Susan Miller runs my life for Cosmo: Fact: 2019 was not working out. One week into January — in a move ripped from Legally Blonde — my boyfriend broke up with me (by email) instead of proposing (in person). Two days later, a scamster emptied my checking account. I was obsessing over a still-in-progress novel, which had been “for real, almost finished” for two years, to the detriment of every other part of my life — including the romantic one, which for the foreseeable future consisted of letting my niece swipe through Tinder on my behalf. 

I’d tried yoga, meditation, swimming, stress-eating, catatonically sitting through three seasons of Prison Break. I already slept with citrine and malachite under my pillow. What if I resolved to follow the instructions of America’s favorite astrologer to the letter for the next 30 days — since I clearly couldn’t do any worse on my own?

For guidance, I reach out to Susan Miller of AstrologyZone, whose celebrity fans range from Emma Stone to Emma Roberts and include Pharrell Williams, Raf Simons, Jennifer Aniston, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Katy Perry, and Spike Jonze. Miller is quite possibly the most famous astrologer in the world. Over 10 million readers visit astrologyzone.com every month to pore over her epically detailed horoscopes; in 2014, when illness forced her to post some forecasts late, bereft fans created a Facebook group (“Abandoned by Susan Miller”) in protest. Who better to ask?

The first thing Miller tells me is that she’ll help. The second is that, in her astrological opinion, my premise is all wrong. “Astrologers work much further out than a month — we think in terms of many months or years,” says Miller. “Six months would make more sense.” I assure her that I’ll continue my practice beyond its official completion date, and she gives me an uber-goal for the next 30 days: “Focus on collaborations,” she says, urging me to look for a new literary agent or other professional partner.

With that, we begin. Pleasingly, I am first instructed to “focus on rest and retreat,” a suggestion I adopt wholeheartedly, and with snacks. (And more Prison Break.) I’m told to expect “a swell of kindness and compassion from friends,” so I preemptively tell the closest among them how grateful I am for their help. (This actually results in “a swell of kind and compassion” — which maybe makes it a self-fulfilling prophecy, but also qualifies as a win.) At the midpoint, my horoscope says that I “now have energy to focus on your finances.” I set up a payment plan for my overdue 2012 taxes (oops!) and use an app to identify all of the recurring payments I’d forgotten — including a $4 monthly fee for an image-editing program I’d used once. As Miller predicted, none of these actions trigger a life-changing result: There are no winning lottery tickets. My mood, though, has improved remarkably, and in 12 months, I will be $48 richer.

Three weeks into my experiment, Susan offers to interpret my birth chart — a map of the sun, moon and planets as they appeared to astrologers when I was born. Each placement — beginning with my sun sign, in Taurus — influences aspects of my personality. The reading is equal parts magic, therapy, life-coaching, and performance art. Over the course of an hour, Susan paints my portrait. I love my family and travel almost equally — a key conflict. Had my dad experienced a reversal of fortune? (Yes.) Did I have any health concerns related to my throat — “and that includes your thyroid?” (Just ask my thyroid surgeon!) There is also the exciting news that I may marry a man I interview the following month. “He’ll be older, or have an old soul,” she says. 

My 30-day experiment ends a week later — coincidentally, the day before my birthday, right at the start of Taurus season. I thought I might be relieved to press pause on 24-7 astrology. Not so: Following my horoscopes has forced me to tend to all aspects of life — love, money, family — rather than only on work. Success in those areas counterbalanced the tribulations, a state of affairs I was happy to see reflected in my final horoscope: “You’re coming alive in unexpected ways,” it reads. “You know the only way to live the life you want is by doing things you’ve never experienced before.” 

For the record, I’ve never experienced marrying a man I’ve interviewed, though I do look forward to it. According to Susan, I have four weeks to get the job done, before my Taurean focus should shift elsewhere. By the time you read this, those four weeks, and its romantic opportunities, will be over; maybe I’ll have met my one true love over drinks and a voice recorder. The stars should prove so lucky.