Falling in love

Bad news: I'm supposed to meet the next great love of my life in March.

Bad news: I’m supposed to meet the next great love of my life in March.

At least that’s what the tarot card reader told me on Sunday. I was at a members’ appreciation event at The Porch. They had tea, pastries, and a signup sheet for tarot readings. I drank four cups of Earl Grey, ate five teacakes, and then it was my turn. I walked into the private room, jittery from caffeine and sugar and the looming prospect of facing my future.

I sat down in front of a low table that was draped in a colorful tapestry and dotted with rose quartz. Incense burned nearby. 

“Welcome,” the tarot reader said, shuffling the deck. She looked exactly how you’d expect: willowy and ethereal. Even her voice had a sleepy, dream-like quality that made me feel like I was sinking into a warm bath. “Is there a particular question you’d like to ask to guide our session?”

I believe in tarot the same way I believe in astrology, the Enneagram, ChatGPT, organized religion, and Spotify Wrapped. A healthy balance of skepticism and open-mindedness. I see them mostly as an opportunity for self-reflection.

“Well,” The track lighting above me sent a dazzling spotlight directly into my eyes so that I could barely see the tarot reader across from me, observing me with an equally bright gaze. “I’ve been thinking about where I should focus in 2024.”

‘Thinking’ was an understatement. I am an Olympian-level goal-setter. It’s why New Year’s Day is my favorite holiday. Forget the sparkle and fizz and cold legs of New Year’s Eve. Give me the fresh notebooks, discipline, and intoxicating possibility of January 1st.

I spend each December meticulously mapping out my goals for the next year, planning them down to the minute and milestone. This year, I already had multiple notebook pages dedicated to my plans for 2024: prolific creative output, professional success, and financial prosperity. With sufficient planning and optimization, I intended to strong-arm the future into submission.

The tarot reader nodded, eyes half-closed, then pulled the first card. 

“I know you said you want to think about the future,” she started, laying down the first card. “But there’s a strong truth coming through about your past.”

Ah, great. The past. Always popping up right where I least want to see it.

“You’re experiencing a new clarity about events of your past,” she said. “You’re understanding it in a new way and you’re proclaiming that truth.”

Vague maybe, but not untrue. I’d just finished reading Body Work by Melissa Febos, a book about how writing helps us access new revelations about old experiences. She calls this a “radical returning to the self what it did not know at the time.” Writing memoir is not about transcription, she says, but transformation: we unlock a new understanding of the past as we write about it, and that understanding changes and heals us. As I’ve been writing more recently, it certainly felt that way to me.

I didn’t say any of this though, just nodded vaguely for her to keep going.

We now turned our attention to the future. She drew another card: Queen of Pentacles. “You’ll be at the top of your game next year,” she said. “You’ll be the best version of yourself, having done the inner work and the outer work. You will be at your most healed and whole.”

I silently congratulated myself. This was more like it. Then her face darkened.

“Are you looking for a partner?” 

“No,” I said, maybe too loudly. Nothing could be further from my mind. Dating was something I’d intentionally taken off the table in 2023. I deleted all the apps, left texts on read, and ignored the modern mating call of fire emojis in my DMs. I’d never felt better.

“Well, a partner is coming for you,” She shrugged in apology and began turning more cards, quicker now. I leaned in, distressed. 

She described the person in great detail: what they would be like [REDACTED], how I would meet them [REDACTED], and when it would happen (soon).

This was not what I’d wanted to hear during my reading. I wanted visions of my hugely successful writing career, exotic trips abroad, and impending riches. Yet, once again, I found myself distracted by the promise of romance. 

“You’re not going to like this,” she said, looking at the card in her hand and then laying it down on the table. “This is my card for online dating.”

I groaned.

“This person will be extremely successful,” she continued, laying down The Emperor. “At the height of their career. They’ll be independent, wise, and discerning.”

“Wait, wait,” I stopped her, my hand hovering over the card. Forget the partner stuff, this sounded like what I had listed in the 2024 brainstorm under my own career and financial goals. “Are you sure that one is about some future partner? Couldn’t it maybe be about…me?”

“No,” she said. “It’s not.” I slumped back into my chair. 

The timer went off, indicating the end of our session. She ignored it, placing a final card on the table.

“No, see? This is you.”

On the card, a naked woman with yellow hair kneels by a pond, one foot in the water and the other on the land, a star above her head. The tarot reader gestured at the card and then back at me. The track light overhead was still sending a beam of light directly at my face. My hair, enormous and frizzy from the rain outside, glinted in my periphery. I was fully clothed, but otherwise, I could see the resemblance.

“Blonde and shining,” she said. “You are The Star.” 

Before she could explain further, she finally seemed to realize our time was up and started clearing the cards off the table for her next session. As I was standing to leave, she said, “You should do some more research on The Star.” I thanked her, said goodbye to everyone, and pocketed another teacake on my way out.

When I got home, I asked ChatGPT about The Star, which is probably the worst possible way to engage with the spirit world. Here’s what it said:

When the Star card appears, you are likely to find yourself feeling inspired. It often appears after a difficult time, indicating a period of renewal and healing. It's associated with creativity and spiritual insight. The Star encourages you to trust in a bigger picture, though you cannot see it, and stay open to new ideas and growth. When it appears in a reading, it's a positive sign, pointing towards inner clarity and a brighter future.

Was the universe telling me to lay down the notebook pages, set aside the goal-setting, and simply remain open to whatever unfolds in the new year? Insights about the past, creative and spiritual growth, even—god forbid—love?

Here’s what I know: absolutely none of the best things in my life have happened because I engineered them. Writing has shown me that. In fact, most often, I’ve fought tooth and nail against the changes that have brought me the most happiness.

So perhaps in 2024, I will hold things with a looser grip. I will release the need to control and coordinate everything. And in March, if I do meet a [REDACTED] who is [REDACTED] with a winning sense of [REDACTED] and a surprising amount of [REDACTED]—just like the tarot reader said—maybe I’ll be open to that too.

I’m definitely not getting back on the apps though.

Love,

Lane 💋

A quick note

You may notice some changes to the newsletter this month! A new name (Second Rodeo 🤠) to better reflect the things I’m writing about here, and a slightly shorter format for a quicker writing (and reading) experience!

I’m also going to be gating previous posts because weird dudes on Linkedin keep referencing them in their cold sales emails. 🙃 Don’t worry though—free subscribers still get every edition delivered straight to their inbox, to cherish and re-read in perpetuity. My two paid subscribers (my best friend and her mom) will also get access to the entire archive and a forthcoming rambling podcast.