You climb toward the peak of your career and the old worn groove yanks you crosswise, the same retreat you keep sliding back into. Your South Node, the familiar end of the lunar nodes, a calculated directional axis and never a body in the sky, crosses the meridian at a right angle, the visible heading your work points toward. What you already know by heart grinds against the direction you chase before everyone, and the elbow knocks at the turn. The old knack cuts across each time you try to show something new in your craft. Out of that grinding you learn not to take shelter in the familiar, but to push your step toward where you have grown no callus yet.