Man, sometimes a card just keeps popping up, right? For me, lately, it’s been the Six of Swords. Every time I did a quick spread for myself, or even just shuffled and a card jumped out, there it was. Felt like the universe was really trying to tell me something, and honestly, for a while, I was just scratching my head, getting the usual textbook answer, but it never quite clicked.
I mean, you look at it, and yeah, it’s pretty clear visually – someone’s going somewhere. There’s a boat, a calm body of water, a figure hunched, maybe sad, maybe just tired, with a kid beside them, and those six swords stuck upright in the boat. The land they’re leaving behind looks a bit rough, and the water ahead seems calmer. Standard stuff, right? Moving on, leaving trouble behind, seeking calmer waters. I got that much. But it felt… sterile. Didn’t hit me in the gut.
Then, about a month ago, things at work just started feeling heavier than usual. Not bad, not outright toxic, just… stagnant. Like I was pulling a boat filled with bricks, upstream, in treacle. Every day was a drag. I’d wake up, feel that familiar knot in my stomach, and just dread the whole thing. I’ve been in that gig for years, built up a lot of stuff there, good relationships, familiar routines. It was comfortable, even if it was slowly draining me dry. It was my harbor, but a harbor that was getting smaller and smaller, almost trapping me.
Hitting the Wall and Seeing the Truth
That feeling of just hitting a wall, it kept building. One evening, after another particularly soul-crushing day of emails and meetings that went nowhere, I just sat down with my deck. I shuffled, not even asking a question, just wanting to feel something. And boom, the Six of Swords jumped out again. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just a picture anymore; it was a mirror.
I looked at that figure in the boat, shrouded, maybe a bit defeated, but definitely moving. I saw the six swords, and for the first time, they weren’t just “troubles” or “mental burdens.” They were the things I’d spent so long building, the skills I’d honed, the projects I’d poured my heart into. They were part of me, my history, and I was taking them with me. Not leaving them behind like unwanted baggage, but bringing them along, knowing they were now part of what I was carrying into whatever came next.
That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t just about leaving a bad situation. This was about transition. And sometimes, transition feels heavy. It feels a bit sad, even if you know it’s for the best. You’re not celebrating, you’re just… moving. With purpose, yes, but often with a quiet sense of loss for what’s being left behind, even if it wasn’t serving you anymore.
- I started looking at job boards, just casually at first.
- I talked to a friend who had made a big career leap recently.
- I began tidying up my resume, something I hadn’t touched in ages.
Each little step felt like putting one foot in that boat. Tentative. Unsure. But I was doing it. I was packing up my “swords” – my experiences, my expertise, my learned lessons – and preparing to take them on this quiet voyage.
The Act of Sailing Away
The decision to actually pull the trigger, to send out applications, to really commit to looking for something new, wasn’t easy. It involved a lot of late-night thinking, a lot of conversations with my partner, weighing pros and cons until my head spun. It felt like pushing that boat off the shore. There’s friction, there’s resistance from the familiar mud of the bank. And there’s that moment when you’re just floating, not quite sure where the current is taking you.
I remember one morning, after finally sending off a pretty serious application, I woke up and felt this weird mix of anxiety and incredible lightness. It was like I had been holding my breath for months, and I finally let it out. I wasn’t at the “calm waters” yet, not by a long shot. But I was in the middle of the river. The old shore was receding, and the new one wasn’t visible yet. It was just water, and me, and my boat, and my swords.
That’s what this card truly started to mean to me: the act of silent departure, the necessity of carrying your past lessons (your swords) with you, and the acceptance of the in-between journey. It’s not always dramatic or celebratory. Sometimes, it’s just about putting your head down, pushing off, and letting the current guide you towards what’s next, even if you can’t quite see it yet. It’s the quiet courage of moving forward when staying put would be worse.
And you know what? Since embracing that meaning, since actually doing the work of leaving and transitioning, I’ve seen the Six of Swords less often. Or maybe, when I do see it, I nod, like an old friend. Like, “Yep, still on the journey, still figuring it out, but I’m moving.” It’s no longer a question; it’s a confirmation. And that, my friends, is a pretty powerful feeling.
