Why you don’t need a galactic origin story to be extraordinary.
The Starseed Starter Pack
Let’s unpack this phenomenon, shall we? The starseed narrative is basically the adult version of “I’m not like other kids” but with crystals, a TikTok filter, and some vague memories of being a Pleiadian space commander who saved a thousand galaxies in a previous life.
You know the drill:
Step 1: Take a Buzzfeed-esque quiz that asks hard-hitting questions like, “Do you feel drawn to the stars? Do you love nature? Do you sometimes feel sad?” (Groundbreaking.)
Step 2: Learn that your habit of staring off into the distance at 3 p.m. is definitive proof you’re here on a divine mission to elevate Earth’s vibration.
Step 3: Tell your friends about how you’re from Sirius B and your Earth body is struggling to adjust to the dense third-dimensional vibrations. Ignore the fact that your “dense vibrations” might actually be your diet of Doritos and iced coffee.
Oh, and don’t forget the accessories:
A collection of ethically sourced crystals that cost more than your rent.
A Pinterest board full of alien aesthetic memes captioned, “When you’re a starseed but still have to do taxes.”
And, of course, a burning disdain for anyone who doesn’t understand how different you are.
I’ve Been There
Trust me, I get it. Back in the 80’s, I went through my own I’m-a-starseed phase (yes, it's been around that long.) I was convinced my true ancestors were biding their time on the dark side of the moon, whispering secret messages to me in my dreams. I waited patiently for them to descend in a starship, declare me their chosen heroine, and sweep me into an intergalactic saga where I saved the galaxy with a laser sword and some killer one-liners.
Spoiler alert: they never showed.
But the I’m-special train didn’t stop there. Oh no. I graduated to believing I was half dragon and half mermaid. You know, the classic “fire-breathing sea warrior” combo. Because if my inability to fit into this world wasn’t proof of my extraterrestrial origins, surely it meant I was a mythical hybrid destined for greatness.
Looking back, it’s easy to laugh. But at the time, it wasn’t just about wanting to be different—it was about needing to feel special. Because being human? That felt boring, messy, and painfully ordinary.
Specialness is a Helluva Drug
Here’s the thing: The starseed narrative isn’t about saving the Earth or connecting with higher realms. It’s about wanting to feel like you’re more special than everyone else. And who wouldn’t? Life can be dull. Mortgages, gas prices, and having to explain to your grandma what an NFT is. Bleak.
But let’s be honest: telling people you’re a Venusian warrior while simultaneously crying in the Starbucks drive-thru because they’re out of oat milk might be a tiny red flag.
Maybe the reason you feel out of place isn’t that you’re an intergalactic savior trapped in a human meat suit. Maybe it’s because taking on this human journey is the craziest reality show out there. It’s messy and complicated, like being stuck in the DMV of existence, waiting for someone to call your number.
Now, before you clutch your quartz crystal and astral-project out of this blog, let me make something clear: You are extraordinary. You don’t need to cosplay as a sentient beam of stardust to prove it.
You are a wonder to behold because you’re here, now, navigating this chaotic, beautiful, absurd thing called life. You are amazing because you’ve cried over things that mattered and things that didn’t.
Because you’ve loved, lost, laughed until you snorted, and maybe even learned how to parallel park (a feat no Venusian warrior can claim, by the way).
The universe doesn’t need you to save it, babe. It needs you to show up as you. The messy, glorious, uniquely (and might I add badass) human you.
Here’s the cosmic joke no one tells you: The universe already knows you are one-of-a-kind. It doesn’t need you to wear a “Hello, I’m a Starseed” name tag to prove it.
So, the next time you catch yourself scrolling through a starseed subreddit or wondering if your deep dislike of fluorescent lighting means you’re from Andromeda, pause for a moment. Maybe that discomfort isn’t alien homesickness. Maybe it’s just a reminder to dim the lights, pour yourself a cup of tea, and remember that only the Olympic athletes of the universe are willing to take on this human role.
No, you’re not a starseed. You’re something even better: you’re you. And that, my friend, is already out of this world.
💋Kristen
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