Lesson 8 of my 2025 Jupiter return reflections explores why growth didn’t require distance. Jupiter didn’t ask me to travel — at least not yet — and that turned out to be the lesson.

My Top 10 Lessons of 2025

In the final days of 2025, I’m sharing ten lessons this year taught me — not as a highlight reel, but as a reflection on what actually shifted beneath the surface. 2025 has been a significant astrological year for me, marked by a second Saturn return and a fifth Jupiter return, and it’s been a year of recalibration: learning where my energy truly belongs, what deserves commitment, and what needed to be released. Each of these lessons played a role in shaping how the year unfolded, often in ways I only understood in hindsight.

Much of what I share — both here and in my work — comes from the belief that astrology is most powerful when it helps us make conscious, practical choices. If you’re interested in learning how to work with cycles like Saturn and Jupiter in your own life, or in developing astrology as a tool for growth, education, and ethical practice, you’ll find links throughout this series to my classes and consultations. These lessons aren’t abstract; they’re lived, tested, and offered in the spirit of helping others navigate their own turning points with greater clarity.

Lesson 8: Jupiter Didn’t Ask Me to Travel (Yet)

One of the more surprising lessons of 2025 was realising that expansion didn’t require distance. I’ve spent much of my life hopping on planes, assuming that growth, inspiration, and opportunity lived somewhere else. But this year, Jupiter didn’t ask me to travel — at least not yet. Instead, it invited me to appreciate where I already was, and to see familiar places with fresh eyes.

London, in particular, reintroduced itself to me. Leading an astrology tour of the city became a quiet turning point. I was reminded just how deeply I know this place — its rhythms, its shortcuts, its stories — and how much joy there is in sharing that knowledge. Watching friends from afar experience London through my eyes, from the Astrology Shop to the William Lilly plaque, brought a different kind of satisfaction. It wasn’t about ticking off landmarks, but about witnessing others fall in love with a city I’ve long taken for granted. (And yes, the state of the Lilly plaque remains an embarrassment for those who claim to revere him — loving a tradition should include caring for its history.)

This theme repeated itself elsewhere. A trip to Portugal, while technically travel, felt less like escape and more like stewardship. With my former college roommate Christine, I found myself once again in the role of guide — navigating, orienting, contextualising — drawing on familiarity rather than novelty. The same was true in Bath, where I met my friend Arielle Guttman, and in Oxford, one of my favourite places, where I spent time with Michal Geffen before heading on to St Ives for a restorative week with my astro brother Richard. These weren’t journeys driven by restlessness, but by presence.

Even moments that might once have required distance unfolded locally. Dressing in a sari, engaging with visiting Indian astrologers, and participating in significant events all happened without leaving the UK. The Steve Judd gathering in St Albans — later one of the defining moments of the year — was another reminder that meaningful experiences don’t always demand far-flung destinations. Sometimes they ask you simply to show up fully, nearby.

What this lesson taught me was subtle but important: knowing a place deeply is its own form of expansion. Being able to guide others — geographically, culturally, intellectually — is a kind of mastery, and one I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. It also offered a quiet glimpse of where things might be heading next. When Jupiter does eventually ask me to travel again, I suspect it will be with purpose, structure, and something to teach — not just somewhere to go.

For now, Lesson 8 reminded me that growth doesn’t always arrive with a boarding pass.