I’m not good at making decisions anymore. Ha. Anymore. Maybe I never was, acts of spontaneity just a whisper of somebody I wished to be. These days I weigh every option with almost more credit than it deserves, playing devil’s advocate, testing my own ideas with a twinge of self-sabotage and a whole lot of analysis paralysis. So when I need an outside influence to tip the scales, I turn to tarot. Why not? It’s fun and easy to blame if shit hits the fan.

I know little of the practice and that’s of little importance to me. I use unconventional tools in the same way people use religion as a guide. Dangerous if you let it be. Over the years, consulting tarot has resulted in deep reflection of present pickles, giving me permission to move forward, move on, move anywhere, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. I pretty much only turn to tarot when I find myself in a pickle*. The cards have spoken, and the cards never lie. That’s just my theatrical way of saying: I present to you, my decision! ^{(Based on present energies and a thorough interpretation of my library of experiences and emotions re: this particular filing cabinet, complete with a bibliography.)}

Cliff’s Notes: Tarot is a tool I’ve recently discovered has magical powers in helping an over-thinker stop swirling and just make a decision already. 

Depending on who you ask, there are a bunch of ways to interpret the cards, an abundance of rules and a discrepancy of meanings, but one thing appears to be constant no matter the source: You don’t choose the tarot deck, the tarot deck chooses you. 

The cards I use for my own readings only are quite non-traditional in that every card is simple and delightful. Each spins a bright web, sees beauty in the dark. Sparkles in decay. I mean, the Death & Devil cards are the best of the deck. Contrary to pop culture’s favorite depiction of tarot (and perhaps my friend Lily), no card is meant to be scary or instill fear, but they can all tell a story if you’re open. The magic of tarot is you get to interpret the narrative with the story that lives within.

Outside of a few cards I tend to pull often, I have almost no idea what each represents, but with an underlying feeling that I actually do. Paired with an explanation from the Big Book of Tarot, I quite like the process of examining each card through the ever-changing fresh lens of life’s current circumstances. We don’t talk often, so I go through the same guilty hello each time I pick them up. Oh heeeeey…hiiii. Ya, whelp…you’re up, old friend. This…is where we’re at now.

After awkwardly greeting my cards earlier this month, I promptly pulled the Seven of Swords. Ah. Swords, the suit of Aquarians, I knew that much.

_{*Flips to the Seven of Swords page in The Big Book of Tarot*}

Oh. I see. Hm. Of course. The cards have spoken, and the cards never lie.

…separation from others…represents the lone wolf lifestyle, the desire to run lone and free… you feel you will be more effective and comfortable on your own…can be troubling…we can’t be happy and productive for long without some commitment to others. If you feel inclined to act alone, make sure this isolation is really working for you. Sometimes it means you are running from something…we just have to face what has to be faced. The Seven of Swords lets you know when you are making things worse for yourself and others by running away.

*Bet you’re wondering about that pickle.

By the end of last year’s summer, I had crafted a colorful 2025 for me, myself and I. The Year of the Peacock! But as it goes with best laid plans o’ mice and men, an unexpected December encounter changed my trajectory. Well, except actually, it didn’t. Flames fueled by desire and a few factors out of our control, it made a whole lot of sense for B to hop aboard my train, despite being enroute to Peacock Town. I merrily, merrily welcomed him aboard, and choo-choo! Off we chugged. So my 2025 trajectory technically changed very little. His was a wee bit of a wild ride, from what it looked like from inside the eye.

0/10 do not recommend. 

I had just become a bird FFS! Full of flight! Winter so soon? Who could’ve known? Not me! But that day in December happened and genuine dreams took shape, ones made for a flock of two. January kind of stuck a broken dagger in them, but in a posted-to-the-corkboard-with-a-pretty-bird-thumbtack-kind-of-way, a mutual understanding: we’re going to be here for awhile. Such pretty birds, such lovely lovebirds.

Oh! But what to do about the plucky Peacock? Back in the cage? Never! I wanted to read both adventure chapters! Take both forks in the road! See everything play out! Leave no stone unturned! But like, in total absence of each other.

Unfortunately life’s Choose Your Own Adventure has consequences. You can’t just go back to the beginning and choose Option B after you didn’t like what you read in Option A. Or even if you loved what you read in Option A, you don’t also get to experience the horror of Option C, not in the same way. Or hold Option A in place with your finger while you go skim D. We haven’t even considered the possibility of options within the options yet, but it doesn’t really matter.

Because all, in their pure form, cannot simultaneously exist. One must choose and never fully experience the other choices, not in parallel. We’re getting deep into my favorite metaphor here and I do recognize many of you must have already drowned. I’d love to save you, but it’s the wee early hours of October 29, and the three days left of the month are 99% slotted for Not Writing, so this is what we all get.

Instead of grabbing the crayons and scribbling our own, B & I forged ahead with the heavy outline scratched by my 2024 claw. In large part because life moved unexpectedly fast for us and it was nice to have something to grab onto, but also because I happened to have a lot of plans. Peacock plans, sure maybe, but we enjoyed spending our free time doing slightly different flavors of the same activities like 99% of the time. He is me, I am him, yada yada. This should be great! Just two Big Birds, squawking along doing little birdy bird things. 

It was exactly like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. A lot of overlap, but something about those edges. Here I was, trying to live out the summer I had made for Me, as part of an Us, thinking everything would just magically align. Come along with me, new friend! Look what I built! I’ll show you the way! But I just ended up being disappointed that something felt…off. Askew. Crooked. Or was that cracked? Multi-layered for sure, a total head-scratcher.

I’m not big on social gatherings. I prefer 1:1 or an intimate group setting pretty much every time. Anything over five or six talking heads (four if I’m being real) and I’m forced to tap into other versions of myself to navigate all the stimulation. It’s weird, watching yourself scroll through your Rolodex of Selves and pick out the piece of you the situation calls for you to be. You can even play another character, if you have to. As John Candy once said, I guess my secret to acting would be I pretend real hard.

If I do find myself in large social gatherings, I like to be there alone, responsible only for myself, my own needs, that way if I find myself being a part of myself someone hasn’t met, doesn’t know yet, or quite understand, I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Navigating the energy and expectations of others in such an unpredictable environment makes me extremely anxious and everything is chaotic. 

And I signed us up for a summer of that. 

Our first 72 hours were bonded by shared morals and dreams and desires, substantial glue that filled all the holes. So many future thought bubbles! So many roads we could take to get there (if either of us could ever just make a decision already, fuckin’ air signs), so many acute single track corners to whip around! But alas, life unfolded, the outside swooped in, and we spent the very little of the summer tending to our garden and more to our individual life obligations and previously planted seeds. 

It took some intense moments, some major teamwork, deep trust and a lot of weird eye contact, but we crossed over the October threshold, crayons in hand, though dare I say we’ve graduated to glitter pens. As if you could ever outgrow crayons. We get to decide where we go next, whichever colorful stick we choose.

I like to say I’m in a polyamorous relationship with the world and my primary partner is myself. I often tell B that living with him is basically like living alone, the next best thing. I don’t say it to be mean, I say it in awe. He truly does not take away from my solitude, almost adds to it in fact, makes it poetic. I love living with my partner. But it’s possible to adore my current life and also mourn the evaporation of a path not taken.

The complete unknown of being alone, the idea that your story can quite literally take you anywhere you choose. The thrill of navigating the world totally alone when you really believe anything can happen…and then it does. It’s my drug of choice.

Last Saturday I was Havishamming around the house after my first week of work travel in like a zillion years. Totally exhausted from being around people all day three days straight, yet strangely charged, fresh off three structured days where everything was planned for me and I didn’t have to make a single choice. Shuffling from this plant to that, muttering something ’bout how some plants just don’t like me as I wiped the pretty pinkish leaf of a ruby rubber tree, talking to myself, to Brian, to the art on the walls, to the dogs, whoever was in earshot.

I’m so glad these guys chose Tessa. I’ve had this one for twice as long as she has, and hers is twice as big. I love that it just grows perfectly for her without her having to do almost anything. They’re her easy plant. Her easy plant! I can barely get either of mine to grow a new nob! Everyone needs one of those though…one of those easy plants. Because that’s what makes you love it! That’s what gets you hooked. The plant loves you back. And it’s like, a weird different plant for everyone, which is kind of wild to think about. Don’t you just love that about plants? They choose their people. Their environment. What works for them. They choose where they want to be.

Me and B? We’re just two plants choosing what works for us, communicating needs and wants in our own unique language, thriving in an experimental environment with ease. Still choosing where we want to be.

All this thought exploration, born from the flip of a silly tarot card. I guess that’s how you learn the cards though, by tying them to life experiences. Your own little Rolodex of Stories. The Seven of Swords: the veil I needed to see yet another intricate layer of the labyrinth.