Talk with the tarot

I still don't know exactly why I did it. (Plus, a little teaser at the end.)

Nothing compares to the Midwesterner’s joy after a miserable winter. We’ve been slipping around on nasty ice that wasn’t in the forecast. Swerving to miss each other even on the slow roads. We haven’t felt all of our digits simultaneously for months.

And then, suddenly, it’s spring.

The wily piece of land that’s in our care during our brief moment on the planet.

It’s a real frenzy over here. Lots of grading. Taking ‘breaks’ by planting and weeding and putting down grass seed and dealing with allergies (this post is brought to you by the makers of store-brand Zyrtek).

So of course I chose this very time to make life-altering decisions. Blame it on the tarot.

In any other era of my life, I would’ve found little more meaning in tarot cards than winning a goldfish at the state fair. I’ve never had a reading. In fact, I’ve actively avoided it when friends whipped out the cards.

But I’ve got less fear in me these days. Plus, my big decision was a creative one, which meant I didn’t have the luxury of a single right or wrong answer. In fact, stretching before me were a million of both—the subjective nature of writing will drive you bananas if you let it. So, one sunny spring morning after reviewing papers and sweeping the porch, I just decided … not to let it.

This beautiful print of a tarot image comes from artist Tabby Booth. Find prints here.

When I arrived at the door of the woman who’d been reading tarot for more than five decades, the first thing she said was that she’d done some math already and my reading—my first, and on my birthday—would carry some power. So be prepared, she said. I assured her that I was, and I listened curiously as she told me things about myself that I already knew, but had consistently doubted, so this I appreciated.

Still, I had that big creative question to ask, so at the time I was kind of waiting out all the other things, which took like an hour of air time in a close little room in an old part of town.

Eventually, I asked politely if we could please get to my question.

“There’s something specific you want to know,” the reader said, eyeing me with a little laugh. She may have thought I was being coy, that people like to test her out to see if she’s the real deal. Wasn’t the case with me, but I didn’t say it. She swooped up the cards with a single hand. “Okay.”

I will pause here to say I have wise and good friends, and one of them had suggested I record my full reading because the whole thing can be overwhelming. I asked permission right at the start and clicked on that recorder. I took pictures, too. #journalism

Then I took a big breath and told her that I wanted to know why a project I cared about had stalled, and if I should abandon it. Also, was I cursed? Transactional questions. This is Iowa, after all, where even the mysticism carries a certain practicality.

“Yes, of course,” she said, pushing the deck over to me for cutting. “The cards can do that.”

More from Tabby Booth. Find prints here.

Sure enough, the tarot answered quickly and definitively, as requested.

Yes, move on, for now. And be appreciative of what you gained from that work.

Yes, start something new. In fact, get a move on.

P.S. Always start something new!

Last but not least:

No, silly, you aren’t cursed.

On this last point, the cards, or at least their interpreter, was very serious. “You have to take responsibility for yourself,” she said to me firmly, leveling a stare. “Do not give your power away like that. Never do that.” I’m sharing this with you in case you need to hear it, too.

First off, I am relieved about the curse (though I’ve learned that there’s a woman on the opposite side of town who can tell you if you’re haunted, which is a-whole-nother deal). But later, when I dug into the card meanings, and listened to my recording, it was even more clear that the reading was mostly a reiteration of things I had been hesitant to know. An affirming reflection rather than an oracle. A note to self that every time I touch my lucky coin or hope for better conditions or pray for a tangible thing (or ask a deck of cards a question), I am giving my fate over to something or someone else. The difference with the tarot was that I left the reader’s house feeling very much intact, and that I had work to do. In other words, I felt empowered rather than supplicating.

On the creative decision, it was nice to have the cards point to one of a hundred paths forward—I can get unproductively hung up on such things. And while the final calls are always up to me, the reading supplied the genuine freedom of trusting an answer and just … going with it.

I couldn’t sleep for a while after all this. Generally, sleep is not my issue—I usually conk out in minutes like a toddler on cough syrup. But for a few strange and bleary nights while I stared at the ceiling, entire belief systems were toppling. Then, eventually, the murk dissipated and I just felt really good. For me, with this reader, tarot was a tangible experience that jump-started a clear direction for a specific thing. It freed me to move on.

Since then, I’ve felt a sort of tonal affirmation. Some creative wins, and a few things that fell away and didn’t hurt as much as I thought they would. Though I’m finding it hard in this moment in history to believe in much of anything wholeheartedly (the cards called me out on this, too), I do believe in the power of this season to supercharge one’s spiritual efforts.

The real magic is in seeing old things anew. Whatever it takes to get you there, man. Happy almost-weekend.

P.S. I’m heading out soon for an epic trip to Japan with my sweetheart. I plan to share stories from the road (just like old times, if you followed my blog back in … blog days) and for new subscribers (and those of you who have been with us for the whole analog ride) I’ll have a special subscribers-only gift that, if you’ve ever wanted to visit, I think you’ll find a lot of value in.