There is a set to your jaw and a straightness to your spine that were in you before anyone corrected your posture. You were born with Saturn in your first house, the house of the body and the first impression you make, so the weight lands right at the surface where people meet you. You looked serious in photographs at six. Strangers ask if you are the one in charge, and you usually are. At twenty they read you as older, and at sixty they will read you as younger, because you age toward your own face instead of away from it. Watch, though, for the day gravity stiffens into armor and you start to believe the seriousness is all there is, that warmth would crack the structure. It would not. Practice softness the way you practice anything you respect: on purpose, in small reps. Let one easy smile reach the room before the room expects it. The authority that lasts is the one that left a door open in its own wall.