So, you see these headlines pop up, right? “Pisces Next Month Love Horoscope: Get Ready for Passion!” And you read it, and maybe you’re a Pisces, or you know one, and you just kinda nod. “Passion,” huh? What does that even mean? For me, when I read stuff like that, my brain doesn’t go straight to, like, candlelit dinners and dramatic declarations. Nah. My brain goes, “Okay, self, what’s your practice for ‘getting ready for passion’?”
My journey into figuring that out, my own little personal experiment, it actually started a while back, not just with some horoscope. I remember hitting a patch where everything felt a bit… monochrome. You know, just going through the motions. Work, home, sleep, repeat. And I started feeling this little itch, this low hum, like something was missing. Not necessarily a person, but just… zest. Life felt a little thin on the ground.
I kicked off my “getting ready for passion” practice by just plain noticing. I began to actively look around me. What was making other people light up? What sparked joy, real, unadulterated joy, for them? I’d chat with folks, listen to their stories, especially when their eyes got that twinkle. My initial thought was just to observe, to gather data on what “passion” even looked like in the wild. I’d catch snippets of conversations about hobbies, about dreams, about relationships that actually felt alive. This first step was crucial – I needed to recalibrate my own understanding of what that word even signified beyond the cliché.
After a good spell of just soaking all that in, I moved into the next phase: clearing the decks. This wasn’t about spring cleaning my apartment, though maybe that helped too. This was about clearing out the mental and emotional clutter. I found myself sitting down, just with a pen and paper, and really listing out all the things that felt heavy. All the niggling worries, the old grudges I was still carrying, the “shoulds” and “musts” that weren’t even mine. It was like I was making space. You can’t fit new, vibrant energy into an already crammed, dusty room, right?
This process felt a bit clunky at first. I’d write down a worry, stare at it, and then try to figure out if it was something I could actually do something about, or if it was just noise. If it was noise, I’d literally draw a line through it, mentally letting it go. It sounds simple, but trust me, it’s not always easy to just “let go” of stuff you’ve been clinging to for ages. But I kept at it, day after day, for a few weeks. I wanted to feel lighter, more open, like an empty vessel ready to be filled.
Opening Up and Taking the Plunge
Once I felt like I’d made some room, the real active part of the practice began: intentionally seeking out novelty and connection. I remember, I used to be pretty set in my ways. Same coffee shop, same route to work, same shows. Boring. So, I started small. I intentionally went to a different coffee shop, just to see new faces, hear new sounds. I picked up a book from a genre I’d never touched before. I even said “yes” to an invite for a local poetry reading, something I’d usually scoff at. It was about exposing myself to new inputs, shaking things up a bit.
Then came the more direct “passion” part. I realized that a lot of what I’d observed about passion in others, whether in their hobbies or relationships, boiled down to one thing: vulnerability. You can’t have deep connection without putting yourself out there. So, my practice started to include being more honest and open in my existing relationships. Not just surface-level chats, but really sharing what was on my mind, my fears, my hopes. I found myself having deeper conversations with old friends, actually listening more intently, and being brave enough to share my less-than-perfect parts.
I also started reflecting on past times when I did feel that spark. What was I doing then? What was my mindset? I remembered a time when I’d been completely engrossed in a creative project, losing track of time, feeling totally alive. And another time, falling head over heels, where every moment felt charged. I dug into those memories, trying to understand what conditions made them possible. It wasn’t about trying to recreate them exactly, but to understand the underlying currents of curiosity, excitement, and openness that were present.
This led me to the final stretch of my practice: actively engaging with what stirred my soul. It wasn’t about waiting for passion to land on my doorstep. It was about realizing that passion, whether it’s for a person, a project, or life itself, often comes from within, from how you choose to engage. I started dedicating time to things that genuinely captivated me, even if they seemed small or silly. For me, that meant dusting off an old camera and just walking around, snapping photos of everyday things. It meant spending an extra hour on a complex recipe, just for the joy of the process. And when it came to relationships, it meant being present, truly present, in every conversation, every interaction, rather than just half-listening while my mind wandered.
The outcome? Well, it wasn’t a sudden, Hollywood explosion of romance, but something far more profound. I started feeling more alive, more engaged. The monochrome faded, and colors seeped back into my days. I found new depths in old relationships and felt a readiness for new connections, not with desperation, but with a genuine sense of curiosity and openness. “Getting ready for passion” wasn’t about some external event; it was about cultivating an inner state, a readiness to meet life, and love, with an open heart and a curious spirit. It was about creating the space, doing the internal work, and then just showing up.
