What’s your sign?

This is the dawning of the Age of Ophiuchus.

Facebook was ablaze yesterday with people renouncing their newly assigned astrological signs. I suppose people have become so comfortable with the signs they’ve had since birth–or since the 1960s, when we first knew we had signs.

Capricorns who woke up Sagittarii and Tauruses whose bull horns are now rams horns felt their identities had been stolen. Even the Today show’s Ann Curry yesterday feared that, now that she’s no longer a Scorpio, she’ll no longer be good in bed. Just think how many of our friends we’re offending, though, when we shun our new zodiac designations. The moment I read that someone didn’t want to be a Sagittarius, my hackles went up.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, it seems the Earth has tilted and, hence, requires our 12 astrological signs to be compressed to make room for a 13^th.

If this is true, then I am now an Ophiuchus, the serpent holder.

When I learned this, I immediately set out to learn the traits of my new sign, pronounced “oh-FIE-uh-cuss.” For decades, I have felt so aligned with the distinctive Sagittarian traits, candor and philosophical adaptability.

I haven’t come upon much information about my new sign except that, anecdotally at least, Ophiuchus is a healer, a doctor and a scientist. He is “intellectual and enlightened — achieving high success and authority in life.” This descriptor was followed by, “If you are a woman…well…you are just badass.”

Elsewhere I read that we have lofty ideals, are seekers of peace and harmony and like to wear plaid. Alrighty then.

It all boils down to this: I went to bed a candid, yet open-minded archer and woke up a lofty, plaid-wearing badass. This might take some getting used to. Then again, some might say the new persona isn’t that far off base.