Around this time last year, I was convinced that I had gone through my Saturn return. You know the one: that much-written about, famously transformational time in a person’s life when the planet Saturn returns to the position it occupied at the time of your birth. It’s supposed to take place every 29.5 years and bring significant changes. After a summer that included a professional spiral and a romantic quasi-relationship that started as swiftly and passionately as it ended, I thought mine had come and gone already. I thought .

Well, think again , I told myself about a month and a half ago, a week before I turned 30. I was on my fifth consecutive late-night stroll—the 20,000-step kind of walk that, as one friend put it, one embarks on with the noble mission of untying the knots in one’

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