Man, last year was a wreck. I mean, a total physical and mental dumpster fire. I was dragging myself out of bed, eating whatever, whenever, and my doc basically gave me the look—you know the one—where they tell you all the numbers are bad but try to sound positive about it.
The Mess and the ‘Why the Hell Not’ Decision
I knew I had to do something drastic, but I’m terrible at just starting. I need a hard deadline, a punch in the face kind of signal. I saw this whole “Pisces 2025” thing pop up in my feed. I’m a Pisces, always have been, and usually I ignore that stuff. But this time, they were talking about “Key Dates for Wellness Resolutions.” I just thought, screw it, I’ll use the whole cosmic calendar as my forced project manager.
I didn’t care about Jupiter trine Uranus or whatever nonsense they were talking about. What I cared about was having a concrete day on a real calendar to begin something and another to check it. I needed structure, and if a bunch of star charts could give me the illusion of it, I was buying in.
Setting Up The Brutal Schedule
I went online, found maybe three or four different sites talking about the 2025 Transits for my sign. I didn’t read the flowery language, I just looked for the days that had words like “Major Life Reset,” “Deep Introspection,” or “Energy Shift.” I figured those were the days I had to either start or stop something major. I grabbed a huge whiteboard calendar I keep in the garage—the kind you use for car maintenance—and I marked those days with a thick, angry red marker.
I boiled my entire health mess down to three big things I had to fix:
- Sleep (I was averaging maybe 5 hours).
- The Sugar Problem (I survived on soda and candy).
- Movement (I hadn’t run for a bus in years).
I assigned each problem to a major “Key Date” cluster. This was the real practice, the real work: turning vague cosmic garbage into actionable items.
The Process: From Cosmic Dates to Concrete Action
My first big one was January 15th. It was listed as the start of some “powerful manifestation period.” I scoffed, but I used it. That was the day I completely ditched all sugary drinks. It wasn’t a slow taper; it was just gone. I cleared out the pantry like a lunatic, throwing away all the sugary crap. The first two weeks were pure hell. Headaches, grumpy as a bear, and I almost quit a dozen times. But then I looked at the red circle on the board and felt like a kid who couldn’t break a promise. I logged every day I didn’t drink soda on a simple notebook next to the calendar.
Next up was April 5th—a time for “deep emotional cleanout.” I translated that to “fix your brain and your sleep.” It sounds crazy, but I told my wife I was using the stars to force myself to get off the couch. I started a strict routine: no screens after 9 PM. I forced myself to read an actual physical book. And every morning, come rain or shine, I used the time I saved not watching TV to just walk a mile. Just a slow, miserable walk. I hated it for a month. But by the time May rolled around, I noticed I wasn’t just collapsing into bed; I was actually ready to sleep.
The really rough patch came in the summer. August 12th was labeled “Saturn’s Grip”—sounds terrifying, right? I used this day to tackle the exercise commitment. I wasn’t doing enough. I signed up for a beginner boxing class. It was embarrassing. I was the oldest, most out-of-shape guy there. My limbs didn’t know what they were doing, and I nearly threw up the first three sessions. But that “Saturn’s Grip” date was my anchor. I figured if the planets were being harsh, I had to be harsher on myself. I forced myself to go three times a week, no matter how tired or sore I was. I just kept showing up.
The Final Tally and the Realization
I kept this up until the final transit of the year around November 28th, which was supposed to be a time of “Gratitude and Reflection.” I didn’t feel grateful for Jupiter or Saturn, but I was grateful that I finally stopped feeling like a sack of bricks.
I went back to the doctor right before the holidays. She ran the labs, and the difference was insane. My blood pressure dropped. I’d lost 20 pounds. I wasn’t constantly exhausted, and I hadn’t had a soda since January. It wasn’t the stars, obviously. I’m not a lunatic. But the act of taking those intense, vague “Key Dates” and stamping them onto my real-life calendar—making them non-negotiable start and stop points for my bad habits—that was the trick. I basically tricked my own brain into thinking the universe was giving me an exam, and I couldn’t fail the damn thing.
