You step out to meet the world and the heading you came to grow toward yanks you crosswise, the one step you keep skirting around. Your North Node, the growth end of the lunar nodes, a calculated directional axis and never a planet, crosses your rising horizon at a right angle, so the way you arrive and the direction you owe yourself keep hauling along different lines. You have paid for greeting people through the old familiar manner whenever the route asked you to stretch, for meeting the world sideways instead of pressing into it. That grinding has carved a shape in you. The way you arrive ripens each time you let your first contact take you through the turn instead of circling it once more.