On my second Saturn return, I was laid off from my job as a paralegal and blindsided by my boyfriend’s unexpected breakup with me (because he was going to Ireland and needed to be free). The loss of my job and the end of my relationship caused me considerable anguish, but this was not the first time I had faced challenging circumstances without immediate or foreseeable resolution.
I had a mortgage to pay and six beloved cats to care for, two of whom required costly veterinary intervention, which I was now unable to afford. The reality of ageism that often hinders employment prospects for women my age was very much on my mind.
For many years, my spiritual perspective guided me to be diplomatic, kind, and patient. At work, I did my best to apply my skills. I had been an understanding and accommodating girlfriend. My commitment to aligning my actions with my words exemplified my belief in living a righteous life, as I understood that.
I know that despite earnest efforts to lead a virtuous life, the unexpected will always come knocking. However, I firmly believe in our right to pursue a meaningful and fulfilling life. I understand that difficult circumstances can present as an opportunity to cultivate resilience, and navigating between the proverbial rocks can even encourage a certain bravado for embracing the unknown. Honestly, what other choice is there? I sought solace in the belief that my challenging circumstances were not insurmountable, but could become stepping stones for growth. I fostered a mostly brave mindset and reminded myself to remain curious. I was not an entirely passive observer, however. I did try to be an active participant in my life, even as I knew that re-establishing stability would require the cooperation of others.
II
Unable to find another job, I experienced the loss of my ailing cats. I sold my home for below market value. Filled with profound sorrow, I left Boulder, Colorado. It was my home for over three decades. This beautiful State had been my sanctuary, and I never anticipated leaving it. I was heartbroken.
I eventually found myself in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I took a studio apartment in a non-profit, cooperative-in-name-only housing complex that also barred pets. (This was a huge red flag.) Since I no longer had an income, I took early social security, thus reducing for life the amount I would receive. To keep my cats, I obtained a letter from a physician stating that I required their emotional support. I needed my cats (and all cats) like I needed air, and without them, I would have been inconsolable.
Despite my tireless efforts (I submitted 300 resumes), I was unsuccessful in procuring another job. My last law firm job in Colorado was my last formal job. It became an early retirement that was not planned for or wanted.
In Albuquerque, I soon encountered abandoned cats suffering the ravages of homelessness. They hung out in the apartment complex, unwelcome. Some hid under cars, and others found their way to the nearby arroyo, where they were chased by unleashed dogs and had rocks thrown at them. Deeply moved by this feline crisis and not knowing I would face significant backlash, I embarked on a mission to save them.
Fortunately, the Grantline Channel arroyo ran immediately beside the complex. The City rarely checked on their arroyos, so I established feeding stations and shelters. They say you can’t herd cats, but all I had to do was tell one cat that sustenance was available in the arroyo, and soon others followed. Despite my meager social security check, I regularly spent some of it to buy food and shelter materials. After a year, a resident who had loudly professed his hatred of cats was moved by my persistence and offered to subsidize the cost of their food.
The arroyo was also a thoroughfare for the homeless and drug dealers. It was not the safest place for the cats or me. My first three years in Albuquerque I cried every morning, shaking my fist at God and cursing He/She/It/They/Them and any other shameless entity or deity that could have helped but didn’t, that had done nothing to prevent my separation from Colorado and the job I needed to stay there, and which resulted in my descent into this hell of poverty, not to mention, the extraordinary unsavoriness of the arroyo and its giant roaches.
Each morning for three years, I stood in the arroyo, screaming at God and standing in sundry garbage smeared with the retch-inducing proliferation of dog and human feces. By the fourth year it was clear that no deity was moved by my angst and didn’t give a shit about my grievances, so I ended my screaming despite the satisfaction I had derived from it.
My efforts to save the cats continued to backfire, and included threats to my life and the cats’ lives. My adversaries refused to recognize the urgency of the cats’ plight, and many didn’t care. They mistakenly viewed my intervention as perpetuating the “cat problem.” Despite relocating the cats from the complex to the city-owned arroyo with which it unfortunately shared a border, some residents went out of their way to destroy my shelters and feeding stations. Their pronounced opposition to live-and-let-live was dispiriting, but I was damned if I would break my commitment to keeping the cats safe and getting them rehomed.
Despite my neighbors’ harmful interference, I continued to educate them on my mission. Over and over, I repeated my plan to emotionally and physically rehabilitate the traumatized cats to prepare them for placement in either the private or city shelter. Until they were deemed handleable, they would not be accepted at either shelter. My explanation of this reasonable and doable plan fell mostly on deaf ears. Despite the opposition, I continued to rebuild the shelters and feeding stations each time they were destroyed. I believed that helping these innocent creatures was a task of paramount importance. Their beauty and grace move me and bring joy to my heart.
During the five years I lived in Albuquerque, I continued to see abandonment of pet cats from the surrounding apartment complexes. By the end of that time, I had successfully rehomed every cat that came to my feeding stations. There were a few ferals, and one in particular became attached to me. Except for him, I took the ferals to a sanctuary located in another city. When I left Albuquerque for Taos, the friendly feral came with me. I knew that cats would continue to be abandoned in Albuquerque and was deeply saddened, knowing that I would not be there to help them. But I needed to keep following the unfolding direction of my own life. Truth be told, I was worn down by what it took from me financially, emotionally, and physically to save these cats. I also knew that had I stayed, I would have continued to rally for the cats until I couldn’t.
III
After living at the complex for a short while, I became aware that the needs of many residents were not being met and that many aspects of the complex’s infrastructure required repair, including, but not limited to, the deteriorating roofs and the ancient transformers that supplied electricity to the entire complex. The concrete on the sidewalks revealed dangerous cracks and holes. These were difficult for elderly residents to navigate. I knew that to address these problems, I needed authority.
At the very next annual meeting, I campaigned for one of the open seats on the Board of Directors. To prepare, I articulated my vision for a revitalized infrastructure and inclusive community. I promised I would create open communication between residents and the Board. This was a tall agenda, but a crucial one that had been neglected for years. Despite the opposition and resentment from those who disagreed with my efforts to save abandoned cats, I hoped I would prevail.
I was elected. With this newfound position of power and authority, I felt I could create meaningful change. However, my responsibilities were considerably larger than what I realized they would be. The complex had no formal property manager. The residents had refused to vote to pay for hiring one. In the absence of a property manager, I, along with my fellow Directors, was thrust into the role of overseeing the complex’s property management, office, and maintenance staff. The work required was equivalent to a full-time job, but without pay. I took phone calls at night from residents. In the meantime, I continued to care for and rehabilitate the cats. Eventually, I placed them in shelters where they were subsequently adopted, one by one.
Despite the additional Board responsibilities, I embraced my role as a Director. I knew it was critical to take the bull by the horns and firmly establish a system of effective management. We badly needed to address the complex’s infrastructure issues. I went online to learn the requirements of property management, and the Board eventually hired a part-time property manager who assisted us with budget preparation, employee management, and vendor negotiations. I worked collaboratively with the property manager, staff, fellow board members, and a few interested residents to develop new policies to manage the complex. Using my legal background, I wrote many of the policies.
The Board was frequently challenged by residents who did not truly understand the needs of the complex. Beyond that, there was disagreement among the Board about how to address the many issues. Some Board members were domineering and aggressive and not concerned with how their anger and lack of cooperation affected morale. As a result, the Board lost some members — historically, it always did. I remained in my role as Vice President, along with the remarkably stalwart and blind President. There was much to do. Together, the two of us made a formidable team, and we became the complex’s primary leaders.
The complex had previously experienced the resignation of an entire Board of Directors, and the fallout from that was almost catastrophic. With no one in charge, the office staff quit, and bills went unpaid. The truth was that every Board had faced significant challenges. Instead of creating new, relevant policies, approving budgets, and holding a vision for how the complex could genuinely become a cooperative, the Board also had to manage every aspect of running the entire complex. It was a common occurrence for Directors to exchange insults and create drama before walking out. The President and I were determined that we would not abandon the complex even if we were the last Directors standing. At the end of our tenure, that was very nearly the case.
IV
How does this personal narrative exemplify, however unique to me, the relentless and even oppressive force of the second Saturn return? Saturn demands a sustainable foundation for all, one that sustains you as you continue living your life. The rehabilitation of the complex and the cats is a literal illustration of that principle. Saturn cuts your crap — debriding what misaligns. And you don’t have to agree or grant permission. It’s DFY! When Saturn takes center stage, some or perhaps all of our personal or professional identity will be restructured if these are no longer relevant or authentic to who we must become.
By the time we reach our 60s, we should know who we are and what we are made of. We should be familiar with our strengths and talents and be able to let go of those things, connections, projects, and dreams that aren’t ours. We should be able to let go of expectations to be this or that because they don’t align with our inherent design, that is, our authentic selves. If we don’t know who we are, what we need, and what we want, we will have a great opportunity to discover that.
During a major astrological transit such as this one, we can expect our lives to undergo a rite of passage. It could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Or not.
The context of our lives will assist us (or not) with this major life cycle shift. The more our lives do not align with our values, interests, and skills, the more difficult this transition will be. It is also true that if you are caught with your money pants down, your financial stress will be greater. And if you relied on yourself alone to keep body and soul together, God bless you.
When the second Saturn return arrives at your door, if you have the resources to ride out the changes, your life will be considerably less stressful. I am not suggesting that if you are not ready for Saturn, it’s your fault and you should have known better. Sometimes it’s just the luck of the draw that placed you at ground zero when the waters began to rise.
Saturn is Saturn, and human beings, who collectively and individually express the best or the worst of Saturn, are not always kind to their neighbors. They can view with suspicion the “shining” stranger; i.e., someone not from their tribe, who is equally attractive and repulsive. My situation at the start of the return was not conducive to ease, but I made the best of it. I was unwavering in my values. Because my heart remained open — and caring for the innocent cats helped with that — I could cooperate and even collaborate with Saturn, rending at times as it was.
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