Man, I was just spinning my wheels that whole spring. I’d finally bailed on my old gig—you know, the one with the boss who thought watching us breathe was part of his job description. Total piece of work. So, I had plenty of time on my hands waiting for the next thing to land, and I was just looking for a simple project to keep the brain running.
I was sitting on the couch scrolling through old family posts one rainy Sunday, and I saw a thing my aunt had shared—one of those breathless posts about how some online forecast saved her from a bad decision last week. I always thought that stuff was hilarious nonsense, but then a thought hit me: what if I actually tried to track one of these things, just as a pure, simple data logging project?
The Setup: Turning Stars into Spreadsheets
I decided to turn my skepticism into action. It wasn’t about believing it; it was about logging the process of prediction and outcome. The title I saw—that specific Cainer one for Pisces the next week—just seemed like the perfect target because those forecasts are everywhere, and people treat them like stone tablets. So the project was born: an objective log of a subjective prediction.
My first step was getting the tools ready. Nothing complicated. I grabbed a simple Google Sheet—no fancy analytics or anything, just columns. I named the file something stupid like “Celestial Accountability.”
- Target Selection: Pisces, just because it felt arbitrary. Next week’s forecast, repeated daily to catch any subtle changes, though I quickly realized they rarely changed the whole text.
- The Log Columns: I set up fields for the date of reading, the specific prediction text (I copied the whole block, word for word), and the third column was the big one: The Outcome Score.
- Defining the Score: This was the hardest part. How do you score “unexpected financial gain” or “a slight emotional setback?” I kept it simple: 1 for a direct hit (rare), 0.5 for a vague maybe, and 0 for totally irrelevant or dead wrong.
I committed to doing this every single morning, before I even checked email or poured coffee. I forced myself to navigate to the site, find the specific forecast, and copy-paste it all. It was tedious, slow work, and it quickly showed me just how generic these statements actually are. They use like six key phrases and just mix them up.
The Grind and The Unexpected Turn
I did this for almost four months straight. Why so long? I figured a week wasn’t enough to establish a pattern. You need volume for something like this, even if the data is just silly text.
The grind was real. There were days I just wanted to skip it, but I told myself this was a discipline exercise more than a prophecy audit. Keeping that streak alive forced me to get up and do one concrete thing every morning, even when the job hunt was soul-crushing.
The really interesting part wasn’t the score—because the average score stayed a solid 0.2, meaning mostly “vague maybe” or “total miss.” The interesting part was what happened internally. I started tracking a fourth column, which I called “Pre-reading Mood.”
What I found wasn’t about the stars; it was about the reading itself. If the forecast said, “Be cautious with a loved one,” I would subconsciously look for friction all day. If it said, “Unexpected funds may arrive,” I’d check my banking app three extra times. I wasn’t tracking the future; I was tracking the self-fulfilling prophecy loop.
I realized the real power of these things is not in their ability to predict the external world, but in their ability to subtly manipulate your internal attention. They give you a little script for the day, and your brain just runs with it, looking for evidence.
The Real “See It”
I finally closed the project log the day I landed the big consulting job I’d been chasing. It was a stressful negotiation, but I nailed it. Was there a celestial prediction for it? Nope. The forecast for that day was something useless about “realigning priorities.”
The irony is that the strict discipline I needed to maintain that silly horoscope spreadsheet—the commitment to a daily routine, the logging, the consistency—that is what kept my mind sharp during the job search. The project that started as a cynical proof of nonsense actually taught me how powerful basic, consistent logging is.
So, the takeaway from all that effort, from all that copy-pasting? I wasn’t seeing what the stars held; I was seeing the generic, easily adaptable patterns of human-written text and the equally adaptable patterns of my own behavior. That was the “See It” moment. It’s never about the prediction; it’s about the tracking you put in.
