So, “Tarot 9 in love? (Understand destiny)” huh? People always freak out when they pull The Hermit in a love reading, don’t they? Like it’s a death sentence for their romantic life, or just a big, fat “NO” from the universe. I’ve seen it countless times, folks just getting all dejected. But let me tell you, from my own messy journey, it’s not always what it seems. In fact, sometimes, it’s the exact push you need to truly understand where you’re headed.
I used to be one of those people. Seriously, the moment that robed old man with his lantern showed up in a spread, my heart would just sink. I’d instantly jump to conclusions: “Oh great, I’m going to be alone forever,” or “This relationship is definitely going to fail,” or “Forget dating, just buy more cats.” My brain just wired it to mean isolation, withdrawal, and a long, lonely road ahead. It felt like the universe was always telling me to just chill, step back, and wait – which, for someone desperately wanting connection, felt like actual torture.
For years, I was just spinning my wheels, you know? Constantly chasing the idea of a partner, always looking for someone to fill a void. Every time I went on a date, or even just thought about someone, I’d pull a few cards, hoping for a sign, for a clear “YES, GO FOR IT!” And invariably, there he was: The Hermit. Staring back at me, silently, reproachfully. It was infuriating. It made me feel like I was doing something inherently wrong, that I was destined to walk this path alone while everyone else was coupling up, getting married, having kids, the whole nine yards. I truly believed I was cursed to be perpetually single. I tried to ignore it, to force connections, to talk myself into relationships that clearly weren’t right, all to avoid being “The Hermit.” It was exhausting, soul-crushing work, trying to defy what the cards seemed to be telling me, and it left me feeling emptier than ever.
The Breaking Point and The Real Hermit
I remember this one time, after yet another spectacularly awkward second date that went nowhere, I got home, feeling utterly defeated. I sat down with my deck, gave it a good shuffle, and asked, “What am I doing wrong? Why am I always alone?” And there he was again, front and center: The Hermit (IX). This time, though, something in me just snapped. I didn’t feel despair; I felt a weird kind of clarity, mixed with a healthy dose of frustration. I actually laughed, a kind of wild, desperate laugh, and then I just shoved the whole deck back into its box and threw it into a closet. “That’s it,” I declared to my empty apartment. “I’m done.”
And I meant it. I stopped checking my apps, stopped agonizing over who hadn’t texted me back, stopped forcing myself to social events just to “meet someone.” I literally stopped looking. For the first time in a very long time, I intentionally, proactively, embraced the idea of being alone. Not as a punishment, but as a project. I figured, if the universe wanted me to be a Hermit, I’d be the best damn Hermit I could be.
- I started spending my evenings doing things just for me.
- I picked up that old guitar that had been gathering dust in the corner.
- I started reading all those books I’d bought but never gotten around to.
- I began hiking again, really getting out into nature, just soaking it all in.
- I took a cooking class, something I’d always wanted to do but never made time for.
I focused on my own growth, my own peace, my own happiness. I learned to actually enjoy my own company. It was like I was turning that lantern inward, finally trying to find out what was actually illuminating my own path, rather than just constantly scanning the horizon for someone else’s light. This wasn’t about giving up on love; it was about building a solid foundation within myself first.
Understanding Destiny, My Way
And you know what happened? As I pulled back from the frantic search, as I truly became comfortable in my own skin, amazing things started to happen. People started gravitating towards me in a new way. I wasn’t radiating desperation anymore; I was radiating a genuine contentment. I made new friends, found incredible connections, and suddenly, the world felt a lot less lonely, even though I was still technically “single.”
Then, when I least expected it, when I was fully immersed in my own journey, enjoying my own company and not actively looking for anything, someone came into my life. It was so natural, so easy, so completely unlike all the forced, awkward attempts of my past. We connected on a level I hadn’t experienced before, simply because I was finally showing up as my authentic, complete self, not some incomplete version trying to find a missing piece. The Hermit wasn’t telling me to be alone forever; it was telling me to learn how to be truly complete within myself before inviting someone else to share that space. It was about understanding my destiny, my path, first and foremost, so that when someone else did come along, it was an addition, not a completion.
So yeah, when that Tarot 9 pops up in love now, I don’t dread it. I actually feel a sense of calm. It’s a reminder to keep shining that internal light, to keep walking my own path, and to trust that the right connections will emerge when I’m truly ready, guided by my own inner wisdom, not by external yearning. It was about understanding my own destiny, not just waiting for destiny to drop someone at my feet.
