also want to listen to Gustav Holst’s The Planets. It is a completely different way of imagining the planets. Another way of hearing the harmony in all of this.

    Artwork: Vid insjön. Motiv från Balingsta, Oscar Björck

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  • Saturn’s Return or Being Welcomed to True Adulthood

    Saturn’s Return or Being Welcomed to True Adulthood

    I am currently somewhere between 29 and 30 years old — somewhere between what I used to call “not yet” and what others confidently name “adulthood.” For the first time, I understand why this age is considered a threshold.

    From a psychological point of view, these years feel like the first real moment when our biological existence begins to support the idea of being an adult. 

    From an astrological perspective, it is often described as a time of harvesting — reaping what has been sown so far. Retrospectively, I realize I started this blog right at the beginning of that phase. This space became one of Saturn’s quiet gifts; a way to keep track of who I am becoming, and who I have the potential to become.

    Up until last year, I was crying, thinking I had failed to build the adulthood I imagined. I felt crushed under the weight of not being able to manage my own ordinariness. 

    But this year, something shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once — but enough for me to start taking pride in what I could build out of the rubble left in my hands.

    When I look back, I see a pattern — as if the universe tested me theme by theme, until it made me free of almost every fear.

    I grew up in a deeply loving family, and my biggest anxiety was always the idea of losing one of my parents. I thought about it so often that at some point it almost felt like I was rehearsing it. And then — it happened.

    It was like the universe said to me: “Don’t waste your energy in vain. Here you go — your self-fulfilling prophecy!”

    I was faced with one of my greatest fears — with pain, with emptiness. But also, unexpectedly, with a strange sense of clarity and a new kind of freedom. Life did not end. I did not collapse in the way I had imagined.

    I continued. One strength added.

    I have always been someone who values depth over quantity, someone who lets only a few people inside her walls. And still, those few managed to betray me.

    And yet — life went on.

    I used to believe in control. In plans, in cause and effect, in carefully constructed paths. I was certain that if I did not pursue an academic career, my life would fall apart. 

    I built a castle out of my ambitions —me and my illusory arrogance, hand-in-hand— within the walls I had built around myself. Then, one by one, those plans failed. 

    Again, I found myself facing the ruins. Not gently, but clearly enough. The universe reminded me that my plans are small in such a vast system. And what remained was not ruin, but space.

    My tests have always been a little harsh and intense. Otherwise, a stubborn, know-it-all spaghetti would probably never have understood how things actually work. 

    It took me 29 years to realize that my “now” is simultaneously my past, my present, and my future. 

    I used to say, almost like a philosopher, that life does not owe us anything.

    It took me 29 years to realize that I do not owe the world a perfectly constructed version of myself either.

    My mind has never been linear. Thoughts scatter — one somewhere in the distance, another right in front of me, another just out of reach. For years, I tried to collect them, organize them, and convert them into some meaningful strings. This was my way to refine my place in this world. 

    Now, I am learning something else: not everything needs to be perfectly articulated to be real. There is a certain relief in allowing things to remain a little unfinished, a little unclear.

    I have always believed that I could handle everything. This year, I admitted something different: just because I can, does not mean I should. Or want to.

    I am learning not to go with the flow, perhaps, but at least no longer to resist it.

    There was a time when I believed that if I had not achieved everything by the age of 25, life would somehow be over.
    Last year, I felt crushed by my perception of reality. This year, I see things differently. Not as success or failure — but as endurance.

    I feel like it is time to shine, but not with something fragile.
    Not like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, but something else entirely.
    Something formed under pressure, layer by layer. Something like granitic gneiss. Shaped, compressed, transformed — and still here.

    I feel, for the first time, the quiet strength of building an identity.

    A lot has changed, and it will keep changing. But something has settled. The more I try to understand why I exist, the more that question expands into a void I cannot fully grasp. And maybe that is not a problem to solve anymore.

    Sometimes my mind feels scattered, almost absurd — like those self-help books placed next to tomato paste on supermarket shelves. And somehow, that feels accurate.

    I try to embrace it all, and none of it, with the awareness that we are all just a reflected digestion of our experiences.

    Good or bad, right or wrong, successful or not — this is a life.

    And it is mine.

    Artwork: Dolce Far Niente, 1904, John William Godward

    If you happen to stumble across this corner and experience similar things, or if you have adulting tips for me, I am one comment or e-mail (hello@betweeneverywhereandnowhere.com) away.

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  • Astrology, Curiosity and the Search for Meaning

    Astrology, Curiosity and the Search for Meaning

    Some questions don’t start with belief. They start with curiosity.

    Since my earliest memories, I’ve been trying to understand something beyond daily routines—something about potential, existence, and why we are here at all. Like many who get lost in such questions, I found myself moving between ideas, systems, and ways of explaining life.

    The more I read, the more I noticed something I couldn’t ignore: the universe feels incredibly vast. Yet, I keep returning to something very close: this planet and the bodies surrounding it.

    The Moon moves the oceans, causing tides to come and go. And at some point, I began wondering: if it can move entire oceans, could it influence something within us, even in ways we do not yet fully understand?
    Perhaps the question is not about proof, but about what we are willing to feel without measuring it.

    For the past few months, I’ve explored astrology—not daily horoscopes, but its symbolic language: planets, asteroids, and fixed stars. Not as predictions, but as a framework people use to interpret life. I even use my own experiences as a personal experiment to see how it resonates.

    During this learning process, one sentence resonated with me: “The Moon represents the left eye, while the Sun represents the right.” 

    At first, it sounded poetic, metaphorical, nothing more. But I remembered something I had never questioned before: my right eye has always been more sensitive; I instinctively avoid direct sunlight. The Moon, on the other hand, has always felt different—calm, quiet, and easier. Moon chasing and moon bathing have been my favorite nighttime activities for years.

    Could there be a connection? Or was I merely trying to find one? To test it, I did something simple: one day, at midday, I went outside and stood under the Sun, almost like declaring a small, personal ceasefire. Since then, my right eye has given more stable results at the ophthalmologist. 

    Was it coincidence, conditioning, or did my body respond to something it actually needed? I don’t know. Perhaps that uncertainty is part of the experience itself.

    There are so many things in life beyond my control—timing, outcomes, other people, opportunities. Sometimes, that lack of control feels heavier than expected. Perhaps this is where astrology becomes tempting. Not because it provides answers, but because it offers direction; a sense that moments carry meaning, that something might be aligned even if I don’t fully understand it.

    Maybe astrology is not really about planets. Maybe it is about how we deal with uncertainty. How we look for patterns when we feel we cannot control outcomes. It may not make it true, but it doesn’t make it meaningless either.

    The moment I started studying astrology in depth, seeing my existence through its symbolic “mathematical” lens gave me great excitement. It is an interesting experiment to see Saturn as a harsh mentor or Jupiter as a spiritual protector. I even unlocked a new adjective for myself: Saturnian—someone under the intense influence of Saturn.
    I found astrology surprisingly consistent with the layered structure of human experience: the Ascendant representing our outer experience, the Moon representing emotional tendencies, and so on.

    During this process, I also reflected on the Barnum effect—a cognitive bias where vague statements seem personally meaningful. Yet, I noticed astrology is ultimately about potential. Believing, doubting, or cherry-picking is up to each person. Darker, shadowy aspects of myself caught my interest more, for example.

    Also, when I shared my “new” curiosity with a friend familiar with the astrology, she said: “Of course you’d get into astrology. You have Neptune in the 9th house and a retrograde Mercury in the 8th house.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or take it seriously.

    Astrology may not be something we strictly believe in. But, for me, it gave goosebumps through its consistency. Then I thought: “Of course it reflects me—it’s a mathematical mapping of who I am.” 

    Perhaps it’s something we hold onto when certainty is unavailable, or when we are rediscovering our potential. A lens through which we attempt to make sense of randomness, find patterns, and navigate life with intention.

    Ultimately, maybe astrology is less about planets and more about ourselves—our curiosity, our reflection, and the ways we seek connection in uncertainty.
    It can even feel like a subtle collaboration with the planets, fixed stars, and our unique universe.

    🎨 I Fantasins Värld, Isaac Grünewald

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