This spring, I ended my long-term relationship, flew over 1,300 miles across the country to meet online friends for the first time after eight years, got hired at a Michelin-star restaurant, and finally earned my license at the age of 20—and it’s all thanks to the Ten of Swords.
In June, I confided in a friend over FaceTime about feeling at odds with many things in my life; I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have a license, and I couldn’t balance classes, my relationship, and the few friends I had made that semester.
Her solution? A five-minute tarot reading from Lisa Sterle’s Modern Witch Tarot deck.
I could hear the fwip! of the cardstock as she shuffled the deck, the illustrations whispering the possibilities of my future across the line. I had never dabbled in tarot—it was something I left to Etsy witches and my mother (though her skills were admittedly less practiced)—but I’ve always believed in its ability to provide solace and guidance to those who do. Sometimes, allowing a higher power to determine your fate is a comfort: inviting the universe to pull your life’s strings, relinquishing your autonomy to an incorporeal yet omnipotent being, must save a lot of stress… after all, what’s meant for you will eventually find you, right?
When my dear friend held the card she’d pulled from the deck to the screen, I stared at the woman depicted—lying on her side, phone in hand, blades stuck through her arm, her back, her thighs, her neck—and a switch seemed to flip in my brain. I was her, she was me, and after making this connection, after seeing this rendition of myself immortalized, my life would never be the same.
And, to be honest, it wasn’t.
“What does it mean?” I asked. As she parroted the definition from her tarot handguide—that I was burnt out, a sponge for burdens, someone who could never resist the bad habit of pleasing others instead of myself—I decided to look for ways to remove the metaphorical swords stuck in my skin, the things pinning me in place and keeping me from reaching the stars, one hilt at a time.
Soon after, my birthday passed. I turned twenty while watching Saturday Night Live on my porch, in the dark, and alone. I then broke up with my boyfriend of over two years and booked a flight to Des Moines to meet people I’d only interacted with online (they didn’t kidnap me, don’t worry!). Maybe it was the Iowa air, but a new version of myself emerged while up north. I hadn’t just removed the swords from my body—I began to wield them for myself. I was an assured person, one who regarded laughter as my lifeblood, adored fun and whimsy, and not only found space for myself but created and expanded it.
When I returned home, I took writing more seriously, drafting ideas for stories and poems, and reading a lot of craft books. I applied to jobs and scored an interview with a hospitality company that ended up hiring me on the spot. I also randomly decided to take the road test a week before the semester started, earning my license in five minutes—a five-years-late homecoming.
Maybe it was the universe finally plucking the right strings. Maybe I simply “grew up.” But if you ask me, I’ll always credit this newfound life to the Tarot. I couldn’t be more different, and I’ll never allow anything to pierce my body, my mind, or my soul ever again.