Uruz is going to kick my ass. Make no bones about it.
Uruz is that hearty-ass punk you went to college with, the guy who casually mentions he's paring down to two meals a day to stop wasting time. The woman who shows up in boots and slept-in hair, who dares you to look at her sideways. When you fixed your hair and saved up for your shoes and practiced smiling and bon mots in the mirror, Uruz is the asshole who shows up at the party, graceless and strong, and everybody loves them despite/because of it.
The second letter of the Elder Futhark alphabet, Uruz is represented by the aurochs. Not a bull, not an ox: the prehistoric beast that shouldered its way through nature long before man showed up and started carving lines in the earth and bossing nature around. Fehu is your construction, the engines you've set running in place; Uruz is who you are when all the refinement's gone, all the structures have fallen away and all you've got is your two mitts.
When you've been through the shit and hit the bottom, Uruz picks you back up with a grin, because now you're better and ready to move on to the next level.
Uruz tests you. Are you strong enough? Do you want it bad enough? How many times are you willing to get back up to take what's yours?
I'm not going to understand Uruz in one week: I'm going to ride along and hope to survive at the end.
Here I Am: Deal With It
Well, that's one week done. How did I observe Uruz?
I owned every action I took. When I made a choice, I didn’t soften it with “these things are out of my hands” or “I’m only doing it for someone else’s sake.” I knew what was up, where things were headed, and what would result, and I chose anyway.
I’ve mostly stopped drinking. Not entirely, but almost completely. But one night while grilling burgers and chicken skewers, I wanted a drink — not because it was earned or deserved, but because I wanted it, knowing full well what it meant for my body. And so I drank.
In a more fraught situation, I “came out” to my daylight account. I let editors and polite society know: for 30 years I’ve been writing erotica about giant women and tiny men, and I’m proud of what I’ve made.
Nothing came of it. No shaming, no backlash. One editor said it sounded cool. All that stress was imaginary. Uruz demanded I declare myself, and the universe shrugged.
Pulling the Plug
I also faced up to a “digital creative partner” I’d been working with for two months. I shut it down. It was taking time and energy away from my wife and my own creativity. The work had to be hard. It had to come from my own hand.
That was painful. I faced it anyway.
That’s what one week with Uruz did for me: I confronted fear, owned my choices, tended my body and my mind, and stopped apologizing for existing.
Uruz stands behind you at the crossroads, snorting, daring you to choose.