Okay, so, the Seven of Swords. Man, that card always throws a bit of a shadow, doesn’t it? For the longest time, I just figured it was about some shady character, someone else being sneaky, you know? Like, “watch your back,” kind of stuff. But then, life decided to give me a personal masterclass on exactly what that darned card really means, and let me tell you, it wasn’t about someone else at all.
There was this period, not too long ago, where I got myself into a bit of a pickle. Had this huge project dumped on my lap at work. And I mean huge. Like, “climb Mount Everest blindfolded” huge. The deadlines? Brutal. The expectations? Sky-high. And me? I was just… swamped. Drowning in the details, in the sheer volume of stuff that needed doing. Every evening, I’d stare at my screen, mind just numb, wondering how in the hell I was gonna pull it all off.
That’s when the little devil on my shoulder started whispering. You know the one. The voice that says, “Hey, maybe you don’t really need to do all of it. Who’s gonna know? Just make it look good, gloss over the tricky bits, move some things around. Nobody’s gonna check every single line, right?” And for a minute there, maybe more than a minute, I listened. I bought into it, hook, line, and sinker.
I started planning my escape route. Not from the project itself, but from the full effort it demanded. My plan was to strategize, to cleverly omit some of the more tedious, less visible parts. I went through and earmarked sections where I thought I could just… fudge it. Make it appear completed, without actually putting in the full grind. It felt like I was piecing together a clever little heist, in a strange way. Just gotta grab what I need, and slip away unnoticed. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, just trying to survive my own mess.
So, I buckled down, not to do the work properly, but to make it look proper. I was rearranging files, crafting summaries that hinted at deeper analysis without actually providing it, making sure all the surface-level stuff was flawless. It was a weird kind of effort, actually. I put in a lot of time, just not on the core, honest work. And as I was doing it, there was this strange buzz, this feeling like I was getting away with something. A little thrill of outsmarting the system, or at least, my own overwhelming workload. I genuinely thought I was being smart, being resourceful.
Then came the presentation. My stomach was doing flip-flops the whole day leading up to it. I tried to play it cool, but inside, I was a wreck. Had my spiel ready, tried to sound confident, but every time someone asked a slightly probing question, my heart would just jump into my throat. It was like living a lie, every single minute. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, even though the room was cool. I kept thinking, “Just get through it. Just get through it.”
And I did. Mostly. No one called me out explicitly. No one said, “You totally phoney-baloney-ed that section!” But there were comments. Little nudges. “Hmm, this part feels a little… thin,” someone remarked. Another asked, “Could you just elaborate a bit more on how you arrived at this conclusion? It’s not entirely clear from the summary.” My carefully constructed house of cards felt like it was wobbling hard. I deflected, I gave vague answers, I promised “follow-up details.”
That night, I barely slept. The sheer stress of almost being exposed, the sickening feeling of having to scramble to actually do the work I’d tried to skip, it was suffocating. I spent the next few days in a frantic scramble, truly finishing those sections, tightening up the loose ends, pulling all-nighters to actually deliver what I’d merely promised. And the whole time, I was just kicking myself. That “shortcut” had cost me more stress, more time, and way more effort than if I had just done the damn thing right from the start.
That’s when the Seven of Swords stopped being this abstract idea about some mythical thief and became painfully real. It wasn’t about someone else stealing something from me; it was about me trying to steal time, trying to steal effort, trying to get away with less than I should have given. And the price for that little bit of trickery? It was my peace of mind, my sleep, and ultimately, even more hard work than I’d originally faced. The card, to me, is now a warning about those internal temptations to sneak away, to avoid responsibility, to think you can outsmart the process. It’s a reminder that those little deceptions, even if they’re just with yourself, tend to have a way of catching up, and making you pay double for your supposed cleverness.
So yeah, every time I pull that card now, I don’t just see a guy with a bunch of swords walking away. I see that feeling in my gut, that cold dread, and the messy clean-up that inevitably follows when you try to pull a fast one. It’s a gut check, every single time.
