Can the lunar horoscope help you find your way this year — and beyond?
Having moved to Los Angeles from New York City five years ago this month, I’ve been reflecting on my thirty years back East.
While the Big Apple isn’t as shiny now as it was then, one thing still holds a special place in my heart – and in my stomach: my annual Chinese New Year banquet in Chinatown.
It started right after college with myself, my roommate Anabel, and two other friends. Every year, we’d pick a date in the traditional 2-week window of celebration, and book a table at Phoenix Garden, our fave hole in the wall, tucked into a cramped alleyway off the Bowery. Over dishes like steamed dumplings, beef and broccoli, salt- and pepper-fried shrimp, Peking Duck, and always ending with a whole steamed fish and heaping plate of noodles (for long life, as Chinese culture is way superstitious), we’d chatter over our chopsticks about art, culture, music, fashion, clubs, and whatever else 20-somethings in mid-80s New York found fascinating at the time. Andy Warhol. The Talking Heads. Jean-Paul Gaultier. David Bowie. Area or Limelight? These were all mere pretenses for gorging ourselves on a MSG-laden feast. It wasn’t expensive by NYC standards, but we ate like kings.
Over time, we became friendly with Calvin, the gregarious owner, who always made sure we had a prime spot and attentive service. This was much to the dismay of his more reserved, unnamed wife, who side-eyed my affection for Calvin (nothing to it, I swear!). Still to this day, I can hear the trill of her voice answering the phone for reservations, sing-songing “Phoenix Garden, may I help you?” in my ear. Only, in her heavily-accented English, it always sounded like “Phoenix Garden, Fuck You!”
Over the years, my life evolved and the banquets grew in size. Sadly, Phoenix Garden moved to a respectable street uptown, where the ambiance wasn’t quite the same. So we moved around from year to year. I remember decadent feasts for as many as twenty people, at places which may or may not still be around. Jin Fong. Oriental Garden. Triple 888. Dim Sum Go Go. And of course, the gold standard, Peking Duck House on Mott Street.
My favorite Chinese New Year dinner took place there around the late aughts. I invited a specific group of guests, none of whom knew another. They were forced, by physical proximity or peer pressure, to interact with each other, having only the food in common. It was a hit. And as was tradition at every banquet, I brought my little red book of Chinese horoscopes so we could learn and laugh about the characteristics of each of the signs — as accurate and telling as zodiac signs — to understand a little more about ourselves, each other, our relationships, and Chinese culture.
Bowing to centuries of ritual, each guest also received a little gilt-trimmed red envelope — hongbao — in which I’d inserted a crisp $1 bill. This “lucky money” is an ancient tradition in China, red being the color of luck in the culture, and cash being the most coveted gift for special occasions from weddings to graduations to the birth of a new child.
In Chinese tradition, every child’s future (and value in society) is predetermined by their lunar sign (you can look yours up here). These animal signs, a combination of domestic (pig, dog, ox, rat, goat, horse, rooster), wild (tiger, snake, monkey) and fantastical (dragon) each come with their own qualities and characteristics, just as in Western astrology. And like the zodiac, there are other mitigating factors (metal, fire, wood, air, earth) that determine each person’s path in life, rotating in twelve-year cycles.
Early in life, I was raised knowing that I was a Water Rabbit. Known as the luckiest of the twelve signs, rabbits are considered to be popular, prosperous, ambitious and fond of pretty things. Gentle, frank, responsible, collaborative, tender. Paradoxically, a little shy. On the downside, rabbits tend to get bored easily. We can be overly cautious or worry, and avoid conflict at all costs. I’ll let those of you who know me judge the accuracy of this description.
For 2021, The Year of the Metal Ox takes over last year’s horrible reign of the Rat. And while 2020 was indeed a stinker, the rat signals renewal and opportunity for success in new ventures. This year, the prospects for all signs indicate a year of hard work (get it, the ox?). That may seem like piling on the pain of last year, but from the lunar perspective, it’s a chance to create a better world–for yourself, for those around you, for the greater good.
So, as we enter this new phase on Friday, February 12th, you might want to make a point to read about what 2021 has in store for you, and use this moment of transition to set a new intention around it. Instead of worrying about tomorrow (apologies, Fleetwood Mac), think about where you’d like to be the next time the Ox year comes around, in 2033. I know that seems eons away, but that’s the point. You’ll have a lot of time, and a lot of room for trial and error. And like a GPS, once you set your destination, there are plenty of ways–whether direct or circuitous–to get there. Like every turn you take, every choice you make can take you closer, farther, or sideways from your longterm goal. But at least you’ll know where you’re headed.
For the hundreds of friends and acquaintances with whom I’ve shared a 10-course feast over those years, thank you for helping make some of the most cherished memories of my time in New York. I miss the banquet table as a platform for conviviality. I miss wandering into the dark Chinatown streets littered with detritus from firecrackers, confetti, and sometimes snow, the haze of spent gunpowder lingering in the air. I miss feeling stuffed and cold but happy and loved. I miss it all.
Wishing you peace, prosperity and good health in the Year of the Ox. This rabbit is going to try to make it a lucky one.
