Man, sometimes you just hit a wall, you know? Not like a big, dramatic crash, but more like a slow, creeping kind of stuck-ness. That’s exactly where I was maybe a couple of years back. I had this idea, this big, sprawling thing I wanted to build for my backyard – a proper workshop, not just some flimsy shed. I’d been dreaming it up, sketching it out, filling notebooks with plans for months. But actually starting it? That was another story entirely.
I’d pull up a chair, stare at the empty spot in the yard, and just get overwhelmed. Too many steps, too many tools I didn’t have, too much dirt to move. So, I’d sigh, pack away the plans, and go do something else. This went on for too long. Then, one evening, I was doing my usual tarot pull, just for a bit of reflection, not even looking for answers on the workshop. And there it was, staring right back at me: the Knight of Disks.
You know the one. That guy, sitting on his horse, holding that big coin, looking all serious and a bit… slow. My first thought was always, “Ugh, this guy again? Where’s the action?” But that night, it hit different. I sat there, just looking at him. No fancy swords, no emotional cups, no zippy wands. Just earth, solid ground, and a commitment to hold onto what he’s got. To actually do something with it, deliberately, slowly.
Embracing the Grind
It was like a switch flipped. I realized I’d been acting like a King of Wands – all ideas, no follow-through. Or maybe a Page of Disks – full of potential but not really moving. The Knight was telling me to get off my high horse (or, in my case, my comfy couch) and just start digging. Literally.
So, the very next morning, I did. I didn’t buy any fancy lumber. I didn’t even outline all the perfect steps. I just grabbed a shovel. My goal for that first day wasn’t to build a workshop; it was to clear a small patch of weeds and level a tiny bit of ground. And let me tell you, that felt monumental. I dug and raked and moved rocks, one by one. It wasn’t glamorous. My back hurt. But when I looked back at that small cleared patch at the end of the day, I felt something I hadn’t felt in ages: actual progress.
That became my mantra. Every day, or at least every other day, I would commit to just one small thing. My practice became ridiculously simple:
- Monday: Move five more wheelbarrows of dirt.
- Tuesday: Measure and cut one foundation beam.
- Wednesday: Dig out a few more stubborn roots.
- Thursday: Go to the hardware store for the exact bolts I needed for that one beam. Just those bolts.
It wasn’t about speed. It was about relentless, almost stubborn, consistency. I imagined that Knight on his horse, just moving forward, one hoof after another, not rushing, not looking for shortcuts, just getting the job done because it needed doing. I stopped looking at the entire mountain I had to climb and just focused on the next foothold.
The Slow Build
Weeks turned into months. There were days I felt completely drained, totally bored of the repetitive tasks. Laying the concrete foundation felt like it took an eternity, mixing bags of cement by hand. My hands got rough, my clothes always smelled faintly of sawdust and dirt. My neighbors probably thought I was crazy, building something so slowly, piece by painstaking piece.
I remembered the card again during those times. The Knight isn’t about sudden flashes of insight or quick victories. He’s about showing up, day in and day out, doing the unsexy, necessary work. He’s about being reliable, dependable, and seeing a task through to its practical conclusion. It sounds simple, but living it is a whole different ballgame. It requires a certain kind of stubborn patience, a trust in the process even when the end feels miles away.
I kept telling myself: “Just one more nail. Just one more measurement. Just one more coat of paint.” It was grunt work. Pure and simple. No big revelations, just the solid thud of a hammer, the whir of a saw, the smell of fresh lumber. It was about making things real, turning those sketches into something tangible, grounded, functional.
Seeing It Through
And then, finally, after what felt like forever, it was done. This solid, sturdy workshop, standing right there in my backyard, exactly where those weeds used to be. It wasn’t perfect, had a few crooked nails and some uneven paint spots if you looked real close. But it was mine, built with my own hands, through sheer, unglamorous persistence. The feeling was incredible. Not the rush of finishing, but the deep satisfaction of having seen something through, from a vague idea to a solid reality, step by deliberate step.
That Knight of Disks, he taught me a lot that year. He taught me that sometimes, the most profound progress comes not from grand gestures, but from the humble, everyday effort. From just showing up and doing the work, even when it’s tedious, even when no one else is watching. He showed me the real power of patience and practical application. Now, every time I step into that workshop, I think of that steady, unwavering Knight. He’s a reminder that good things, real things, take time and consistent effort, and that’s perfectly alright.
