You’ve Always Been More My Cup of Tea
A Love Letter to the Moon
Dear Moon,
I feel like I should probably start with an apology.
You see, everybody seems to be in love with the Sun.
The Sun gets all the attention.
People plan holidays around it. We check the weather app hoping for little yellow circles…We sit outside cafés waiting for it to appear…We get ridiculously excited when it finally shows its face after what feels like seventeen months of grey skies.
Here in the North, we practically throw a parade when we see blue sky.
“Get the washing out!”
“Are you having a barbecue?”
“Looks like summer’s finally arrived!”
The Sun comes out and suddenly everybody’s cheerful.
But you?
You just quietly get on with it.
You don’t need a heatwave.
You don’t need blue skies.
You don’t need SPF 50, a picnic blanket or a weather forecast promising 23 degrees.
You simply appear.
And I’ve realised something.
I think we’re kindred spirits.
You’ve always been more my cup of tea.
Not because you’re brighter.
You’re not.
Not because you’re easier to see.
You’re not.
And certainly not because you make me feel warm.
Because, let’s be honest, you don’t.
But there is something about looking up and seeing you there that makes the world feel a little less ordinary.
Why I’ve Always Loved the Moon
Perhaps it’s because you don’t depend on perfect weather.
I can appreciate you in winter when the air is biting cold and the pavements are shiny with rain.
I can find you in spring while everything around me is waking up.
I can see you hanging above a warm summer evening, sometimes before the sun has even completely disappeared.
And I can find you again in autumn, when the leaves are falling and there’s that unmistakable chill in the air that tells me another year is disappearing far too quickly.
Every season has its own Moon.
Or perhaps I should say, every season has its own version of me looking at it.
And then there are those special days when I catch you in daylight.
I absolutely love those.
I’m going about an ordinary afternoon, probably thinking about what needs doing next, and then I look up.
And there you are.
Just hanging around in a blue sky as though you’ve forgotten that you’re supposed to wait until tonight.
Everyone else is getting on with their day.
But I stop.
Just for a moment.
Because there you are.
A little reminder that there is more happening around us than the things immediately demanding our attention.
The Moon and My Emotional World
Perhaps part of the reason I feel such a connection with you is because I recognise something of myself in you.
In astrology, the Moon is often associated with our emotional world, our instincts, our private selves and how we respond when nobody is watching.
And that makes sense to me.
I’m probably more of an empathic introvert than anything else.
I feel things deeply.
I notice moods.
I pick up on energy.
I can walk into a room and sometimes sense that something is wrong before anybody has actually said anything.
But I don’t necessarily show everything I feel.
The real emotions?
They’re reserved for a very small circle of people I trust.
There is the version of me the world sees, and then there is the quieter version.
The one who thinks too much.
Feels deeply.
Gets sentimental about places I’ve never even lived.
Cries at songs.
Needs time alone to process things.
Remembers tiny details that other people have completely forgotten.
And sometimes just needs to disappear from the noise of the world for a while.
Perhaps that’s what people mean when they talk about the Moon representing our private selves.
Not necessarily the person we present to everyone.
But the person we are when we finally feel safe enough to stop pretending altogether.
And I rather like that idea.
Sun Sign or Moon Sign: Which One Feels More Like You?
This is where astrology gets particularly interesting.
I wouldn’t claim that your Moon sign is literally your “true personality”. There isn’t scientific evidence that our birth charts determine who we are.
But within astrology, there is an interesting distinction.
Your Sun sign is traditionally associated with your identity, your sense of self and the qualities you consciously express.
Your Moon sign, on the other hand, is associated with your emotional nature, instincts, inner world and private self.
And perhaps that is why I find the Moon sign more intriguing.
Because who we are on the outside isn’t always who we are underneath.
We might be confident at work but uncertain in private.
We might be the person everyone relies on while secretly feeling exhausted.
We might laugh and joke with everyone while only a handful of people ever see what is really going on inside.
Perhaps our Sun is the person we show the world.
And our Moon is the person we discover when the noise dies down.
Or perhaps that’s simply the empathic introvert in me talking.
Either way, I think there is something beautiful in having a part of ourselves that doesn’t need to be displayed to everyone.
Mercury Retrograde, Aries and a Little Bit of Cosmic Chaos
Now, I couldn’t write about astrology without mentioning the phrase that seems to send half the internet into a panic:
Mercury retrograde.
Emails stop working.
Travel plans go wonky.
Technology decides it hates you.
Exes mysteriously reappear.
And apparently we’re all supposed to sit quietly and blame Mercury.
As a fiery Northern Aries, I’m not entirely convinced I have the patience for that.
If something goes wrong, my natural instinct is probably to say, “Right, what are we doing about it then?”
Not:
“Let’s wait for Mercury to sort itself out.”
But perhaps that is exactly why I like the Moon more.
The Moon doesn’t get involved in all the drama.
It doesn’t need to announce that it is having a retrograde.
It just carries on.
Waxing.
Waning.
Showing up.
Disappearing.
Coming back again.
Perhaps there’s a lesson in that for a fiery Northern lass who occasionally needs reminding that not everything needs fixing immediately.
Sometimes you can just sit with it.
And wait.
Is the Moon Pulling at Us Too?
Now, this is where my curious mind starts wandering.
We know the Moon pulls at the oceans.
Its gravitational relationship with Earth drives the rise and fall of the tides, creating this enormous, ancient dance between the Moon and the water covering our planet.
And then there’s us.
Our bodies contain a lot of water too.
So it’s tempting, isn’t it, to look up at that enormous glowing object in the sky and wonder whether it’s tugging at something inside us as well.
Maybe that’s why humans have spent thousands of years connecting the Moon with emotions, intuition, sleep, fertility, transformation and even madness.
The word lunatic itself comes from luna, the Latin word for Moon, because people once believed the lunar cycle could influence human behaviour.
Science, however, hasn’t found convincing evidence that the Moon’s gravitational pull affects our emotions simply because our bodies contain water. The tidal effect that moves an ocean doesn’t work in the same way on the relatively small amount of water held within our bodies.
So no, I can’t scientifically tell you that the Full Moon is responsible for your mood swings.
But don’t tell Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf.
If you’ve seen the film, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
And if you haven’t, well… that’s probably one for the 80s babies. 😂
Although I’m sure there are plenty of people who would happily blame the Moon for their behaviour after a few glasses of wine.
Or, a Mimi favourite, a Negroni.
But here’s the thing.
I don’t think we always need science to explain why something feels meaningful.
Because whether the Moon is physically pulling at our emotions or not, I know what it feels like to stand beside the sea at night and feel completely different from the person who arrived there.
I’ve felt calmer beneath a Full Moon.
I’ve felt reflective beneath a crescent.
I’ve made wishes beneath a dark sky.
And I’ve stood beside the ocean watching the Moon’s reflection break apart across the water, wondering whether perhaps the Moon isn’t changing the water inside me at all.
Perhaps it’s simply giving me permission to notice what’s already there.
And maybe that’s what emotional balance really is.
Not being permanently calm.
Not being permanently happy.
Not being permanently “full”.
But allowing ourselves to move through our own phases.
To feel.
To retreat.
To grow.
To release.
To begin again.
Just like the Moon.
The Moon Phases and the Different Versions of Us
Maybe this is why the phases of the Moon fascinate me too.
You never stay the same.
And yet you never stop being you.
The New Moon: A Blank Page
The New Moon is darkness.
You’re still there, of course, but we can’t see you.
And I love the symbolism of that.
A blank page.
A pause.
A chance to stop and ask ourselves what we actually want.
What are we ready to leave behind?
What would we like to invite into our lives?
What might happen if we stopped carrying things simply because we’ve carried them for years?
Perhaps this is why New Moon wishes have become such a lovely little ritual for so many people.
Not because I necessarily believe the Moon is going to magically deliver everything on my shopping list.
But because there is something powerful about putting a wish into words.
Sometimes a wish is simply hope with somewhere to go.
The Waxing Moon: Becoming
Then you begin to grow.
A little more light.
A little more visibility.
A reminder that change doesn’t always happen dramatically.
Sometimes it happens so slowly that we don’t notice.
Until one day we look back and realise:
Oh.
I’ve actually come quite a long way.
The Full Moon: Being Seen
Then comes the Full Moon.
All that light.
Nothing hidden.
And maybe that is the version of ourselves we spend our lives trying to reach.
The part where we don’t have to apologise for being too emotional, too sensitive, too ambitious, too quiet, too loud or simply too much.
We can just be.
The Waning Moon: Letting Go
And then, inevitably, you begin to disappear again.
Waning.
Shrinking.
Releasing.
And perhaps that’s the phase we struggle with most.
We’re constantly told to grow.
To achieve.
To push harder.
To keep going.
But you remind us that becoming smaller isn’t necessarily failure.
Sometimes we need to retreat.
Rest.
Reflect.
Let go.
Make space.
Bon Iver captured that beautifully in the line:
“What can wax can wane.”
And perhaps that is one of the Moon’s greatest lessons.
Nothing stays the same.
Not the good stuff.
Not the bad stuff.
Not the people we love.
Not the versions of ourselves we thought we’d be forever.
Everything moves.
Everything changes.
Everything has a phase.
The Balsamic Moon: The Quiet Before Beginning Again
And then there is that final little sliver.
The Balsamic Moon, as astrologers call it, is the final phase before the New Moon arrives. Astronomically, it forms part of the waning crescent, but I rather like the astrological name.
It sounds softer somehow.
This is the Moon at its most private.
A time traditionally associated with rest, reflection, release and preparing for a new cycle.
And perhaps that’s something I need reminding of.
Not every ending needs a dramatic goodbye.
Some things simply need to fade.
Some chapters don’t need rewriting.
Some relationships, habits, expectations and old versions of ourselves simply need thanking for what they taught us before we let them go.
The Balsamic Moon feels like the Moon taking one final breath before beginning again.
And perhaps we should be allowed to do that too.
To stop.
To breathe.
To look back without living there.
To release what has run its course.
And then, when we’re ready…
Begin again.
The Turning Points: Solstices, Equinoxes and Finding Balance
And then there are the turning points.
The solstices.
The equinoxes.
Those moments in the year when nature reminds us that nothing stands still forever.
The longest day eventually gives way to shorter days.
The shortest day eventually gives way to more light.
The equinox brings that beautiful idea of balance, with day and night sitting almost equally alongside one another.
Light.
Darkness.
Growth.
Rest.
Beginning.
Ending.
Perhaps that’s why I find the natural cycles of the Earth so comforting.
Nature doesn’t panic when things change.
It simply changes.
Perhaps we could learn something from that.
We don’t have to be in the same phase forever either.
When Humans Looked Up at the Moon
And here’s another reason I find you fascinating.
We’ve been looking at you for a very, very long time.
Long before weather apps.
Long before telescopes.
Long before anyone could send a photograph of you back to Earth.
Different cultures, separated by oceans and thousands of miles, looked up at the same Moon and decided that it mattered.
The Maya studied the movements of the Moon and incorporated lunar cycles into sophisticated calendars.
Ancient Chinese astronomers carefully observed the heavens and developed calendars closely connected to lunar cycles.
Across the Islamic world, scholars made remarkable astronomical observations and calculations, including detailed study of the Moon and its movements.
Across many African cultures, lunar cycles have historically helped mark time, seasons, agriculture, ceremonies and community life, although traditions vary enormously from one culture to another.
European cultures developed their own folklore, agricultural traditions and stories around the Moon.
And across Indigenous cultures of North America and elsewhere, the Moon has been given countless meanings, names and stories, reflecting the particular landscapes and seasons of different peoples.
Even Norse and Scandinavian traditions had their own stories and mythology connected with the Moon and the heavens.
Different places.
Different languages.
Different beliefs.
Different stories.
Same Moon.
And perhaps that is what gets me.
For thousands of years, human beings have been doing the same thing I still do now.
Looking up.
Wondering.
Making meaning.
Finding comfort.
Making wishes.
Perhaps we’ve always needed something bigger than ourselves to remind us that we’re part of something bigger too.
When the Moon Becomes Part of a Memory
And then there are the memories.
The really special ones.
Because perhaps the Moon isn’t just something we look at.
Sometimes it becomes part of the memory itself.
I’ve stood on beaches with my partner late at night, looking out at the ocean while the Moon’s reflection stretches across the water.
There is something almost impossible to describe about it.
The Moon above.
The Moon below.
The sea moving between the two.
And for a moment, everything feels still.
One of my favourite memories happened in Sicily.
We were on the beach late at night, picking up stones and throwing them into the ocean.
We should have been packing.
Our transfer was due in roughly two hours.
And we still had everything to do.
But somehow, none of that mattered.
We stayed.
Two people on a beach in Sicily, throwing stones into the sea, talking, laughing, watching the Moon and stretching out the final moments of a holiday we weren’t quite ready to leave.
We had approximately two hours before we needed to be ready.
And absolutely no sensible reason to still be sitting there.
But we did.
Because sometimes life gives you a choice between being sensible and being present.
And every now and again, I think you should choose present.
Those little stones actually came home with us.
All these years later, we still have some of them.
I know, I know.
You’re not really supposed to go around taking bits of beaches home with you.
And I certainly wouldn’t advocate stripping beaches of their stones, shells or anything else that belongs there. We need to leave nature where we find it.
But these few little stones have somehow become part of our story.
Tiny pieces of a night in Sicily that we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to leave behind.
That night, we weren’t thinking about packing.
Or transfers.
Or getting home.
We were just two souls together, basking in the moonlight.
I remember looking at that reflection on the ocean and thinking how strange it was that something so far away could make something right in front of me look so beautiful.
Perhaps that is another thing I love about you.
You change what we see.
And perhaps that reflection was a little bit of me too.
Something distant.
Something emotional.
Something constantly moving.
Something that only becomes visible when the light catches it in just the right way.
The Moon Connects Us, Wherever We Are
I’ve seen you from hotel balconies.
From aeroplane windows.
From beaches.
From city streets.
From the garden.
From bedroom windows.
And, if I’m being completely honest, from plenty of places where I’ve probably looked slightly ridiculous standing outside in my dressing gown trying to get a decent photograph of you on my phone.
But that’s the thing.
Wherever we are in the world, you’re there.
Different country.
Different language.
Different season.
Different life.
Same Moon.
I could be in Sicily.
You could be above Liverpool.
Someone else could be looking at you from Ghana.
Someone in Japan.
Someone in Iceland.
Someone sitting alone after a difficult day.
Someone celebrating something wonderful.
Someone who has just fallen in love.
Someone who has just fallen out of it.
Someone beginning again.
Someone simply drinking a cup of tea and staring out of the window because they’ve had enough of everybody for one day.
And you’re there for all of us.
No appointment necessary.
No ticket required.
No booking system.
Just look up.
Even the Moon Deserves a Little Glamour
And every now and again, you get dressed up.
A meteor shower arrives and suddenly the night sky has gone from elegant evening wear to full-on BAFTAs.
Little streaks of light flying across the darkness like someone has thrown glitter at the universe.
And I think that’s rather lovely.
Because even the Moon deserves a special occasion.
We understand this ourselves, don’t we?
Sometimes you put on that dress you’ve been saving.
A sparkly new outfit for New Year’s Eve.
A favourite pair of shoes.
Or perhaps, for the fellas, a really good crisp shirt and dapper outfit that makes you feel like you ought to be walking a red carpet somewhere.
We all deserve moments when we feel a little bit special.
So why shouldn’t you?
You get your meteor shower.
Your celestial accessories.
Your little bit of cosmic bling.
And frankly, you wear it rather well.
Why the Moon Feels Like a Little Bit of Magic
Perhaps that’s what I really love about you.
You don’t shout.
You don’t demand attention.
You don’t need to be the brightest thing in the sky.
You just keep showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
In every phase.
In every season.
In every corner of the world.
You remind us to look.
To pause.
To notice.
To remember that there is a whole enormous universe happening above our heads while we’re worrying about emails, bills, washing, work, relationships, what somebody said three weeks ago and whether we’ve remembered to put the bins out.
You put things into perspective.
And perhaps that’s why I think the Moon is more comforting than the Sun.
The Sun says:
Come outside.
The Moon says:
I’m still here.
And maybe sometimes that’s all we need.
A New Moon Wish
So, Dear Moon, if you happen to be looking down this way, here’s my wish.
May I remember that I don’t have to be full all of the time.
May I be brave enough to grow.
Wise enough to rest.
Strong enough to let go.
Open enough to feel deeply without feeling that I have to explain everything I feel.
And hopeful enough to begin again.
May I remember that the quieter parts of me are not weaknesses.
That disappearing for a while doesn’t mean I’ve lost myself.
That changing doesn’t mean I’ve become someone else.
And that I don’t have to shine like the Sun to have my own light.
Because if you can disappear into the darkness and still trust that you’ll return,
perhaps I can learn to do the same.
So here’s to the New Moon.
Here’s to fresh starts.
Here’s to wishes whispered quietly into the night.
Here’s to all the versions of ourselves still waiting to emerge.
And here’s to you, Moon.
My quiet companion.
My celestial cup of peppermint or hibiscus tea.
The thing I can look for wherever I am in the world.
The light I can find in every season.
The familiar face in a completely unfamiliar sky.
And the quiet reminder that even when I can’t see the whole of you…
you are still there.
And tomorrow night, I’ll probably look up again.
You’ll be different.
I’ll be different.
The world will be different.
But somehow, you’ll still be there.
And I’ll still be glad I looked.
Love,
Mimi x