Lunar New Year

Today, 2/17/2026, marks the start of a Fire Horse Year. I only know this because for the past three months, every phone call with my white-bread friend has included some variation of, “Did you know we are entering a Fire Horse year?” Then, about two weeks ago, social media decided I needed a full-on Fire Horse brainwashing. Honestly, aside from knowing I was born in a Rabbit year and that my mom might be a Rat, I couldn’t tell you a single thing about the Chinese lunar calendar that I didn’t read on a red-ink-on-white-paper Chinese buffet placemat. Why so many buffets use the same placemat is clearly some sociological phenomenon—probably a combination of “culturally relevant” and “cheap enough to order in bulk.”

And yet, here we are. A new moon in Aquarius. Lunar new year ushering in a Fire Horse Year. An eclipse. Astrologically, shouldn’t today be… fireworks? Maybe a parade? A small miracle? Nope. Beginnings usually look like making soup, going to work, folding laundry, washing your face, then reading before bed. Beginnings look like absolutely nothing dramatic at all. At least that's what my day looks like today.

Do you ever hear voices in your head? I do. Not the creepy ones from psychological thriller movies—just the ones that read your thoughts aloud like a tiny audiobook narrator. Today, as I read a short story I wrote, the voice said, “I could be a writer.” For about three seconds, I thought, “Wow, that’s a bold claim for February 17th.” Then I laughed. Of course I could be a writer—I literally just read something I wrote. I’m already a writer. 

Beginnings sneak up on you like that. Like a friend clinging to the lunar new year to drag herself out of depression. Like the infinite parade of social media prophets insisting that today—this exact calendar day—everything will be different. But really… we already had it in us. Fire Horse Year or no Fire Horse Year. Beginnings aren’t beginnings. They’re just the same old soup, reheated, with a side of cosmic sweet and sour sauce.