Man, September 2020. What a nightmare. Everyone was talking about that “Great Conjunction” stuff, the big shifts, and all the end-of-days talk you get when things are chaotic, but honestly, I just saw it as another month I needed to make rent and try to keep my head above water. I’m not really a horoscope guy, you know? Never have been. I read the Virgo stuff for a quick laugh sometimes, especially back then when I needed any distraction I could get. But when I look back at that specific month now, it was the month. Everything shifted. The title says it all: why was that particular Virgo career reading such a big deal? Because it basically mapped out the massive, gut-wrenching decision I had to make about my job, and I didn’t even realize it until way later, after the dust had settled.
I was stuck. I’d been at my old place for maybe five years. It was comfortable, sure. The commute was easy, the pay was decent enough to cover the bills, and the people were mostly harmless. But, man, absolutely zero growth. I mean, the manager was basically a ghost, the projects were stale, and the whole office felt like it was running on fumes and yesterday’s stale coffee. It was a slow, professional death. I knew I needed to move on, but I was dragging my feet. My internal clock was screaming “move, get out!” but the deep-seated, pandemic-era fear was yelling back, “stay put, idiot, there’s a virus outside and everyone’s laying people off!” I started seeing job ads pop up, just casually browsing during lunch breaks, not serious, right? Wrong. I was setting myself up for the explosion.
The whole thing finally blew up in late August. I busted my butt on a massive, critical project presentation, pulling three all-nighters, practically living at my desk for a week. I honestly thought I’d nailed it. Then, the boss, a truly mediocre human being, completely tanked the presentation in the client meeting. Not only did he tank it, but he then tried to pivot and blame the data—my data—for the failure. I walked out of that meeting room and just stood by the elevator, totally vibrating with sheer, unadulterated anger. I remember calling my buddy, Jake, and just saying, “Dude, I’m done. I’m actually done. This is the last time they pull this crap.” It was the first time in years I hadn’t just whined about the situation; I meant it. That afternoon, I went home early, logged on, and started applying everywhere. I was savage. I updated my resume, wrote cover letters like a maniac, I didn’t even care what the job was, I just needed out and a change of scenery, fast.
The September Sprint and the Radical Option
September arrived, and it was non-stop interviews. Seriously, I was running on pure adrenaline and bad takeout coffee. I was talking to a tiny, unknown start-up that was maybe six people strong, a massive corporate gig that offered crazy good benefits, and even a weird, high-risk, independent consulting role. Three wildly different paths opening up all at once. The pressure was intense, like trying to juggle chainsaws while running on a treadmill. I felt like I was going to crack under the weight of having to make the right choice, especially during such a volatile time in the world.
This is where the Virgo thing kicks in, completely unexpectedly. I happened to pull up my daily horoscope online—literally just to procrastinate for five minutes before a final interview—and I scrolled down to the career section. It wasn’t the usual airy fluff about “good communication.” It talked explicitly about a “critical fork in the road,” that the “pressure to choose a new foundation for the coming decade would peak this month,” and to “trust the radical option over the comfortable and familiar path.” It was creepy how specific it felt. I laughed, slammed the laptop shut, and went to the interview. The interview was with the start-up—the low-pay, high-risk “radical option.” The office was messy, the desk was wobbly, the team looked stressed, but the energy was absolutely electric. They were solving a real, hard problem, and they were passionate.
After that, I got the official offers. The corporate one came through—safe, a solid 20% raise, but I knew it would just lead to the same garbage politics and dead-end projects. The start-up offered me less money, but a slice of the pie later on. I had to compare the reality of the choices:
- The Old Job: Slow, painful death, zero respect, but guaranteed money for now.
- The Corporate Offer: Safe money, probable slow death later, zero excitement.
- The Start-Up Offer: Wild, terrifying risk, low initial pay, high potential impact and actual learning.
I chewed on this for a solid week. Sleepless nights, arguing with myself, making pro/con lists that always ended in a tie. It came down to a feeling, a deep-seated gut punch that the corporate place would suck the soul right out of me. That horoscope line—”trust the radical option”—kept echoing in my head. I know, stupid, right? Relying on astrology to make a career move? But honestly, it provided the weird, almost cosmic permission I needed to completely ignore the logical, safe route.
So, I chose the start-up. I burned the bridge with the safe corporate offer. I put in my notice at the old place, and my old boss was actually shocked. Said I was “making a huge mistake in these uncertain times” and that I’d “regret leaving the stability.” Whatever, dude. The moment I walked out, I felt 100 pounds lighter. Was the start-up easy? Hell no. It was utter chaos for the first six months. But I learned more in those six months than the previous five years combined. We actually built something cool. We had massive setbacks, we pivoted like crazy, we nearly went bust three times, but we survived, and now, finally, we’re crushing it.
When I look back now, that whole September 2020 period wasn’t special because of the planets or the stars; it was special because the whole world being upside down gave me the necessary kick in the pants and the courage to flip my own world upside down. But man, the fact that some random career horoscope reading captured the exact feeling of that monumental, terrifying decision to walk away from safety and grab a massive risk? That’s why I keep coming back to it. It wasn’t a prediction of success; it was a perfect mirror for the pressure I was under to choose a better path, and I’m damn glad I finally listened to that weird little nudge.
