This is Part 3 of a 3-part series based on my analysis of the big “seasons” of my life that, funny enough, coincide with my progressed Ascendant moving into a new sign to begin each season.
Previously, I shared the last two full seasons of my life as aligned with my progressed Ascendant in Aries and then in Taurus. Now I find myself standing at the threshold of a new season. I’m less than four months away from my exact zero-degree, zero-minute Gemini, and wow, can I feel its pull.
For the past two years, it’s been like the Taurus season’s gates slamming shut, making room for something new. At first, I didn’t realize what was happening, and it felt uncertain—scary even—as if loss was waiting on the horizon. I resisted those endings with everything I had.
Take my job, for example. Almost two years ago, my employer—whom I loved—gave me an ultimatum to “return to office” after hiring me as a full-time teleworker. At first, I shrugged it off. After all, my colleagues, my projects, my customers—everything that mattered in that work—was accessible through my laptop. Why should it matter whether I was at home or sitting in an office with Zoom calls open?
But as the months passed, the reality set in. Commuting would mean losing hours each day that I’d previously devoted to writing. It would also mean higher expenses, more stress, and changes to how I managed my health. The added strain would likely force me onto a very expensive medication with side effects that might have ended my career anyway. Suddenly, my dream job had turned into a 25% pay cut in real terms.
I hated the feeling of being forced out. I didn’t want to quit. I wasn’t ready to retire and leave my coworkers, my projects, and my customers behind. I was happy—until I wasn’t.
Around that same time, I met with my doctor to discuss options, but nothing we came up with was sustainable. Then came my annual meeting with a financial advisor. She’d been helping me for years, and together we’d always concluded I couldn’t afford to retire yet. This time, however, we uncovered a mistake in our math. Because I ran my expenses through credit cards for rewards and paid them off every month, it looked like my expenses were double what they really were.
She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Lorna, if you don’t want to go into the office, you can retire. Tomorrow.”
So, reluctantly, I chose to retire at the end of the month—even though my employer offered me a raise to stay. By then, the decision had already shifted something inside me. What had first felt like an awful, forced ending turned out to be one of the greatest gifts I’ve received.
Almost overnight, the stress began to melt away. My health improved. And all the time I’d been waiting for—time to write, time to create—was suddenly mine.
That’s when I started to feel the new season humming. Even though I haven’t reached the exact Gemini degree yet, the air already feels lighter, quicker, more full of possibility. The “preparation energy” of Gemini has been rearranging my life for two years, but now it’s clear: those endings were really openings.
Gemini is the storyteller of the zodiac. It thrives on words, ideas, connections, and variety. After the long, steady work of Taurus, Gemini feels like a breath of fresh air—a chance to explore, experiment, and reinvent myself. And it’s no coincidence that this season arrives just as my acquisition career has ended. With that chapter closed, the space is finally open for me to return fully to my voice as a writer.
Creativity has surged. I’m juggling multiple projects, curious about new forms, and eager to share stories that have been simmering for years. Gemini doesn’t ask me to pick just one path—it encourages me to embrace multiplicity, to weave together the many voices and ideas that make up my creative universe. And I’m no longer forcing myself to write to market. No more “babies, brides, and cowboys” tropes just to sell a book.
This season is about communication in every sense: writing, teaching, connecting, weaving networks, sharing what I’ve lived and what I know. Gemini energy wants to circulate, to breathe, to spark ideas in others and watch them spread.
The difference this time is that I have the grounding of Taurus beneath me. I’m not the raw beginner of Aries or the overburdened builder of Taurus. I’ve earned this shift. The next thirty-one years in Gemini will be about claiming my identity as a communicator and storyteller in every possible way—well into my nineties.
I don’t know exactly how it will unfold, but I know this: Gemini Rising is a season of voice. A season of expression, curiosity, and visibility. It feels like the universe is saying, You’ve built the foundation. Now speak. Now write. Now share.
This is the season I’ve been waiting for—the one I haven’t been able to fully live until now. And I intend to embrace it completely.
Ever felt a “meant to be” moment? That’s your Vertex—the hidden point of destiny in your birth chart.
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