| |  | | | | January 3, 2017 | Letter No. 67 | | | | | | | | | | | | Happy New Year, Lennys,
I stopped watching MSNBC. Postelection (oh, for fuck's sake, Jenni. Are we still talking about that?), I swore off that 24-hour TV news cycle, with its blaring alerts and stressful chyrons, and mostly got my news from Twitter links and informed friends. It's helping, I think. I've been trying to get to the gym more, because two hours at Tracy Anderson can transform a day. When the supermoon happened in December and Lenny writer Mikki Halpin suggested letting go of baggage in its honor, I decided to eat less. Because in a post-11/8 world (Jenni, we get it. Shut the fuck up about the election), I have been shoving my face with food. It's healthy food, but it's too much, and it's not good for anyone. On the day I'm writing this, I'm going to bathe nude in the baths of Esalen. I've also been reading a lot of Ann Patchett.
Can you see the pattern? I'll try anything to heal. And, I think, so will some of you.
Here is the good news: there's more than one way to make yourself feel better. And so today, we bring you vastly different versions of healing and change. Stephanie Danan, designer of Co., one of the most unique and chic fashion lines going, tells her story of finding fashion as a balm to heal the wounds of her past.
From my favorite book of the year, Ayelet Waldman's new memoir A Really Good Day, we have an excerpt about the ways in which MDMA might just save your marriage. I mean, come on, you gotta love that. We also have some practical advice from a physician, Sandra Gelbard, about ways to stave off your stress, which is not just taking deep breaths — though that can help, too. Then, we have our monthly existential horoscopes predicting a better future. Finally, we have Lizania Cruz's interviews with immigrant flower arrangers. Lizania asked these women to arrange flowers for Trump in order to send him a message, and her arresting photographs of their work make us feel something like hope. 'Cause they're making something beautiful out of something vile.
It's a strange time in the world — and I'm pretty sure I'm the first person to point that out — and I'm personally in the "I'll try anything" mode. Because why not? So, in that spirit, does anyone know where I can score some good MDMA?
Love,
Jenni | | | | | | | | | | | | Can Molly Save a Marriage? | | | | By Ayelet Waldman | | |
Maintaining a successful marriage isn't easy. It takes work. It also, in our case, takes drugs.
My husband and I were inspired to try MDMA by Alexander Shulgin, known as Sasha, a Bay Area pharmacologist and chemist who specialized in synthesizing and bioassaying psychoactive compounds on himself and on willing subjects. He and some friends were on the Reno Fun Train in 1976, heading up to Tahoe for a weekend of gambling and carousing. His companions were drinking alcohol, but instead of joining them, Sasha drank a vial containing 120 milligrams of MDMA. He described the feeling like this: "I feel absolutely clean inside, and there is nothing but pure euphoria. I have never felt so great, or believed this to be possible."
Sasha, who referred to the drug as his "low-calorie martini," shared it with a friend, Leo Zeff, a psychotherapist who trained hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of therapists around the country in how to use MDMA as a tool in their practices. Sasha and his wife, Ann, a colleague of Zeff's, referred to MDMA as an empathogen or entactogen, a drug that enhances feelings of emotional communion and empathy, allowing for an opening up of communication. This, they said, was what made it ideal for couples. It allowed them to discuss potentially painful or divisive issues without triggering feelings of fear and threat, but of love. A love drug!
From about 1976 to 1981, MDMA remained a virtual secret among networks of psychotherapists who found it a profoundly important tool, especially in the treatment of couples, but who were hesitant to publicize or publish their findings for fear of hastening criminalization. Inevitably, however, word got out to recreational drug users. In 1981, a group of chemists in the Boston area — known, imaginatively, as the "Boston Group" — rebranded the drug as "Ecstasy" or "XTC" and increased the pace of production, stamping out thousands of little colorful pills decorated with characters reminiscent of SweeTarts candies. In 1983, one of their distributors, with the financial backing of investors from Texas, massively increased both production and distribution. The "Texas Group" held huge "Ecstasy parties" at bars and clubs, circulating posters and flyers and aggressively marketing the drug. In 1985, as the psychotherapists had predicted would happen once use spread widely, the DEA placed MDMA on Schedule I, thus ending nearly a decade of successful therapeutic use.
When I first began considering taking MDMA, my husband and I had four small children, busy careers, and sleep deficits that challenged the concept of empathy, let alone its reliable practice. We were stressed out, and though we would never have considered our marriage anything but happy, we were definitely communicating less than before we had children. We felt a little bit, we used to say, like foremen in a factory on swing shifts. We'd pass the children off to one another with sufficient instruction to ease the transition, and then head off to our own work. When we were alone together, we were spent and exhausted, encrusted with baby cereal and just a soupçon of puke, and though we still enjoyed one another's company, at times we lost the sense of intense communion we had once had.
Still, as compelling as was the possibility of opening up the lines of communication in a circumstance that enhances feelings of empathy and love, it took years for my husband and me to work up the courage to try the drug. I was afraid of MDMA. I didn't want to have a "bad trip," and I didn't want to die. It turns out, however, that so long as you're not stupid enough to source your pills from a wild-eyed stranger wearing a pacifier around his neck, the drug is relatively safe, even at high doses, though there have been fatalities, including among healthy young adults. MDMA raises body temperature and inhibits natural thermoregulation, increasing the risk of heatstroke. For this reason, probably the worst thing to do under the influence of MDMA is dance wildly in a packed room or beneath the desert sun. MDMA can also increase heart rate and raise blood pressure, making it dangerous for those who suffer from high blood pressure or heart disease. Additionally, MDMA can cause water retention. So, for example, if one takes it at a rave, and then chugs water to counteract the possibility of dehydration, one can suffer from hyponatremia, or water toxicity.
Furthermore, MDMA certainly affects the brain. We know this because tolerance develops with repeated use, and can eventually become chronic. Heavy users don't experience the positive effects of the drug, no matter how many pills they "stack," or how much they ingest. Though there is no clear answer yet as to why this is so, it seems likely that some neuroadaptive process is going on. This means, in laymen's terms, that MDMA changes your brain chemistry in some way, though we do not know whether these changes are destructive or problematic.
However, there has never been a fatality or even an injury when MDMA is used in a carefully monitored therapeutic setting. My husband and I decided that if we modeled our MDMA experience on the one developed by therapists like Zeff, were careful to regulate temperature and water intake, and put in place an emergency plan, we could safely take the drug.
We prepared far in advance for our first MDMA experience. We hired a reliable, mature babysitter to take care of our kids for three days, and arranged for one of their grandmothers to be on call in case of emergency. After first making sure emergency medical care would be readily accessible in the event of a bad reaction, we drove down the coast to a small hotel on the beach, checked into a spartan though comfortable room, and promptly collapsed on the bed in blissful unconsciousness. The next morning, we went for a hike out onto the cliffs above the beach. When we were precisely a thirty-minute walk from the hotel, we took the pills. My stomach clenched in panic as soon as I swallowed the drug. Forget the research! What if my spinal fluid vanished? I could feel it evaporating already. What if my brain overheated? A fried egg! That's what a brain on drugs looks like! I knew that for sure, because Nancy Reagan told me so!
"Look at me," my husband said. He held me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes. His pupils were not yet dilated.
"This is good," he said. "Nothing bad will happen."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
A few deep breaths later, as the fog lifted over the Pacific, we hiked slowly back to the room. We stripped, got into bed, and waited for the best sex of our lives. The drug was called Ecstasy for a reason, right?
Not so much. MDMA certainly enhances the senses. It makes touch feel glorious. The drug first came on with what I can best describe as a wave of warm, sensual tingling. I even got wet. But neither of us experienced the profound sexual arousal we'd anticipated. In fact, nothing about the experience was what we had imagined it would be. We didn't rock the bed like a wrecking ball. We didn't trance-dance into a fatally overheated stupor. We didn't see fairies dancing in the sky, or any other visual hallucinations. The drug is not hallucinogenic.
What we did was talk. For six hours, we talked about our feelings for each other, why we love each other, how we love each other. We talked about what we felt when we first met, how our emotional connection grew and deepened, how we might deepen it still. The best way I can describe it is that we were transported emotionally back to our relationship's early and most exciting days, to the period of our most intense infatuation, but with all the compassion and depth of familiarity of a decade of companionship. We saw each other clearly, loved each other profoundly, and basked in this reciprocated love.[1]
The feeling lasted not for hours or for days, but for months. Actually, the truth is, it lasted forever. We've done the drug since, every couple of years, when we feel we need to recharge the batteries of our relationship. Though the experience has never again been quite so intense, it has been a reliable method of connection, of clearing away the detritus of the everyday to get to the heart of the matter. And the heart is love.
I've been honest with my children about MDMA. I've told them it's been helpful to their father and me, that it's a very special drug, though their peers use it foolishly. I've warned my children that the vast majority of what is called MDMA or Molly on the market is either methamphetamine or something more toxic. If they do MDMA, they must test it first. If they cannot establish through testing that a drug is pure, they must not risk taking it.
I've also counseled my children about the dangers MDMA poses to body-temperature regulation and water toxicity, and explained that this is why they must not use the drug at a rave or a party, but only in a small group in a cool room. Or, better yet, one to one, with someone they love. And then I've gone beyond harm reduction to life enhancement, and explained to my children that MDMA is one of those rare experiences that are at their very best the first time you do them. About what else in life can we say that? Not sex, that's for sure! I believe that with whom you do MDMA for the first time might even be more important than with whom you have sex for the first time. Ideally, you'd have sex for the first time with someone you love, after serious contemplation and discussion, but, whatever happens, chances are it's not going to be great. And even if by some miracle it's wonderful, even if you happen to be one of the infinitesimal number of women who orgasm in their first sexual encounter, sex only gets better the more practice you have. The opposite is true about MDMA. The first time you use MDMA is the most profound, and tolerance inevitably develops.
Do it like we did, I tell my children. Don't waste that first experience. Save it for your soul mate. I anticipate that they will take this advice about as readily as they take my advice about what to wear, whom to date, and whether to get a tattoo, but I wish they'd listen to me on this one. Because your first time really should be special.
Copyright © 2017 by Ayelet Waldman. All rights reserved. Excerpted from her memoir, A REALLY GOOD DAY: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life, published in January, 2017 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. All rights reserved. Reprinted by arrangement with Mary Evans Inc.
Ayelet Waldman is the author of A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage and My Life.
_______________
1 I realize that for some of you the prospect of talking for six hours about your relationship seems like the very definition of a bad trip. If so, MDMA is not for you. Actually, I take that back: MDMA is especially for you. Hundred bucks says your spouse would agree. | | | | | | | | | | | | The Healing Power of Fashion | | | | By Stephanie Danan | | |
A few months ago, I found myself at Neiman Marcus in Palo Alto, California, speaking to an audience of women about my brand, Co. The store visit is a routine event done by designers to meet their customers. I never know what to expect of these trips and certainly didn't expect this one would be as transformative as it turned out to be. Maybe it was my exhaustion from being the mother of a small child and running a company, or just that I was coming off a few difficult months in my personal life, but I was certainly more introspective than usual. I was mostly reflective about how I had ended up here, in fashion. I had studied film in college, spent the last twenty years making movies, or at least trying to, and in my late 30s I left a career I loved to start a clothing brand.
The manager of the store, who was interviewing me, began by asking me about my muses. I replied that my mother, Marcelle Danan, my aunt Perla Servan Schreiber, and my ex-mother-in-law, the artist Michele Oka Doner, had greatly influenced my life and style. All three were creative women with an extraordinary sense of self, and their commitment to live a deeply thoughtful life translated in the way they dressed. Perla wears only white (every single piece of clothing, including her undergarments, is white). Michele has one dress (one single silhouette) in ten different fabrics. And my mother, Marcelle, has never left the house without complete attention to every detail — always a piece of jewelry or a scarf to complete her look and never without her signature red lipstick. Like Coco Chanel, she believed that in order to be irreplaceable you needed to be different — to stand out. For each of them, their clothing is a form of personal expression, an extension of their inner self — and, as a result, they effortlessly exude confidence, grace, and style. Finding my own sense of self in clothing wasn't quite so easy. In fact, I absolutely despised fashion for a long, long time.
I grew up in the fashion industry in the '70s and '80s in both Paris and Montreal. My parents arrived in Canada from Morocco in 1973, the year of my birth, with very little money but fantastic taste and big dreams, and they did well for themselves in short order. My father had a prolific importing business working with some of the top French and American designers, such as Jean Paul Gaultier and Marithé + François Girbaud, while my mother designed her own collections, sold at department stores all over the world.
My father, who looked like George Clooney (I'm not kidding), basked in his success and wooed every pretty woman in town. My mother, who looked like Natalie Wood (I'm not kidding about that, either), navigated the ins and outs of a difficult marriage, escaping my father's infidelities by pouring herself into her work while looking fabulous, and traveling the world hiding in ashrams in search of the woman she was meant to be.
Before I turned ten, I was what I think people would consider a pretty girl: long brown hair, big dark eyes, and always perfectly dressed in smocked dresses by Bonpoint. This all ended when, at twelve, I started to lose confidence in my body and therefore in myself; I began to gain weight, and suddenly the way people treated me shifted. My body was changing rapidly, and my mother, who was extremely thin and glamorous, was so blinded by her own problems that she could not take the time to explain to me what the changes I was undergoing meant. Instead, embarrassed by my appearance, she put me on a diet and had multiple friends of hers sit me down to explain to me that my weight gain would only make me miserable in life.
I began to feel unloved because of the way I looked; it was an excruciating feeling, one that followed me for decades. The torment I felt at that age drove me to a suicide attempt, years of bulimia, and complete rebellion toward my mother: I gained more weight just to spite her, and I completely and vocally rejected her love. My upset was amplified by the fact that I was surrounded by incredibly stylish and beautiful women in a world driven by appearance.
I hated going to my father's office. I hated the models, the runway shows, the fashion executives who looked at me with pity and condescension. I hated the fancy dinners my parents would host for designers at our home, and I would hide in my room or at a neighbor's house until they were over. During that time, I swore to myself that I would NEVER be part of that world.
When I turned eighteen, my father filed for bankruptcy, and I left home shortly thereafter. The relief was extraordinary. I was finally free from fashion. It had bankrupted my parents and broken my soul.
My freshman year of college, I enrolled in a film class called Understanding Film. The professor, Ray Carney, an expert on John Cassavetes, opened the semester with a screening of A Woman Under the Influence. There are very clear turning points in my life, which usually begin with a deep feeling of transformation and are quickly followed by endless tears, and this was certainly one of them.
I remember thinking: You mean you can be strange and different and maybe even a little crazy and yet magnificent and still be loved? That realization persuaded me to major in film and somehow be involved in telling great stories about the magic that exists in all of us. Film, I felt in that moment, certainly had the moral high ground over fashion. (Well, actually no, but that's another essay.)
After I graduated, I moved to Los Angeles and spent fifteen years working in film and television before a series of circumstances brought me face to face with fashion again, despite all my resistance to it.
It was the middle of summer, and my mother, who had recently moved to Los Angeles, called me to help her clean out her garage. As we unpacked the boxes, I began to revisit my childhood through all the clothes my mother had worn in the '70s and '80s: old Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Jean Paul Gaultier, Issey Miyake, and, of course, the amazing Donna Karan, whose career my mother had spent years trying to emulate. Those beautiful pieces represented not only my mother's extraordinary style, but also all the pain I had felt as a young girl, my deep feelings of rejection and humiliation.
The clothes took me on a journey inward. Every piece, along with the pain I revisited, brought me a sense of relief and liberation. With every jacket, pant, dress, and sweater I was confronting my sorrow, which paradoxically led to embracing the power and importance fashion had played in my life. It also unlocked the door to great empathy for my mother and how she had so gracefully hidden the pain from the disappointment of her marriage behind her gorgeous wardrobe and so often used it to express her individuality and independence.
I felt a strong sense of clarity, and I began to dream of making clothes for women like me. Women interested in more than fashion. Women interested in art, film, books, and politics. Women with families and children and complicated lives. Women with careers who work hard every day and want to spend their earnings thoughtfully. Real women with real lives. In that garage on that hot summer day, my partner — the father of my son — and I decided to start Co. Co stands for partnership, the things we share in common, and inclusiveness.
"What is fashion to you?" the Neiman Marcus manager asked me, a question I'd been asked dozens of times before. And in that moment it all came together: Fashion has, ironically, become the healing of my pain and former self-loathing and therefore a source of endless possibility for my growth. It has become an opportunity to understand and love my body, to understand who I am as a woman and what my true role is as a mother, partner, and fashion designer — and it has become an opportunity to hopefully inspire women to understand their own roles as well.
We spend so much time using fashion to fill our voids, to hide our bodies or exploit them, or, like my mother, as armor to hide from the world. Fashion is a wonderful tool, and ideally we use it as an extension of our true selves. As we rise to fight for our rights during these uncertain times, let's remember that our strength comes from our rich inner lives and the extent to which we engage with the world. A pretty dress is a delightful companion, but only insofar as it is an accurate reflection of the woman wearing it.
Stephanie Danan is the designer of Co. She lives with her partner, Justin Kern, and son, Jacob Kern, in Los Angeles. | | | | | | | | | | | | Flowers for Trump | | | | By Lizania Cruz | | | I met Lizania in college about eight years ago. I was drawn to her immediately, not only because she was insanely talented — clearly one of the best designers in my class — but because she was Dominican, and it was nice to have a kindred Caribbean spirit in class with me. Shortly before the election, she began her "Flowers for Immigration" project, where she asked men working at the flower stands in bodegas across New York City to create a flower arrangement to send to Donald Trump, which she then photographed. I loved the sentiment behind her work: there are so many things that can become a form of protest, so many ways to give those without a voice a chance to express themselves and create something beautiful. For Lenny, Lizania asked four Mexican women to create arrangements for Trump, and asked them their thoughts about our newly elected president.
—Laia Garcia
Nancy
Nancy, a native of Hidalgo who has lived in the United States for twenty-three years, was offended by Trump's words, not only as an immigrant but as a woman. She said, "No creo que ese señor salio del vientre de una mujer" ("I don't believe that man came from a woman's womb").
She chose a bright-blue painted margarita for the center of the arrangement, saying, "Una flor azúl, porque es un hombre." ("A blue flower, because he is a man"). My favorite part of her arrangement is the paper with a printed pattern that reads "Say it with flowers."
Nancy picked daisies, roses, carnations, baby's breath, palm leaves, and a painted margarita.
Eva
Eva, a native of Puebla who crossed "El Cerro" twenty years ago and has never gone back. Her daughter, who is named after the Anahi flower, was born in the United States sixteen years ago. On Sundays, Anahi sells flowers together with her mother, who is still undocumented. When I asked Anahi what she thought about Donald Trump, she said, "Nada!" ("Nothing!").
While making the arrangement, Eva mentioned how the rich do not understand the poor. "El está en su torre, y no tiene que mirar para abajo!" ("He is in his tower, and he doesn't need to look down!")
Eva combined two arrangements she had already made, which included goldenrod, margaritas, mums, daisies, limonium, and roses. She said, "Mientras más grande mejor, para que sepa nuestras intenciones" ("The bigger, the better, so he knows our intentions are big").
Maria
Maria, a native of Puebla, declared that she no longer remembers how long she has lived here. She then said, "Más de veinte años. Una vida" ("More than twenty years. A lifetime"). Her four children were born in the United States. While I interviewed her, two of them were selling flowers with her while doing some schoolwork.
Maria feels she has little to say about Trump, because the majority voted for him. I then explained to her the difference between the electoral vote and the popular vote, to which she sighed and said, "Igual, no creo que mi voto hubiera contado." ("Still, I don't think my vote would have counted").
As she was putting the final touches on her arrangement, she told me, "You know, we are all the same. We all go to the bathroom like everyone else. The only difference is that he is white and rich. If he dies, he will become dust, just like me and these flowers."
Maria picked purple lilies, carnations, daisies, roses, baby's breath, and palm leaves.
Viviana
Viviana, a native of Puebla who has lived in the United States for twenty-one years. I asked her to make an arrangement for Donald Trump, and she exclaimed, "Para que? Para su tumba! Claro." ("For what? For his grave! Of course.") She asked me how I arrived here. I said by plane, to which she replied, "Que lindo" ("How beautiful"). Viviana crossed the border by foot to be reunited with family members here.
Viviana picked margaritas, roses, baby's breath, and lilies, saying, "Las lilas las usan en los funerales" ("They use lilies for funerals").
Born and raised in the Dominican Republic, Lizania Cruz is a New York-based designer working in education, arts and advocacy. She currently works at General Assembly as an art director. She is also collaborating with the Center of Urban Pedagogy and Vocal NYC on their Making Policy Public project. | | | | | | | | | | | | How to Heal Broken Hearts (and Immune Systems) | | | | By Dr. Sandra Gelbard | | | |
In the weeks since the election results came in, my office has been filled with people suffering the aftereffects of the country's monumental and controversial decision. Someone should be doing a study, I've said aloud, on how stress and despair is leading to illness. To be clear, these people are not complaining of being sad or depressed. Their ailments range from pneumonia and sinusitis to diverticulitis. Their immune systems, along with their hearts, are broken.
I have always been a firm believer in the mind-body connection. The idea that our thoughts and emotions play a role in our physical health seems logical to me, given how fundamentally connected our bodies are to our brains. At this point, I think most medical doctors believe in this connection. And if any doubt remained, the postelection despair has provided an overwhelming body of evidence that supports it.
During my training years at Bellevue, I often remarked how miraculous it was that we budding doctors didn't contract any of the serious ailments we spent hours exposed to. We were surrounded by tuberculosis and virulent airborne diseases. Yet, somehow, we came out unscathed. We were doing what we felt we were meant to do, and that gave us a tremendous amount of satisfaction. Our work ethic was serious, if not pathological, and we often worked for hours on end — but I rarely heard complaints. We remained healthy because we were happy. As a result, our immune systems were strong.
When we are stressed, our nervous system releases a flood of stress hormones. These include cortisol, which increases sugars in the bloodstream, and adrenaline, which increases your heart rate and elevates blood pressure. This is helpful in some situations, as it allows our bodies to engage in a "fight-or-flight" response by elevating our level of focus, concentration, physical ability, and stamina. It's our bodies' way of protecting us when we come face-to-face with a threat.
However, what happens when this response is prolonged? When these hormones are released at times when there is no immediate threat to combat, they linger in the system and can have severely detrimental effects. Over time, they wear away at your immune system, which can lead to problems such as flu, viral syndromes, bacterial infections, and even heart attacks. In addition, stress lowers your pain threshold, causes digestive problems, increases reproductive issues, and has been linked to a decline in cognitive and memory functions.
So what can we do to combat stress?
To start, there's no need to get stressed about being stressed! A few simple lifestyle changes can have a massive impact on your anxiety levels and dramatically boost your quality of life. Firstly, exercise is one of the most underutilized antidepressants and stress relievers there is. Exercise releases endorphins into the system, which act as natural painkillers. You'll find it easier to sleep, too.
Meditation, acupuncture, and yoga are also incredibly effective for reducing stress levels. As far as meditation goes, there are various types, and just like with anything, different practices resonate with different people, depending on their issues and personalities. For individuals with extremely high levels of stress or anxiety, guided meditation and visualization work best. The sessions can be done in a very supportive way, with the teacher talking throughout the meditation to support the experience.
Your happiness is important. Feel-good moments throughout the day have real effects on your overall immune system, so remember to take care of yourself. Even the little things that make you smile — like playing your favorite song, or reminiscing about a happy memory — can elevate your mood and result in a shift in your hormones. So be sure to take a couple of moments every day to assess your stress levels and do something to reduce them.
Additionally, there are a number of supplements you can take to boost your immune system. These bring health benefits of many types when taken daily, but are especially important during times of stress, as they help combat stress's negative effects. I recommend vitamin D and probiotics to all my patients, as well as fish oil, which is rich in omega-3. You can introduce more fish oil into your diet by either eating two meals a week containing fatty fish like mackerel and salmon, or by taking tablets. These supplements will benefit your overall health and mood, as well as support your immune system.
The election was a shock to the system, and many people are still recovering from that shock. We're all going to need our strength for the years to come, so remember to look after yourself both physically and mentally. Understanding how to take care of yourself is the first step toward engaging positively in the community, better preparing you to provide support to others. Women are by nature givers and caretakers, but if we don't start with ourselves, we are unable to achieve our greater purpose in life. This reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, "I have come to believe that caring for myself is not self-indulgent. Caring for myself is an act of survival." —Audre Lorde
Sandra Gelbard, MD, is a board-certified internist in New York City. Her practice is focused on disease prevention, cholesterol management, and individualized vitamin supplementation. | | | | | | | | | | | | January Horoscopes | | | | By Melissa Broder | | |
CAPRICORN
(December 22 to January 19)
Happy birthday, Capricorn! Pay attention to your dreams this month, if only because living in the same dimension day after day can get kind of flat. You have access to multiple other dimensions in slumber, so why wouldn't you tap into it? If what you see is beautiful, don't be afraid to look for some of what you find there in your waking life.
AQUARIUS
(January 20 to February 18)
Truth is one, and paths are many. This is not just the case with religions, but also ideas, philosophies, and intellectual perspectives. It might be a good thing for you to explore more deeply a perspective that you never thought you would consider. I'm not saying that your whole view of the world should or will change, but perhaps this will give you more peace regarding others who seem to think entirely differently.
PISCES
(February 19 to March 20)
We are as sick as our secrets. This doesn't mean you have to tell everyone everything, but make sure that the thing you are holding on to the closest is something you divulge to at least one person — even a total stranger or a hotline. You will feel much more at home on the planet once someone else knows what's up, even if you never speak with them again.
ARIES
(March 21 to April 19)
F.E.A.R. (or false evidence appearing real) is scary, because we believe we know exactly what is going to happen and that it's the worst-case scenario. But what if you conceded that you didn't know what was going to happen at all? In some ways, that might seem even scarier, because then nothing is under your control. But the only control you are exerting now is to freak yourself out in the present.
TAURUS
(April 20 to May 20)
The only thing more painful than obsessing over the past is fearing the future. Far be it from me to tell you that you have to live in the present, because I know that isn't easy. It can take a lifetime of spiritual practice to get there, and when we finally do, the "there" has moved. But if you're feeling empty and you're not sure why, know that it's because you aren't totally here.
GEMINI
(May 21 to June 20)
You struggle to find that acceptance during this time of year when we intuitively go inside, physically and emotionally, and do less. But it is safe to stop questioning everything about where you are right now and accept that doing what feels right is perfect. In fact, the doing less is always safe for you, Gemini. It's the compulsive action based on what you think you should be doing that is the danger.
CANCER
(June 21 to July 22)
When we finally realize that someone we love isn't ever going to change, there is a mourning — a death of the fantasy of who we wanted them to become. But once we get through that grief, there arrives a renewed sense of freedom and hope that we do have the power to change the situation: it's just that the change has to come from us.
LEO
(July 23 to August 22)
Watch out for grandiosity this month, and all months. I know it might feel like you're living under a repressive authoritarian regime to not allow yourself to get carried away with the fantasy of your biggest dreams and schemes. But maybe try living in more of a parliamentary system, or even a democracy, when it comes to actualizing your plans, rather than one where you must be the queen.
VIRGO
(August 23 to September 22)
What are you afraid will happen if you are actually nice to yourself? I'm not saying be nice to yourself, because as a Virgo, I know that takes many eons of practice and isn't something we just wake up and do. But what I am saying is to look at why you resist trying at all, and what you are scared of losing if you put down the whip.
LIBRA
(September 23 to October 22)
We turn the other cheek, because in the end, it feels better not to fight with people who are looking for a fight with everyone. But if the action of turning the other cheek is consistently making you feel worse in a situation, it might be better to try keeping that cheek planted firmly and with your mouth say "Fuck off."
SCORPIO
(October 23 to November 21)
One of the best and scariest thoughts is that nobody on planet Earth knows what they are doing. Use that idea accordingly this month whenever you start to feel like your life doesn't compare to others', or simply if you are feeling like life is a boring and predictable script.
SAGITTARIUS
(November 22 to December 21)
Look around at the people who have what you think you want. Now look more closely and see if they have any problems. Imagine you are putting your problems on the table and that they are putting their problems on a table. Imagine that a bunch of other people are also putting their problems on the table too. If you were asked to pick up a new set of problems from that table, you might find that you would actually rather have some of yours back.
Melissa Broder is the author of four collections of poems, including Last Sext (Tin House 2016), as well as So Sad Today, a book of essays from Grand Central. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | The email newsletter where there's no such thing as too much information.
From Lena Dunham + Jenni Konner. | | | | | | | |  |  | |
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