Honestly, I never really paid much mind to the whole horoscope thing. My sign is Pisces, yeah, but reading about “celestial flow” and “intuitive alignment”? Nah. I always figured you just clock in, do the work, and the day is what you make it. Very linear, very logical. That’s how I lived, right?
But May 20th, 2025, hit different. Maybe it was the quiet anxiety of reaching middle age, or maybe I was just tired of the usual grind. I woke up that morning, and instead of hitting the news or checking emails, I actually searched for my Pisces prediction. I wanted to see what kind of nonsense they were peddling. The title popped up: Your pisces horoscope may 20 2025 prediction is here! (3 easy steps to a better day).
My Practice: Testing the Three Steps
I read the damn thing. The long-winded prediction about shifting currents and hidden opportunities was just noise, but the “3 easy steps” part actually snagged me. They were simple, almost insultingly so. I figured, what the hell, I’ll treat this like a weird social experiment. I committed to executing all three before the sun went down.
The steps I had to implement that day were:
- Step 1: Dedicate 20 minutes to a completely non-productive, water-adjacent activity.
- Step 2: Clear one small administrative detail that’s been nagging you for weeks.
- Step 3: Initiate a non-transactional conversation with a new person.
I started with Step 1. My initial thought was: Shower. But that’s productive, right? I needed non-productive. I ended up finding an old watering can, sat down next to a half-dead houseplant, and for twenty minutes, I slowly dripped water into the pot, just watching the dirt absorb it. It felt utterly stupid, honestly, like something a life coach would charge me $500 an hour to do. But when the timer buzzed, I felt… lighter. That weird mental fog I usually wake up with was gone. It didn’t fix my problems, but it cleared the deck.
Next up was Step 2. That one was easy, though I’d been putting it off forever. I had a three-month-old parking ticket sitting on my desk. I picked up the phone, navigated the automated menu hell, and paid the fine. Two minutes of bureaucratic torture, and it was done. The feeling of that one tiny piece of mental inventory being cleared was disproportionately huge. Like unclogging a single drain in a giant house.
Step 3 was the toughest for a reserved guy like me. “Non-transactional” meant no small talk about the weather. I walked over to the coffee shop I pass every day, but never go into. There was a guy outside struggling to fold a huge map. I stopped, offered to help hold the corners, and we spent five minutes talking about how maps are useless now but still cool. Just two strangers, no agenda, no business. I left the interaction feeling surprisingly energized, not drained.
The Real Reason I Started Doing These Things
Now, if you’re asking why I, a guy who once prided himself on pure logic and data-driven decisions, would suddenly bother practicing the advice of some random online horoscope, the reason is simple: I learned the hard way that being steady and being rigid are two different things.
About ten years back, I was on the trajectory. Promotions, salary hikes, the whole shebang. I launched my own side business, an absolute masterpiece of planning. I modeled the market, accounted for every variable, structured the financing—it was perfect, mathematically. I even ignored a dozen warnings from my old partner, who kept saying, “You need to add a human element, man. You’re making this too cold.” I shrugged him off. I thought he was soft.
Then the market did something mathematically impossible—a total outlier event, a black swan. My perfect structure collapsed under the strain. I lost everything. Not just the business, but my savings, my confidence, the whole kit and caboodle. I spent six months frozen, unable to make even small decisions. I tried to replan the disaster, but the math just mocked me. I became a wreck, not because I was suddenly poor, but because my entire philosophy on life—that careful planning equals success—had hit a concrete wall.
I realized I’d become a big, complex machine that couldn’t manage simple maintenance. I could run a multi-million dollar budget, but I couldn’t remember to pay a parking ticket or allow myself 20 minutes of quiet time. The complexity had become a mental prison.
That year was a mess. A total blackout. I had to relearn how to function. It was a long, ugly road back, and it was the simple things that pulled me through. Not the five-year plan, but Step 1: get up. Step 2: brush your teeth. Step 3: say something nice to the dog. That’s it.
So when I saw that horoscope, I didn’t see a prediction. I saw a prompt. I saw a simple, low-stakes three-step plan to remind my complicated brain that sometimes, success isn’t about the complex strategy. It’s about following the damn easy steps that clear the little pieces of debris so you can actually see the road ahead. My practice log for May 20, 2025? Success. Not because of the stars, but because I finally stopped arguing with the instructions and just did the work.
