I was sitting here yesterday, just staring at the wall, you know? Not even staring at anything specific, just the texture of the old plaster. I had this ridiculous pile of work, emails stacked up, deadlines screaming at me from every direction, and I couldn’t move a muscle. Totally locked up. It’s that feeling where you know exactly what you should be doing, but your brain just throws a big, fat stop sign in front of you. That was me, all morning.
I had to break the pattern. I just couldn’t sit there anymore feeling useless. So, I did the only thing that felt completely illogical. I walked over to the bookshelf—the messiest one—and reached up for the box. Yeah, the Tarot deck. The one I bought on a whim maybe six years ago and only pull out when life gets so twisted I need external intervention. It was stuck way in the back, behind a stack of old magazines I keep meaning to recycle. I dragged it down, felt the weight of the box in my hands. It felt heavy, man, like all my unfinished business was packed right inside that cardboard.
The Pre-Game Mess
I didn’t do any of that ritualistic nonsense. No clearing the table, no incense, I didn’t even light a candle. I just pushed the laptop back, slopped a mug-ring onto the wooden surface, and got down to it. I ripped the plastic seal off the deck—it was still on there from the last time I chickened out and put it away. The first thing I did was shuffle. I mean, I really shuffled. I riffled them, I mashed them together side-to-side, I did the whole casino dealer thing. I was trying to shake the confusion right out of the cards, trying to dump the stuck energy from my hands into the deck itself. I kept going until my fingers started to ache and the whole pile felt like a smooth, well-oiled machine.
I stopped when the deck felt absolutely right. Like the cards were finally tired of being handled. I didn’t pause for too long. Just grabbed them and went straight into the layout. I used the easiest one there is, the one everyone starts with: three cards. Past, Present, Future.
- I cut the deck roughly into three distinct piles. Not caring about perfection.
- I dealt the first one off the top of the leftmost pile. This was the Past.
- The second, off the middle pile. That was Right Now.
- The third, from the rightmost pile. The big, scary Future.
Flipping the Story Over
I flipped the first one. The Past. And what was it? The Ten of Swords. Damn. I just stared at the table and laughed out loud. Of course, it was that card. Ten big swords jammed into a figure lying face-down. That entire disaster I went through over the winter—the client that ghosted me, the car repair that broke the bank, that whole mess of a few months? That was the Ten of Swords laid right out. Seeing it there, flat on the table, it just confirmed what I already knew. Everything felt like it came crashing down back then, ending in total exhaustion, and seeing the pain on the card, I was like, Yep, historical record confirmed.
The second one. The Present. This one stopped me cold. It was the Six of Swords. Moving away. Trying to find calmer waters, paddling that little boat across the water. But the people on the card look miserable. Totally spent. They’re paddling slow, carrying the weight of whatever they left behind. I stared at that weary boat for a long, quiet minute. It wasn’t about the job or the money; it was about this constant feeling of just trying to get through the day. I’m not in the middle of a screaming crisis anymore, but I’m still bone-tired from the swim. That card hit me hard because it wasn’t dramatic; it was just a dull, persistent ache of truth.
The Future That Made Me Snort
Okay, the last card. The Future. The big reveal. I flipped it over, holding my breath for a second. And what did I get? The Hermit. I literally snorted, a sharp, loud noise. All this energy, all this dramatic past and exhausted present, and my glorious future is just… being a solitary old dude on a mountain with a little lamp. Are you kidding me? Me, the guy who needs the buzz of a crowded coffee shop to even think straight? The Hermit? Seriously?
I sat back and just looked at the lineup. Ten of Swords, Six of Swords, The Hermit. Destruction, Tired Escape, Solitude. The whole thing looked like a recipe for a really depressing rest of my life. But then, my brain finally clicked. The Hermit isn’t just hiding away, right? He’s holding that lantern. He’s taking the time to figure things out, shining that light internally. And suddenly, it wasn’t about being lonely, it was about finally being forced to be quiet enough to hear my own thoughts again. That’s the thing about this kind of practice, you think you’re looking for a definitive answer, but you just end up finding a slightly different, more honest angle on the problem you already have.
I stacked the cards back up, gave them one last quick shuffle, and didn’t even bother putting them back on the top shelf. I left the box right there on the desk, sitting next to my cold coffee. I took a deep breath, slammed my laptop open, and got back to the pile of work I had sworn, ten minutes ago, I couldn’t possibly move on.
The realization I walked away with wasn’t some grand plan. It was just this: seeing that Hermit card, looking all steady and focused, made me realize the solution wasn’t going to come from another email or some amazing new opportunity landing in my lap. The only way I was going to beat the stuck feeling was to just shut up, sit down, and focus on the light I already had. Just the slow, annoying work. That day, I finished the hardest thing on my list. The rest of the week suddenly looked achievable. I didn’t need a forecast; I needed a kick in the butt.
