The Algorithm Knows My Rising Sign

On horoscopes, tarot, and the things we half-believe

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I have a confession that will surprise no one who has ever had a bad week.

Last winter, on a grey Tuesday, walking my dog through a neighbourhood that looked exactly as I felt — damp, directionless, slightly behind schedule — I opened YouTube and searched for a tarot reading. The most optimistic one I could find. Something about breakthroughs. Energies aligning.

I pressed play before I finished reading it.

I read Tao Te Ching. I own books on cognitive bias. I have explained, at a dinner party, why astrology isn't real.

I listened for forty minutes.

This was not the first time.

I have done this in other forms. When I was younger — not that long ago — I watched motivational videos. And always with music. A lot of it.

I have forced myself through kilometres on the strength of slow piano and a man's voice insisting that champions are made in the dark. I have watched the 'wealthy mindset' training montage more times than I will admit.

Every January, someone looks at the sky and tells millions of people that things will move forward.

The ratings are good.

I don't remember what she said. Not the details. My brain wasn't taking notes — it was scanning. Picking out the words that landed: things are moving forward. A difficult period is ending. You are closer than you think. Everything that didn't fit drifted past like leaves. My thoughts wandered from sky to mud on that grey morning. I could have walked in silence. But I needed those words.

I was almost home when I stopped thinking about it.

The dog found something dead near the path and had to be redirected twice.

By the time we got home, the forty minutes were over. I felt better. Not different. Just steadier. As if something had been adjusted slightly out of view.

No one had touched anything.

A woman in a kitchen had pressed record days earlier.

She wasn't speaking to me — but something else was — she even said so, at the start. "This is a general reading. If it doesn't resonate, let it go."

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This is No-Mad Max. The author's rising sign is unconfirmed. His dog remains unconvinced. I write about the things men carry but rarely say out loud. You can also find me on Substack and Medium