“Fuck yeah, Libras”

He’d been watching football, so he was in a football-y mood.

But he did catch me off guard. The dad of my daughter’s friend. I was picking my girl up from a playdate and they were finishing their Twizzlers or something so we were making conversation.

I don’t remember what we were saying but somehow he knew things about me. “When’s your birthday,” he demanded, no question mark, like he already knew and was testing if I also knew. He read my lips as I said it, practically saying with me, “September 30th,” then whooping the air, squatting with his hips wide and throwing his hand up at me, waiting for my return high five. I didn’t have a choice. My hand flew to his like a magnet, a loud and solid clap sealing the connection. And it was contagious, his enthusiasm. This man who knew the challenge of a September birthday, the beginning of the school year, the deadline for coupons. He was a person who not only accepted but celebrated the highs and lows of a Libra’s sensitivities. It deserved a high five.

I’d never been so excited by my astrological sign. I’m not sure I ever will be again.

Probably because as a Libra, I’m perpetually caught in the balance. It is my destiny, my doom and my pleasure to keep forces in equal measure against each other.

Being balanced feels right. It’s a gift.

Thank you football guy for reminding me of that. And happy birthday, fellow Libras.