The Year That Made Me Learn To Count
You know, every year about this time, I pull out my notebook and I do the stupid simple math. I just needed a heads up for 2025 because, man, 2024 was a total bust. I’m talking about a year where I absolutely cratered my savings account on a genius idea that turned out to be pure garbage, and then I dated someone who only communicated via cryptic social media posts about crystals and karma. I walked away from that whole mess feeling totally blind and raw.
I realized I needed an anchor. Something to tell me, “Hey, maybe don’t run headfirst into that wall.” I’ve been messing around with Tarot for years, but this annual card pull—the cosmic math thing—is now non-negotiable for me. It’s like strapping on a helmet before I ride a bike.
The Simple Math I Forced Myself To Do
So, the practice itself starts with some third-grade arithmetic. It’s the only way to nail down which Major Arcana card is dictating the year’s vibe. I grabbed a piece of scrap paper—the back of an old receipt, actually—and wrote down the year right in the middle.
- I took the 2.
- Added the 0.
- Added the 2 again.
- And finally, the 5.
It’s about reducing the year to a single digit, and unless you hit 11 or 22 (the Master Numbers, which is a whole different headache), you just keep adding. But 2025 is mercifully easy. I saw the sum immediately: 9. No fuss, no drama.
Then I went straight to my deck—the trusty battered-up Rider-Waite, not some fancy new-age one. I fanned out the Major Arcana and counted nine cards down. I stopped, tapped the card once, two times, just for good measure, and flipped it over. And there it was, staring back at me.
The Hermit: A Vibe Check I Actually Need
The card for 2025, the one that’s going to be buzzing in the background of everything we do, is The Hermit (IX).
Man, when I saw that old dude wrapped in a cloak, holding that little lantern, standing on that icy mountain, my first thought was, “Great. A year of loneliness.” But I pushed that garbage thought aside, because that’s not what he’s about. He’s about looking inward, taking inventory, and not relying on the crowd’s stupid advice. It’s a total green light for being selective, deliberate, and maybe a little antisocial. Honestly, after 2024’s performance, I’m okay with that.
What This Means For My Money and Why I’m Clenching My Fists
Last year, I got burned because I listened to a bunch of loudmouths on Twitter telling me to jump on a “sure thing” investment. I ignored my gut—the little voice that was telling me to research it properly, offline, in silence. The Hermit is literally the guy telling me to stay away from the noise. For 2025, my practice record says:
- No herd following. If everyone is screaming about a stock or a coin, I shut down the app.
- Deep-dive research only. The lantern is for illuminating my own path. I pull out the magnifying glass and read the boring PDFs, not the flashy Instagram posts.
- Conservation. The Hermit isn’t splashing cash around. He’s high up on a mountain because it’s cheap up there. I’m focusing on what I already have and how to make that secure, not chasing some new, shiny distraction.
The Lesson I Learned That Makes Me Trust This
Why do I follow this math so strictly? I have this brutal memory from a few years back. The card of the year was The Lovers (VI), and I was in this dead-end job, miserable. The Lovers is about choice, alignment, and finding your partner, right? I took it as a massive sign to jump ship immediately and start a side hustle with a friend I barely knew. I didn’t take time to evaluate the risks; I just made the leap, high on the perceived cosmic blessing.
I quit my job, dove into a business partnership where we were fighting constantly, and then started dating someone who was clearly dragging me down—all at the same time. I ignored every warning sign because The Lovers felt like a hall pass for massive, quick changes. I failed spectacularly. I lost all the startup money, the business blew up, and the relationship ended in a total public shouting match. I ended up back home, sleeping on a couch, totally wiped out.
That failure taught me something: the card doesn’t tell you what to do, it tells you how to do it. It sets the tone. The Lovers meant my choices needed to be aligned with my true values, not just impulsive. I did it wrong, and I paid for it.
What This Means For My Love Life Moving Forward
Now, seeing The Hermit for 2025, I’m getting this totally different instruction set for love. I’m applying the bitter lessons from that couch period directly to this card.
The Hermit is telling me to be careful who gets access to the light I’m holding. He’s not anti-relationship, he’s pro-quality control. For my personal recording, this translates to:
- Solitude first. Spend time refining who I am and what I really want. No filler dates just to avoid staying home.
- Quality over quantity. If someone comes along, they have to climb the mountain to reach me. They have to prove they respect my space and my need for internal reflection.
- No chasing external validation. The lantern is enough. I’m not running after people who won’t share my quiet space.
I’m not expecting fireworks, but I am banking on stability and actual growth. This year, my goal is not external victory, it’s internal repair. I’ve charted the course, I’ve got my instruction card, and my practice is simple: listen to the old man with the lamp, and keep the noise out.
