OBITUARIES UNIT
In Memory of: The Illusion of Forward Momentum
Born: The precise moment you hit “send” on the email, booked the non-refundable ticket, or said, “Yes, I’m sure.”
Died: Three times a year, approximately, in the astrological district, during the period commonly known as Mercury Retrograde.
Survived by: Misplaced keys, garbled voicemails, the profound silence following a dropped call, a lingering sense of déjà vu, and all the important conversations you will finally have next week, probably.
It is with a resigned, if not entirely surprised, sense of cosmic timing that we announce the passing of The Illusion of Forward Momentum. Its death was not sudden, but a gradual unraveling, a celestial stutter that exposed the delicate scaffolding of our plans. It died as it lived: in the middle of a three-way conference call where the audio cut out only for you.
For approximately three weeks, three times each earthly year, the planet Mercury appears to reverse its course in the sky. Astronomers will patiently explain this as an optical illusion, a matter of relative orbits. The rest of us know better. It is the universe’s administrative assistant, hitting “pause” on the grand project plan, turning the “Smooth Sailing” playlist off, and flipping on the fluorescent lights to reveal the wiring behind the drywall. It is, in essence, a system-wide audit. And in any audit, something must be declared obsolete.
The deceased was, in its prime, a formidable force. It propelled us from one commitment to the next with the grace of a swan—above the surface, all serene glide; beneath, a frantic, unseen paddling. It convinced us that faster was synonymous with better, that a full calendar was a full life, and that “understanding” was often just a polite nod while mentally drafting the next reply. It thrived on superficial connections, on plans made in haste, on the comforting white noise of perpetual busyness.
It is predeceased by its close cousins, Certainty and Flawless Execution, both of whom passed in earlier retrogrades under mysterious circumstances involving expired warranties and critical software updates.
What we mourn, then, is not productivity itself, but the brittle, unquestioned version of it. The Retrograde serves as the official death notice for all that could no longer sustain itself. We gather today not to curse the broken printer (though we may utter a few words), but to eulogize the rushed proposal it swallowed. We do not simply lament the missed flight, but honor the doomed vacation that would have been a masterpiece of avoidance. The heated argument over a misinterpreted text is the funeral service for a relationship that was communicating in semaphore for years. The retrograde merely provided the fog that finally made the signal impossible to ignore.
It is survived by its more resilient heirs. Survived by Patience, now stepping forward from the shadows, dusting off its hands. Survived by Review, that meticulous archivist who insists on reading the fine print aloud. Survived by Clarity, often born from the ashes of a collapsed misunderstanding. Survived by the Lost Item Found, which, when recovered from behind the dresser, often proves to be less essential than the quiet moment of searching afforded.
This period of apparent backsliding is, in truth, a mandated period of exhumation. It asks the vital, obituary-worthy questions: What was already dead but you kept propping up at the meeting? What agreement had ceased breathing months ago, yet you continued to perform CPR via polite text? What idea was stillborn, yet you carried the hope for it like a stone?
Do not rage against the dying of the signal. Instead, lower the volume. Read the messages from the universe—the missed connection, the stalled contract, the unexpected delay—as the formal notices they are. They are the universe’s Obituaries Unit, dutifully reporting the passing of what was not built to last. The retrograde does not kill; it officiates. It provides the stark, grammatical framework: Born. Died. Survived by.
So, as the emails vanish into the ether and the simple agreement requires nine clarifying messages, recognize the ceremony underway. You are not being thwarted. You are being shown the ghost in the machine, the termite in the beam, the weak link in the chain—all now honorably discharged from their duties.
The forward march will resume, as it always does. But it will march over the graves of what needed to be buried, leaving the ground firmer for the path ahead.
Mercury goes direct. The obituaries have been published. The estate of your attention is now, at last, in order.