Each of us are born with apprehensions, anxieties about life and our place in it. As we grow older habits develop and we get caught up in predictable patterns of action and reaction. Our thoughts are the glue that keep us moving in certain directions even when we know the outcome if we do. It’s that feeling you get when you know you’ve been here before, experiencing similar events and personalities. The things we have figured out in life happen effortlessly on auto pilot in the background while the things that continue to bother us or don’t feel right continue to demand our attention like a petulant child. I’ve been wondering if there is a way out of this cycle, a way to not continue doing what I’ve always done. I’ve been laying low, surmising if perhaps I approach life differently I might somehow come out ahead of myself. The best way that I can explain it is that it feels like life has left layers on me, through the years, encounters, and experiences and whether or not I’ve liked what it has left, there they are wrapping me like a heavy blanket might do.
I discovered tarot cards early, when my aunt took me to a reading as a teenager. I had only ever seen them in movies before, I wasn’t sure if they were real or not. They’ve become a coffee table book, taking up space, providing distraction when needed, and a way to pause and wonder what might be happening in my own world that I’m not seeing. Last winter I decided to take a giant pause and look at where I was and where I’ve been headed. I took space to breathe and find out who I’ve become when I’m not running in a million directions and connecting with lots of people each day. I felt as if I had been running on autopilot for years and although on the outside it may seem like I had been making traction in life, I felt as if I was running in place. I paused from the one thing that has always offered me solace, I had reached a place of expectations and notions of what it was meant to become, how it would bring me to where I needed to be. I was regarding my writing as a quick fix, rather than a way I could live authentically doing what I loved each day. My writing was a means to an end, not a way to be present in each moment.
I found myself back in my writing room this morning, here at my laptop. I looked to my left and my eyes fell upon my favorite tarot deck. I smiled. Everyone wants a glimpse of the future, to know things always work out, and we’re okay. Yesterday I had pulled a handful of cards and for the first time in a while was met with a card expressing loss and an ending of something cherished. I grimaced and scoffed at what it was saying. Just like everything else, tarot cards are an interpretation of a certain moment in time, and are fluid. They are impacted by numerous external forces and our ability/inability to interpret them. Some view tarot cards as a simple parlor game, a meaningless way to divine a wanted outcome. I shared with George, he smiled and wrapped his arms around me. “It’s not me.” I leaned in. Sometimes, I look for meanings in all the wrong places, and read more into moments that was ever meant to be.
This morning here I am, back writing and sharing. I pulled another card just to see if I was still doomed to feel loss yet again. The Knight of Wands trotted heroically towards me, showing up with a vision of hope and salutations of goods things being on their way. I’m not sure why I felt the need to stop writing for the past few weeks or even why I’m back at it this morning. Nothing big has happened, no epiphanies have spontaneously erupted since I’ve sat back quietly and allowed myself to wonder. If anything the one thing I’ve realized is that no matter how we act or react to life, it keeps showing up with or without us actively being involved.
An empty nest can feel like a loss. New beginnings.