Man, when people talk about the Page of Swords, they usually trot out the standard fluff: ‘a new idea,’ or ‘a burst of intellectual energy.’ That’s nice for the books, but let me tell you what that card looks like when it shows up in your life as a real human being. Because I had to learn this the hard way. I didn’t pull this knowledge from some dusty book; I dragged it out of the wreckage of a project that cost me six months of my life and most of my savings.
The practice started about three years ago. I was trying to pivot after a nasty corporate layoff. I figured, okay, I’ll partner up with a younger guy, fresh out of college, who claimed he had the next big disruption idea in localized logistics. We’ll call him ‘Alex.’ Alex was the absolute textbook definition of this card, and I committed myself to documenting every single one of his behaviors, mostly so I could keep my sanity, and partly so I could predict where the next bomb was going to drop.
The Setup: Observing Pure Potential and Pure Chaos
When I first meticulously documented him, the charm was there. He was sharp, fast-talking, read everything, and could pull up obscure facts on demand. That’s the ‘Swords’ part—the mental quickness. But he was also a ‘Page,’ which means zero actual life experience and the emotional maturity of a moody teenager. I initially committed to logging our interactions daily. I set up a dedicated private journal just for ‘Alex Observations,’ focusing purely on actions, not intentions.
My first big entry, maybe three weeks in, was about how he had convinced us to pivot the entire marketing strategy based on one article he read at 2 AM. He insisted we junked three months of established work immediately. When I pushed back, asking for a long-term analysis, he didn’t have one. He just had the idea. He yelled, called our current plan “stale,” and then immediately calmed down five minutes later, moving on to another topic like the fight never happened.
I realized then: this wasn’t an isolated incident. This was his operating system.
The Detailed Practice: Breaking Down the Traits
I started categorizing his actions into clear behavioral buckets. If you want to know what the Page of Swords person is really like, here is my practice record of their core traits:
- The Interrupter: They cannot bear silence or the smooth flow of an existing conversation. They constantly dart in with half-formed thoughts, often changing the subject completely, just because their brain hit a new link.
- The Know-It-All (But Doesn’t Know Anything): They voraciously consume information but fail to process it deeply. They read the summary, then confidently argue the subject with an expert. They sound smart until you ask them to actually do the thing they just explained.
- The Gossip Monger/Spy: They are always hovering around the edges, listening, observing, and slicing up conversations later. They aren’t malicious, exactly; they just see information as ammunition. Alex would constantly eavesdrop on client calls, then immediately come to me to offer a “critique” of my tone.
- The Starter, Never the Finisher: They get a brilliant idea, launch themselves into it with manic energy for three days, and then get distracted by the next shiny object. We had four half-built apps and seven abandoned marketing campaigns by month four. Every attempt to pin him down failed.
- The Argumentative Distraction: If things get dull, they will manufacture conflict. Not because they hate you, but because the sharp exchange of words is mentally stimulating. I realized Alex would start a petty fight with our contractor just to keep things ‘interesting.’ It was a constant drain, forcing everyone else to mediate his chaos.
The Revelation and Implementation
After six months of meticulously tracking this high-octane nonsense, I was exhausted. I saw that every single time he showed up, he brought a sharp idea but left a trail of emotional and practical wreckage. The practice wasn’t just about observing him; it became about protecting myself. I had to implement strict boundaries.
I started logging my responses to his interruptions. I trained myself to use phrases like, “That’s a fantastic thought, Alex, now let’s finish the task we are currently on.” I learned to document every single decision via email because he would genuinely forget what he committed to ten minutes earlier and then argue you were wrong.
The final straw that ended the partnership, which I also logged, was when he stormed out of a meeting with a potential investor because the investor dared to ask a basic due diligence question he hadn’t prepared for. He called the investor an “unimaginative drone” and killed the deal right there, instantly. The brilliance was there, but the immaturity acted like a brake cable cut with a knife.
The whole experience was a disaster for my wallet, sure, but it was the best crash course in applied psychology and archetypal behavior I could have asked for. When someone asks me what the Page of Swords is like, I don’t give them a textbook definition. I tell them about Alex, the sharp-witted, annoying, and perpetually chaotic human embodiment of great ideas paired with zero follow-through. And that is exactly what the card is: the chaotic promise of something brilliant that often cuts everyone, including themselves, before it can truly grow up.
