You know, everyone, absolutely everyone, when they get a tarot reading, they always wanna know one thing: “When?” Doesn’t matter what the question is, doesn’t matter what the cards say, it always boils down to “But when will it happen?” And let me tell you, that “when” question, especially with certain cards, can really mess with your head. For me, the Seven of Pentacles, man, that card used to drive me absolutely nuts with the “when” part.
I mean, you look at the Seven of Pentacles, right? Guy’s standing there, leaning on his hoe, looking at his plants. He’s put in the work. He’s invested his time, his sweat, his energy. He’s waiting for the harvest. Common sense tells you, it’s about patience, about long-term investment, about things growing slowly. But that nagging “when” still hangs in the air. Is it next week? Next month? Next year? Is he just gonna stand there forever?
This whole thing really smacked me in the face a few years back. See, I got this idea, right? Totally out of the blue. I wanted to start growing my own specific kind of herbs. Not just a few for cooking, but a whole patch, thinking maybe I could even sell some at the local farmer’s market, just as a side thing. I did my research, read a ton of blogs, watched countless YouTube videos on soil types, sunlight, watering schedules, all that jazz. I went all in. Bought the good seeds, prepared the soil like it was sacred ground. I was pumped, man.
Early on, when I was just getting everything set up, I did a quick little spread for myself, just to see what the vibe was for this new venture. And bam, there it was, right in the center: Seven of Pentacles. I looked at it, nodded, thinking, “Yeah, I get it. It’s gonna take some time. Patience, grasshopper.” But in my head, I was still picturing a nice, neat timeline. Like, “okay, three months for germination, another four for growth, then harvest in, say, eight months total.” I had my little mental calendar marked.
So, I started digging. Literally. I spent weeks just tilling the soil, adding compost, setting up a proper irrigation system. My hands were rough, my back ached, but I was motivated. Planted those tiny seeds with such care, talked to them like they were my babies. Every single morning, first thing, I’d be out there checking on them. Watering, checking for weeds, measuring the sunlight. And you know what? Nothing. For weeks. Then months.
I’d see tiny sprouts, then they’d just… sit there. Or worse, whither. I’d pull the Seven of Pentacles again and again, thinking, “Okay, what am I missing? What’s the timing? Is it even going to happen?” That card, instead of offering comfort, just felt like it was teasing me. It shows a guy who’s waiting. But the question is, for how long? And is he waiting for a sure thing, or just staring at a potential failure?
I started to get really frustrated. Doubt crept in like a nasty vine. I questioned everything: my soil, my watering, my choice of herbs, even my sanity. My little dream of selling at the market started to feel like a fool’s errand. I was pouring so much effort, so much time, so much of my own money into this, and for what? A patch of barely green dirt. I was on the verge of just ripping everything out, calling it quits, and blaming the tarot for not giving me a clearer “when.”
Then one afternoon, as I was out there, feeling completely defeated, I noticed something. A new, tiny shoot. Not from the original batch of seeds, but a volunteer, strong and green, pushing through the soil in a spot I hadn’t even actively planted. It wasn’t the big, luscious plant I was hoping for, but it was growth. And it was happening totally on its own schedule, not mine. Not the seed packet’s schedule. Not my mental calendar’s schedule. Just… nature’s schedule.
That little shoot, man, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The Seven of Pentacles isn’t about giving you a specific date or a rigid timeline. It’s about the process itself. It’s about the effort you put in, the continuous tending, and understanding that the “time frame” isn’t a fixed clock. It’s an organic rhythm. It’s “when it’s ready,” not “when you are ready for it to be ready.” It’s about assessing your investment, yes, but also accepting that some things just take their sweet, unpredictable time.
My herbs eventually grew. Not all of them, not exactly as I planned, and certainly not on the schedule I envisioned. The harvest came, but it was much later than my initial eight-month projection. And you know what? It was sweeter, because I learned to stop asking “when” and started appreciating the “how.” How the soil works, how patience really feels in your bones, how growth happens in its own mysterious ways. So now, when the Seven of Pentacles pops up in a reading, I don’t look for a calendar date anymore. I look for the commitment, the continued effort, and the gentle reminder that some harvests just need more seasons than you expect.
