What if the life you’re working so hard to get to is a life your past self would have given anything to live?
Hope is a force of nature.
We forget about the miracle of spring all the time because we expect it. Every year, the earth emerges from winter. The days grow longer, flowers bloom, and green things push their way through the soil. We don’t usually stop to marvel at it. We expect the world to come back to life because, for most of us, it always has.
But think about what the earth does routinely. Think about what the human body does routinely. We rarely appreciate these things until something interrupts them.
Recently, my husband was struggling with allergies. His sinuses were so congested that he could barely breathe through his nose. He had to breathe through his mouth, and even though his body was still doing what it needed to do to keep him alive, the experience felt unsettling. Breathing, something he normally never had to think about, suddenly felt difficult.
I sympathized with him because I’ve been there. I’ve been sick and congested, lying in bed, wishing I could breathe normally. I’ve caught myself thinking, Why didn’t I appreciate all those nights when I could simply lie down, close my eyes, and breathe without having to think about it?
It’s remarkable how quickly something ordinary can become extraordinary when we lose easy access to it.
And it got me thinking about how much of our lives we experience this way.
When the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I experienced severe morning sickness beginning around seven or eight weeks. At one point, the force of vomiting injured my neck, and I developed a condition that temporarily left me unable to use my arms normally.
The injury affected my independence in ways I had never imagined.
Things I had done every day without a second thought became difficult or impossible. Feeding myself. Putting on deodorant. Brushing my hair. Getting dressed. Driving a car.
I had never really thought about my arms before. They were simply there, doing what I needed them to do.
Then, almost overnight, I had to confront what it meant not to be able to rely on them.
I was terrified. Not only had I lost a degree of independence, but I was pregnant. I wondered whether I would be able to hold my baby.
My arms eventually regained their function, although the healing process continued with pain and numbness that would come and go. During that time, I sought chiropractic care and leaned into the hope and mind-body practices I had learned about through the work of Joe Dispenza.
I began speaking to my body differently.
For nearly 30 years, I had been critical of it. I had shamed it, pushed it, and treated it as something that should simply cooperate with my expectations. Suddenly, I was telling my arms that I loved them. I was thanking my body for carrying me, for sustaining my pregnancy, and for continuing to support me through an experience that frightened me.
I couldn’t control every aspect of my recovery, but I could change the way I related to my body.
And I developed an appreciation for something I had previously taken completely for granted.
I wanted my arms back, of course. I wanted my independence. I wanted to be able to care for myself and my daughter without fear.
But I also began to understand how much I had overlooked when everything was working as expected.
How often do we do that?
How often do we move through our lives without noticing the things that are quietly sustaining us?
We take our bodies for granted until they hurt. We take our homes for granted until we don’t feel secure. We take ordinary moments with the people we love for granted because we assume there will always be another one.
We assume that what is here today will still be here tomorrow.
And sometimes, that assumption keeps us from appreciating the life we’re actually living.
The Taurus Full Moon and the Clover in Front of You
As I reflected on these experiences, I found myself thinking about the Sabian symbol for the degree of the October 2026 Taurus Full Moon: “Steps up to a lawn blooming with clover.”
The Full Moon occurs at 2°45′ Taurus. In the Sabian symbol system, this corresponds to the third degree of Taurus, whose keyword is Hopefulness.
I love the imagery of this symbol.
There are steps leading upward toward a lawn covered in clover. You can see where you’re going. You can imagine what it will feel like to reach the top, step onto the grass, and experience the beauty waiting for you there.
The clover is already growing. The lawn is already blooming. There is something beautiful and abundant waiting to be experienced.
And yet, there are still steps to climb.
To me, this image speaks to the human spirit’s capacity to hope for something better. We envision a future that feels more beautiful, more secure, more fulfilling. We make plans, set goals, and work toward the things we want to experience.
There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Hope can be a powerful force. It helps us imagine possibilities beyond our current circumstances and gives us a reason to keep moving when life is difficult.
But I wonder how often we become so focused on reaching the lawn that we forget to notice the world around us along the way.
How often do we convince ourselves that happiness is waiting at the top of the stairs?
That we’ll finally relax when we have enough money. That we’ll finally feel secure when we find the right partner. That we’ll finally enjoy our lives when we have the house, the career, the body, the family, or the circumstances we’ve been working toward.
And what happens when we get there?
Sometimes, we appreciate it. Sometimes, we pause long enough to realize that we’ve reached a place we once dreamed about.
And sometimes, almost without noticing, we start looking for the next set of stairs.
The Life I Once Asked For
I think about this in my own life more often than I’d like to admit.
There was a time when I wanted a husband. I wanted a partner to share the ordinary things with: watching television, enjoying a meal, talking about our days, and simply having someone beside me.
I wanted a dog to cuddle.
I wanted a baby to love.
I wanted the experience of building a life and a home with people who were mine.
And now, I have a husband. I have my daughter. I have a home and a life that contains many of the things I once hoped for.
Yet here I am, still asking for more.
I want more time together. More connection. More financial security. More room to grow into the person I’m becoming. More experiences, more ease, more of the things that make life feel expansive and meaningful.
And sometimes, I catch myself wondering what the past versions of me would think if they could see my life today.
Would they understand why I’m still reaching?
Would they be frustrated with me for overlooking what I once wanted so badly?
Would they look at the life I’ve built and ask, Why can’t you just appreciate what you have?
I imagine versions of myself from years ago looking around at my present life with a kind of disbelief.
You have a husband? You have a baby? You have a home? You get to spend your days raising your daughter? And you’re still asking for more?
I can almost hear them asking, What are you waiting for?
And I don’t think the answer is that I’m ungrateful.
I think it’s that human beings are remarkably good at adapting to the things we once thought would make us happy. What once felt extraordinary becomes familiar. What once felt like a dream becomes part of our everyday routine.
And then we begin reaching for something else.
The things we have become ordinary, and the things we don’t have become extraordinary.
We start looking at the stairs again.
You Can Want More Without Missing What’s Here
I don’t believe that gratitude means we should stop wanting things.
I don’t believe we need to convince ourselves that every circumstance is wonderful or that wanting a different life somehow means we’re failing to appreciate the one we have.
Sometimes, we really do need change. Sometimes, our desire for more is telling us something important about our needs, our values, or the life we’re ready to create.
There is a difference between appreciating your present circumstances and resigning yourself to them.
You can love your partner and still want a deeper connection. You can love your child and still need more support. You can appreciate your home and still dream of greater financial freedom.
You can be grateful for the body that carries you and still want to heal.
Two things can be true at once.
Maybe the invitation of this Taurus Full Moon isn’t to stop climbing the stairs. Maybe it’s to notice what we’re doing while we climb.
Are we moving toward something because it genuinely matters to us? Or have we become so accustomed to striving that we no longer know how to be where we are?
Are we pursuing a future that excites us? Or are we postponing our happiness until we become someone we think is finally worthy of experiencing it?
Are we allowing ourselves to enjoy the life we’re building? Or have we turned that life into another project to optimize, improve, and perfect?
I know how easy it is to get caught in the cycle of wanting the next thing. To believe that once we reach a particular milestone, we’ll finally feel settled.
But the milestones keep coming.
There is always another goal, another dream, another version of ourselves we could become.
If we make our happiness contingent on reaching the next destination, we risk spending our entire lives in transit.
And we might never notice that there is beauty along the way.
Hope Is Not Just About What Comes Next
The Sabian symbol for this Full Moon is called Steps up to a lawn blooming with clover. Its keyword is hopefulness, and I keep returning to that word.
Hope is often associated with the future. We hope things will get better. We hope our circumstances will change. We hope that the things we long for will eventually become part of our lives.
And sometimes, hope is exactly what helps us keep going.
But perhaps there is another kind of hopefulness, too.
The kind that allows us to recognize the value of what is already here.
The kind that sees the ordinary miracle of breathing without effort, of moving our bodies, of waking up in a home, of sharing a meal, of holding the hand of someone we love.
The kind that recognizes how much of our lives is made up of things we once wanted but have since stopped noticing.
When I think about my pregnancy and the fear I experienced when I couldn’t use my arms, I remember how desperately I wanted to regain the abilities I had once taken for granted.
I remember how much I wanted to hold my daughter.
And I think about how easily we can lose sight of what matters to us when it becomes familiar.
Maybe the clover doesn’t need to be something we earn by climbing high enough.
Maybe it is something we learn to recognize.
The lawn is blooming whether or not we stop to look at it.
The question is whether we’re willing to notice.
Where Are You Going?
The Taurus Full Moon has me thinking about all the versions of myself who brought me here.
The version who wanted a partner.
The version who dreamed of becoming a mother.
The version who wanted a home and a sense of belonging.
The version who hoped that one day, life might feel a little less uncertain.
I don’t want to dismiss those women or tell them that their dreams were unimportant. I don’t want to use gratitude as an excuse to stop growing, to stop asking questions, or to stop reaching for a life that feels more aligned with who I am.
But I do want to remember them.
I want to remember what they hoped for. What they longed for. What they imagined life might look like if certain things finally fell into place.
Because I suspect that some of the things I complain about today are things those past versions of myself would have been overjoyed to experience.
And I wonder how often the same is true for you.
What did you once dream of having that has since become ordinary?
What parts of your life have you stopped noticing because they’re no longer new?
Where are you so focused on the next milestone that you’ve forgotten to appreciate how far you’ve already come?
And what if you didn’t have to choose between wanting more and loving what you have?
What if you could keep climbing while still noticing the clover?
You don’t have to stop dreaming. You don’t have to abandon your ambitions or pretend that everything is perfect.
You can keep moving toward the life you want while allowing yourself to experience the life you’re living.
Because the point isn’t to reach a place where you’ll never want anything again.
It’s to recognize that your life is happening now, not somewhere at the top of the stairs.
Where are you going?
And what might you notice if, just for a moment, you stopped climbing long enough to look around?
Want to understand how this Taurus Full Moon connects to your life?
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