Uncharted Traits

I was born on the 29th of April to a schoolteacher and a computer programmer in a sleepy, artsy college town in Texas. I grew up quietly, the way shy kids do, and excelled at piano, school, and the local softball league. It was a pragmatic childhood built for learning and college applications. I believed in horoscopes about as adamantly as I believed in my sister’s threats when she was angry at me for something - that is, not at all.

The first time I looked at a horoscope reading it was in some beauty magazine targeted at teenage girls. I learned that I was a Taurus. The bull of the horoscope. I immediately lamented that I wasn’t something … cooler. The archer, or maybe the lion. But a bull? In cattle country? Those were a dime-a-dozen. I put the magazine back; the Taurus didn’t fit me. I knew it.

A decade later, give or take, dating became a thing set in motion by compatible swipes on phones, and 50% of men-seeking-women on my phone were all outdoorsy, fun, liked whiskey and/or craft beer and doing things with their dogs. The other 50% mentioned their star signs in their bios. I already had a rule in place to swipe left on any man posing with a dead animal or dead fish, no matter how hot they were. I was tempted to put another swiping-ban in place - but if I also ruled out any men who left their romantic fortunes to, quite literally, the stars then… well, who was there left for me to meet for coffee?

I looked up my star-sign just to see who a man like this would see from my sign. Apparently I am ambitious, focused, resilient. That checks out, I thought. I was working three jobs to chip away at the requirements for entry into an impenetrable professional field, filling out job applications in my spare time and fitting in the occasional workout. But it also said I was stubborn. I had always been a pushover, caving into others’ ideas and prioritizing others’ needs. On the rare occasion I did stand up for myself, it was always nicely. Always with a deferential smile. Always qualified by “I think,” “I imagine,” or “perhaps.” That wasn’t stubborn. The horoscope was wrong.

I went out for coffee with one guy who talked star-signs. It didn’t work out. He might have said it was because he was an Aquarius, but I didn’t call him back because he came off as condescending. I put a rule in place that star-signs in a dating app bio were an automatic swipe left.

A few years later, I took a job teaching English overseas. I lived in a wonderful town, but in a territory with limited resources and limited freedoms, both due to governmental restrictions and also conservative social expectations. My apartment was small and overcrowded with no centralized air conditioning to repel the desert heat or the winter damp. Electricity was sporadic and limited - if too many people ran electronic devices simultaneously the power would shut down entirely. Water was kept in water tanks on the roof that were liable to run dry if you weren’t careful, and hot water was a luxury left in the United States. I loved it there, but I was not comfortable.

A student in my class arrived a few weeks late due to her family’s travel plans, but I had heard about her. Quiet and shy, but wickedly smart. She walked in, took a seat, listened attentively through the class, and did not say a word. Exactly as expected. But after class she approached my desk, and in her soft voice introduced herself and asked permission for a personal question.

“Sure,” I responded, “As long as I can decide if I answer or not.”

“Are you a Taurus or a Libra?”

“What makes you ask that?” I said. I had anticipated something about my education or background, but not my star sign. Certainly not an accurate guess as to my star sign.

“I’m interested in horoscopes and astrology and I listened to you during the class and suspect you are one of those. My first guess is Taurus, but you might be a Libra. I enjoyed the class, by the way.”

She explained her thought process. I had high expectations for my students, and made it clear that I was willing to work as hard as my students would to ensure that they passed. I stood up to the boys who, at 17, were convinced they could flirt their way out of the rules. She’d heard I was pursuing my own graduate coursework on the side, balancing that with a full-time job overseas. I negotiated conflicts between students easily, though - a Libra trait - and softened my words and tone while remaining firm in my statements - a combination of both.

I pulled out my computer and typed “traits of a Taurus” into Google.

“Okay, but look. This says that Taurus’s are also really sensory and sensual. They like comfort. I sleep on a bed with springs poking out in an apartment with no ventilation and limited water and electricity and I’m fine. This also says that I work to put money away in my savings accounts and like stability. I moved to a politically unstable part of the world and make $400 a month, which wouldn’t even cover my rent if I had to pay rent.”

“It also says,” she pointed out, laughing, “that you’re independent, stable, genuine, and creative. You’re a single woman who moved to the other side of the world on her own to teach literature. That seems like it fits.”

I pointed to the financial part again, accurately depicting the depressingly low digit-count of my life savings. She pointed to the paragraph on Taurus’s homes and comfort levels and asked if I liked to ‘nest’ when I moved to a new country to make myself more comfortable. I begrudgingly answered yes.

“It also says Taurus’s can have a temper. Do you?”

“Not that you will ever see.”

“None of this sounds stubborn at all, Ms. Emily.”