It was a Peloton. That's what everyone kept saying in the days after the premiere. That's how he died. On a Peloton, in the bathroom, while Carrie was at her phone in the next room, and the show that had given a generation of women the fantasy of the difficult man finally choosing you just ended it. On the floor. In twelve minutes. With Carrie sitting there in a sequined skirt not quite understanding what had happened yet.
A lot of women were not okay after December 9, 2021. Not because Mr. Big was a particularly good man. Most of us had argued about him for twenty years, had been on Team Aiden and resented the finale and felt quietly betrayed when the reboot announced he was coming back. But because his death killed something specific. It killed the fantasy that the story had been moving toward resolution. That the hard choice had been the right choice. That she'd won.
The sky that night was doing something that, in retrospect, makes a certain kind of sense.
The sun was in Sagittarius, eleven degrees, the sign of narrative, of the long arc, of meaning-making from distance. Sagittarius does not grieve in the moment. Sagittarius is the sign that needs to understand what happened before it can feel what happened. The moon was in Pisces. Deep, late-night Pisces, the sign of dissolution, of the thing that was solid becoming fluid, of grief that has no clean edge. Pisces moon doesn't know where it ends and the feeling begins. It just feels all the way through, without insisting on a why.
Mercury, the planet of narrative and communication and the stories we tell about our lives, was slowing toward its December 19th station. When Mercury slows before turning retrograde, it does something specific to information: it lingers. Things that should have moved forward sit still. The communication that was supposed to happen doesn't happen. The thing someone needed to say stays unsaid. And on December 9th, Mercury was almost at a standstill, one degree from where it would eventually stop.
If Carrie is treated as the Libra archetype — the one who chooses harmony over honesty, partnership over individuality, the relationship-as-mirror over the self-as-anchor — then the Sagittarius sun put her in a particular kind of discomfort. Sagittarius and Libra are in a semi-square, the aspect of friction that isn't quite loud enough to demand resolution. The sky on that day was asking: what is the meaning of what you chose? Not in a punishing way. In the way that grief asks. In the way that you lie awake at three in the morning and suddenly you're not crying about the person anymore, you're crying about what you believed.
What Carrie's character had long carried, in the archetypal framing of her Libra energy, was the belief that love should be difficult enough to be worth it. That ease was a sign of insufficient depth. That the man who kept leaving was the man who, when he finally stayed, meant it in a way that the man who never left couldn't. The Pisces moon on December 9th dissolved that structure. Not loudly. Not in a fight. In a bathroom, in twelve minutes, without warning.
Mercury stationing is also about the stories we tell ourselves. The narrative that has been running. And what the show did, in killing Mr. Big at the start of the reboot, was to retrograde the central story of Sex and the City — to force it backward, to undo the ending, to say: the choice you made is no longer the choice you get to live with. You get to live with something else entirely.
For women who had spent twenty years inside that story, who had watched the finale and felt the relief of it, the rightness of it even if they'd always preferred Aiden, the Pisces moon said: you are allowed to feel this as a loss of something more than the character. You are allowed to feel this as a loss of the story itself.
The harder question, and it's the one the Sagittarius sun is actually asking quietly beneath the grief, is what you do when the story you'd decided meant something turns out to have a different ending.
Not just Carrie's story. Yours.
The chart you were born with has a relationship story in it. Not a predicted outcome. Nothing in astrology is a prediction. But there is a pattern to what you choose, and what you tell yourself about what you choose, and what you need the choosing to mean. The Libra archetype needs the partnership to be worth the cost. The Pisces moon needs the love to be real enough to dissolve the boundaries. The Sagittarius sun needs to understand what happened in order to move.
If any of those landed as something you recognize, the quiz takes about eight minutes and it will tell you something specific about your own chart's relationship pattern — not what will happen, but how your particular wiring tends to construct the story.
That part is worth looking at. Especially when the story you were watching has just changed without your permission.
The chart pattern shaping your relationship story is already in your chart. The wiring, the story you keep building, the meaning you need the choosing to carry. That is worth looking at. When the story you were watching has just changed, the question tends to surface on its own.
