(Don't) Look at me!
Mars retrograde in Leo / Cancer
I’m looking at you right now.
I’m in the tiny little camera just above these words. You see that shiny black dot? It’s my pupil, and it’s there to studiously observe your physical presence. I’m peeping at you with avid anticipation, wondering what rabbit you’ll pull out of your hat today. I know that you’ll entertain me - no pressure, right? And don’t worry, your hair looks GREAT.
I bet it’s unnerving to be reminded that you’re always on display. It might even feel invasive, like a series of endless little stings from your personal paparazzi. And you’re right to be rattled, for many a star has melted under the relentless flashbulb glare.
Yet if all the world is a stage, you are unavoidably performing for an audience. As someone once shouted several steps in front of me on a legendary night out downtown: “Hunny, this is New York. We are ALL acting.”
I love this statement, and I also feel a little intimidated because I’m never entirely sure who’s watching my performance. In fact, right now I’m tuning into a very intimate conversation happening at the table next to me. I imagine they have no idea that I’m writing about them, that peppering their conversation with words like “divinity”, “ritual” and “transmute” has perfectly captured my attention. I am so profoundly impressed by how open these two coffee companions are, how freely they broadcast their innermost thoughts and feelings into the air. And as a silent member of their adoring crowd, I breathe this in like the wisdom it is.
I’m curious what would change if they knew that someone else was paying attention. Would they still feel safe enough to speak with such candor? Would they try to keep me interested? Would they want me to nod along, to laugh, to smile, to cry? Or would they want me to pack up and leave them in the peace of their imagined privacy?
Attention is a funny thing, and our social scripts around getting (or not getting) it are deeply confusing. On the one hand, we are told that it’s bad to want attention. People who seek it are labeled as desperate, insufferable braggarts, and nobody likes somebody who dares to be the center of a conversation for too long. But on the other hand, we are also conditioned to crave attention. Pompous parades and prestigious prizes celebrate outstanding individuals, and we are asked to lavish our adoring awareness on those who emerge at the top of the heap.
If you try to navigate these belief systems without bumping into them, you will inevitably tie yourself into a pretzel of internal conflict. You’ll want attention for the good things that you do, but you’ll be unable to talk about them for fear of being seen as self-congratulatory. And if you’re finally recognized for your unsung brilliance, you’ll have no ability to take meaningful credit for your work much less hold your own in a thunderous tsunami of applause.
We deserve better than this, and clearly it’s time to recalibrate our relationship with attention. I write this as Mars sits still on the red carpet in Leo, where it has been lingering since its shift into retrograde last Friday. Mars in Leo understands how public attention can be fuel for the soul, and its divine anger arises within us when we sense that our efforts have gone unnoticed. Mars in Leo wants to make a statement, to drop a bombshell, to watch the ripples of its rowdiness fan out across a once placid surface.
Mars is notorious for its trickiness, and the trick in Leo is to respect our need for recognition without making our worthiness contingent on external validation. In other words, it’s completely legitimate to want attention for what you do in the world when it reaffirms the value of who you are. It’s remarkably easy in the digital age to feel like you are working in a void, and those moments of collective acknowledgment are allowed to lift your spirits. I feel this when I see your likes, your comments, your replies, your subscriptions. I remember that you’re reading along, and I feel inspired to write more.
When Mars is moving in retrograde, it invites us to turn off the engine and drain the tank. It’s a chance to get all of the gunk out of your gears, to look at all of the ways that you have been ducking or demanding attention. Now is your chance to rediscover a healthy drive for spending time in the spotlight, to reclaim your right to be a conscious center of attention. Think of it as a divine intermission, a perfect break in the program for you to rehearse your lines and refine your moves before SHOWTIME.
Mars will be moving backwards until February 24 when it makes an about face in the tender loving care of Cancer. This sign change adds in serious considerations about security, and it tells me that we’ll also be learning how to feel safe being seen when Mars starts sidling like a crab on January 6. Perhaps Mars in Cancer will remind us that the best way to feel more comfortable on stage is to feel more comfortable with yourself. And in the meantime, we would be wise to start noticing how much more welcoming the world is when we meet it from a place of protection.
We’ll follow this together as it unfolds, and - in the spirit of Mars in Leo - I’d love to know how this insight has landed with you. And if you’re ready to embrace a warmer attitude to visibility, I encourage you to start now and share your intention with me (and us) in the comments below -
Love,
Patrick
PS: If you’re in London on December 21, come celebrate the Winter Solstice at my next in-person workshop as the sun sets on the darkest day of the year! You can book online at Soul Studio in Primrose Hill and find full details in this poetic post from my co-host Fred.
