Man, 2016. What a year that was. You remember those “Urdu stars: Pisces monthly tips” I used to crank out? Yeah, that was a whole thing for a bit. Folks thought I was some kind of cosmic sage, just dishing out wisdom from beyond. But honestly? It was just me, trying to figure things out, just like everybody else. I was knee-deep in it, trying to make sense of what people wanted to hear, what resonated, what actually stuck.
I started by just messing around online. I’d spend my evenings
diving into forums and obscure blogs, trying to piece together common themes. I’d read up on all sorts of interpretations, trying to see how different cultures and traditions looked at the sky. I wasn’t an expert, not by a long shot, but I was hungry to learn. I began collecting bits and pieces, things people shared, patterns they observed. I remember distinctly, I’d open up maybe half a dozen tabs, one for traditional astrology, one for some localized folklore, and then just scour them, looking for threads.
Then, the real work began for the “tips.” Each month, around the last week, I’d buckle down. I’d pull out my crumpled notebooks, filled with chicken scratch and arrows pointing everywhere. I’d
start scribbling down bullet points, trying to translate all that mumbo jumbo into something folks could actually use in their daily lives. It wasn’t about predicting the future, not for me. It was more about giving people a nudge, a different perspective on the challenges they might be facing. I’d
craft sentences, then tear them apart, rephrase them, trying to hit that sweet spot between sounding profound and being totally relatable.
My process was pretty chaotic, to be honest. I’d often
start with a strong coffee late at night, because that’s when my brain decided to actually kick into gear. I’d
type out a rough draft, usually way too long, then I’d
print it out. Yeah, old school, right? I’d
grab a red pen and just butcher it, crossing out unnecessary words, circling phrases that felt flat. I wanted it to feel personal, like I was just having a chat with someone over a fence. I’d
read it aloud, listening for awkward phrasing, trying to catch anything that sounded forced or fake. If it didn’t flow, it got cut.
I distinctly remember one month, I was trying to get the Pisces tips out and I had this massive client deadline looming over me. I was
juggling two huge projects and trying to finish off these monthly writings. I’d
stayed up for nearly two days straight, just pushing through, fueled by instant coffee and sheer stubbornness. My eyes felt gritty, my head was pounding, and when I finally
hit send on both the client’s work and those Pisces tips, I just crashed. Like, really crashed. I woke up hours later, still in my chair, neck aching, laptop still open. That’s when it hit me. Like a ton of bricks.
The Big Realization
I was so busy trying to give “tips” to others, trying to interpret “stars,” trying to be something I wasn’t, that I was completely
neglecting my own damn self. It felt ridiculous. Here I was, crafting advice, and my own life was a mess of overwork and exhaustion. I
decided then and there, something had to give. I needed to apply some of those “tips” to myself, for once.
I
started pulling back, slowly. I
told my small group that I needed a break from the monthly updates. Some folks were genuinely disappointed, which actually surprised me. Others totally got it. What I did next felt utterly foreign to me at the time. I
started saying “no” to extra work. I
began taking actual walks outside, not just running errands. I
picked up old hobbies I’d abandoned years ago, like tinkering with old radios.
I
spent a lot of time just thinking, really. Not about planetary alignments or what vague advice might fit a water sign, but about what actually made me tick. What truly drained me, and what genuinely recharged my batteries. I
realized that the joy I got from putting out those “tips” wasn’t about the astrology itself. It was about the act of communication, of trying to understand others, and of distilling complex ideas into simpler, more digestible thoughts. It was the connection, the brief moment of shared humanity, that I really craved.
That period, working on those “Urdu stars,” ended up teaching me way more about myself and what I value than I ever expected. It
showed me the importance of balance, of genuine connection, and of not losing yourself while trying to give to others. It
paved the way for how I approach everything now, really. It’s about sharing the real, messy bits of life, the actual lessons learned from getting your hands dirty, not just reading about them in some old book or imagining them in the stars. And that’s exactly why I love sharing my journey here, with all of you.
