The star burned through the night sky, flashing a radiant white and emerald green.

Slowly, purposefully, it tailed orange sparks until it seemed to plummet through the dark waves and extinguish itself into the black sea.

We sat in silent awe for a moment.

“What do you think it means?” I asked quietly.

“That we are not alone,” she said.

We sat in the warm, grainy sand leaning against a log under a dark New Moon sky filled with not-yet-fallen stars, the low tide rolling white foamy waves in the distance.

It had been a heavy day, and a momentous month, for both of us, and since we’re here and tallying, a fairly tumultuous year.

Under a New Moon, we can make space to set our intentions, ignite change, start a project, or set about to create something new.

Not too many people know this about me, but I have been a Tarot card reader for nearly 20 years. I have a small following, but lately, those who come for a reading have increased in number. Not to learn what their future holds, but to seek clarity, perspective, and gain a foothold of understanding in this uncertain world.

Earlier that morning, three guests arrived for coffee and a Tarot reading on my back porch, while Tino lounged on a cushion close by, alarming the jungle birds and listening in to our deep conversation.

I didn’t know these women well, but their readings made a mark. They left my house contemplating their own lives, connecting more intentionally with loves, losses, relationships with people close to them, careers that align with their passions, inner truths, and dramatic changes on the near horizon.

As always, reading Tarot or coaching or writing never fails to spin me inward. What part of our conversation lingered in the air that I connected with? What resonated that ignites a check-in with myself as far as my own life pursuits, truths, and changes?

We are all mirrors of each other, after all.

Lately, life has felt harsher. A battering of unexpected pivots from all sides had muddied my energy and left me feeling overwhelmed and helpless in varying measures throughout each day.

I feel this for myself, and see this same harsh tumultuousness landing on friends, family, neighbors, and those I am close to. It seems when the going gets tough—when it feels like life is taking you out at the knees—it’s sometimes hard for the tough to get going.

But this is what we know life to be. Ups. Downs. In the afternoon, we feel light, focused, and friendly. And in another moment that same afternoon, we’re wishing we could cave ourselves away in our blankets.

When I feel this way, too much in the downs with all that is beyond my control, the only thing I can think to do is to rise.

I step back from the low, confusing spaces I’m in and shift my thoughts and mind to go high. Creating distance, I gain a birds-eye perspective of all the moving parts. From up there, I scan the horizons for the good.

That particular morning, I began to feel as if my planned-out day would be too routine to carry my beaten-down emotions, so I decided to rise.

I chose to abandon my computer and shirk my to-dos in exchange for a dip in the ocean. The water here is mostly warm, and the sea salt was soothing on my skin.

Perhaps the ocean water did something to me because my structured day fell beautifully apart into spending a few spontaneous hours adorning my porch with new plants.

I spent the latter part of the afternoon emptying cracked pots with old dirt and refilling them with soft, fertile soil and young, luscious green plants. I even potted lemon grass for Tino, because that’s her favorite plant to chew on in the mornings, even if it means she’s killing it slowly.

I played my favorite music while Tino bopped happily around the mess I made on her porch.

Creating ups in my day helped me rise above any paralyzing feelings and shifted me into a place of calm, peace, and confidence, knowing that all is going to be okay, despite the messiness of things.

When I rise up and look beyond the fears in front of me, I realize this year has delivered more blessings than I can count on two hands.

Amongst the heartbreaks, I also found hopeful romances. Where there was illness, I also found journeys to recovery. And through the confusion, clarity eventually bloomed. Where careers failed, space was created for renewed projects. And amongst the loss of people and animals dear to us, we hear joyous announcements of new babies on the way and feel the pure delight of our pets greeting us at the door.

Look for the ups.

I ended my day with a sunset beach walk under a dramatic, cloud-swept sky with a good friend I hadn’t seen in quite a while. She’d had a tumultuous year as well.

Soul sisters outpour. And that’s what we did as the sunset glow dimmed and a vast sky of stars twinkled awake—we poured out all the things.

The light, heart-warming, and inspiring rolled out first, followed by the heavy.

As we shared and the light and the heavy filled the air around us, it was then that the burning emerald flash in the sky caught our eyes. Suddenly silent, we watched as the falling star sparked like fireworks, as bright and fiery green as nothing I’d ever seen before. It was magic.

No one else seemed to notice the steady light splitting the sparkly sky. But we did. In the midst of the heady ups and downs of our conversation, the star fell.

“We are not alone,” she said. And our conversation shifted from heavy to hopeful. From down to up.

Moments later, a small baby sea turtle wriggled out from the sand not far from where we sat and flippered his tiny way toward my feet. And then another.

Newly hatched from a wild nest somewhere nearby, the babies had been disoriented by the lights from the restaurant behind us and were moving dangerously away from the dark sea.

Scooping them up, we walked across the billowing sand, toward the shadowy part of the shore, and set them free, ushering their tiny little bodies toward the frothy white tide.

New life. New beginnings.

More sought-after ups delivered my way, staking their claim in a night where thoughts spilled over, wild and reckless.

Maybe life at this juncture felt heavy with uncertainties and fears, but taking the bird’s-eye view on that New Moon helped me see all the ups right in front of me:

The warm ocean swim,
the leafy new plants,
the heart-holding friends,
the golden sunset,
the magnificent shooting star,
the wriggly, just-hatched sea turtles.

So much was near to lift me up.

So much was near to help me rise.

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