Man, I was so fed up with everything lately. You know the drill, projects dragging, clients being a nightmare, just general life fatigue. I needed a distraction that wasn’t another damn Netflix series. So, I figured, why not try that old wives’ tale stuff—reading cards with a regular deck? Not Tarot, none of that fancy, expensive junk. Just the grubby, cheap deck I found shoved in a drawer.
My Messy Start: Grabbing the Deck and Facing the Grind
The first thing I did was grab that deck. That was Step 1, easy enough. It was a standard, slightly sticky Bicycle deck. Nothing special, just 52 cards and the two Jokers I ripped right out because, honestly, who needs them?
Then came Step 2, and this is where it felt like homework: learning what the hell each card meant. I’m not going to lie, I just searched for the most basic, dumbed-down list and wrote it all out on a sheet of scrap paper. It felt like trying to memorize a shopping list for a language I didn’t speak.
- Hearts: Supposedly all about relationships and emotions. Easy.
- Diamonds: Money, career, the stuff I was already worried about. Makes sense.
- Clubs: Action, growth, sometimes conflict. Okay, whatever.
- Spades: The bad news brigade. Stress, endings, loss. Great.
The numbers were even worse. Aces are beginnings, tens are completion, fives are conflict. I spent a whole afternoon just forcing this stuff into my brain. At this stage, I was totally skeptical. It felt as reliable as reading tea leaves after chugging down the kettle.
The Awkward Ritual: Making it Real (Or Trying To)
Step 3 was all about shuffling and focusing. This felt the most ridiculous. I’d stand there, awkwardly shuffling, trying to ‘clear my mind.’ I looked like a kid trying to sneak a snack while Mom wasn’t looking. My first attempts were awful, just fast, chaotic shuffles like I was playing poker. No focus at all. The cards just looked like paper.
It was only when I decided to actually stop screwing around—to mimic the serious tone I’d seen in some old video—that I actually made progress. I slowed down. I told myself, “If you’re going to do this, at least commit to the bit.” That’s when the focus started to work. I’d pick a specific, nagging problem. In my case, it was this ridiculous argument I’d had with an old business partner about a really minor fee. I just kept that one thing in my head, grinding it down to a single thought while I shuffled.
Then I just cut the deck and slapped it down on the table. Done. That felt better than the trying-to-be-spiritual nonsense.
The First Layouts: Total Bullsht Followed by a Glitch
Step 4 was the layout. I wasn’t doing any fancy Celtic Cross. I went for the absolute simplest thing: The Three-Card Spread: Past, Present, Future. Simple, direct. I asked my question about that damn business partner dispute, hoping for a magic answer.
My first read was:
- Past: 9 of Spades (Stress/Anxiety)
- Present: 5 of Clubs (Conflict)
- Future: 3 of Diamonds (Minor Money Talk)
Seriously? That told me absolutely nothing. The past was stressful, the present is a conflict, and the future is about money. No kidding. That’s just called life. I threw the cards back in the box, frustrated. This thing was a complete waste of time. Just like that time I tried to learn juggling.
But the cards kept nagging at me. So, the next day, I picked them up again. I asked a different question: “What should I actually do about this fee?”
This time the cards were different. I pulled:
- Past: Ace of Hearts (New Feeling/Relationship Beginning)
- Present: King of Clubs (Someone in Charge/Taking Control)
- Future: 7 of Diamonds (Small Gain/Reassessment)
Now, this is where Step 5 kicked in: Trusting the Gut (Ignoring the Book). The Ace of Hearts in the past, when I focused on the argument, didn’t mean a new relationship. It suddenly hit me: it meant the reason for the fight was that we had started our partnership with so much enthusiasm and high hopes (Ace of Hearts) that the fall-out over something stupid felt extra bad. The King of Clubs in the Present wasn’t some boss; it was the urge to stop asking and just tell him what I was going to do. The 7 of Diamonds felt like a small win, not a huge payout, but a necessary closure.
I realized the breakthrough isn’t in memorizing the suit meanings. The breakthrough is looking at the card, remembering the feeling of the suit, and then letting your specific, personal context slam into it. The cards don’t tell you the future; they just make you actually think about what you already know but are ignoring.
I ended up calling the guy, not fighting, but just stating my final position, short and sweet, like a King of Clubs telling someone to wrap it up. And guess what? It worked. We both got off the phone faster and the small fee was sorted. Not magic, just a forced moment of clarity brought on by a few pieces of pasteboard.
So yeah, grab a deck. The 5 steps are useful, but only the last one—trusting the rough, ugly connection you make—is the thing that actually pays off.
