My kids were not exactly thrilled when they discovered I visited a tarot card reader. Being the logical thinkers they are, they quickly shared statistics about coincidences and the reasons behind anomalies. I had tried to keep my little escapade a secret, sneaking through our quaint town, but fate had other plans, and I soon had to come clean.
To understand my fascination, let’s rewind a bit. Ever since I learned to read, I was drawn to that little, weathered house on the hill with the sign reading “Fortunes Told.” It always caught my eye during our drives—my mom often took the shortcut to dodge the busy traffic light in town.
And then there were the County Farmers’ Fair days. I would spot the fortune-telling booth right next to the pie stand, yet I understood that asking my parents about it was off-limits, even though I was just a curtain away from my destiny. I often paused, stealing glances at the woman inside who held the promise of revealing my future, while my mom pulled me toward the colorful handmade quilts. “Aren’t they lovely?” she’d say, but I was consumed with thoughts of the fortune teller.
Over time, I recognized that while there were places to seek answers, I was stuck in a practical household where my parents preferred canning vegetables over contemplating the mysteries of life. I was alone in my dreams of discovering what lay beyond the mundane.
Fast forward to my teenage years when I finally mustered the courage to explore. With a few bucks in my pocket and some friends by my side, I ventured into a palm reader’s booth on the boardwalk. As I placed my hand in hers, my heart raced. “Will I live a long life?” I wondered. As she traced my lines, I felt a thrill. I took notes and stashed them away, as if they were a shield against life’s uncertainties. She assured me I’d reach a ripe old age, and for a while, that was enough.
But as the years rolled on, I found myself just as perplexed by life’s unpredictability. I had naively thought that once I had answers about love and family, I would find peace. Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Recently, while strolling with a friend who shares my whimsical belief in cosmic coincidences, she mentioned that our local tarot card reader was back in town. Suddenly, I felt an irresistible urge to seek guidance for my current dilemmas. I needed clarity about my purpose in this brief life.
I made my appointment, cleverly marking it with initials on our family calendar to avoid teasing. On the day of the session, I parked across the street and noticed a man in a suit exiting the reader’s office. Did this make my visit more legitimate? Perhaps, but it also bothered me that I felt the need for validation.
Sitting across from the reader, a young man with delicate features, I shuffled the cards, my pulse racing. He encouraged me to record our session—another sign of legitimacy I could cite if my kids ever found out. When he invited questions, I mustered the courage to ask what my life’s purpose might be. I was ready for answers.
He spoke of the moon and how this was a fortuitous moment to seek the universe’s guidance. My practical side kicked in, and I nervously asked him how to phrase my requests. His calm demeanor reassured me as he offered precise wording.
Leaving the session, I felt empowered and ready. I crafted my intentions—seven of them, to be exact, just as he had advised. I decided to type them up to avoid any confusion.
One day, while holding my neatly typed list, my youngest barged into my room, snatched it from my hands, and began reading it aloud. I snatched it back, crumpling it in my grip as laughter erupted. The rest of the kids soon joined in, demanding to know what I had been up to, and of course, I didn’t receive any support. I closed the door to shield my secret.
Eventually, I decided to display my list on my dresser, the spot I deemed closest to the universe. I began reviewing it daily, living with more intention. Fast forward a week, and something incredible happened—something that felt like it had been foretold. I couldn’t help but brag to my kids.
I want them to believe there’s a sprinkle of magic in the world, or at the very least, that there’s something special about the moment we express our desires to the universe. Perhaps when we align our deepest wishes with our actions, doors start to open. Pragmatists might argue that any changes are due to my own determination, and they could be right. But isn’t it nice to wonder?
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Summary
In this heartwarming reflection, Emma Rivers shares her journey of embracing the mystical aspects of life, including her recent visit to a tarot card reader. Despite the skepticism of her children, she finds comfort in the idea that expressing intentions to the universe can lead to meaningful changes. Through her experiences, she hopes to inspire her kids to recognize the magic that can exist when we openly pursue our dreams and desires.