You climb toward the peak of your career and the heading you came to grow toward yanks you crosswise, the one turn you keep skirting. Your North Node, the growth end of the lunar nodes, a calculated directional axis and never a planet, crosses the meridian at a right angle, the visible heading your work points toward. The public place where you show up grinds against the direction of growth you owe yourself, and the elbow knocks at the turn. What you show and the thing that would ripen you refuse to walk the same line. Out of that grinding you learn not to settle into the comfortable version of the work, but to bend your step into the turn instead of circling it once more.