The Chariot Demands a Written Apology: My Expert Guide to Steering Your Life Wrong (After Twenty Whole Minutes of Study)
Hello, and welcome to my first-ever column on the Tarot. You might be wondering who I am to be giving advice. Well, I’ll tell you: I bought a deck at a yard sale three hours ago, and I have been studying the cards for exactly twenty minutes. That makes me an expert. I have also spilled tea on the instruction booklet, so I am flying by pure intuition and a vague memory of a movie where a fortune teller had a crystal ball. You are in good hands.
Today, we are talking about The Chariot. This card is very upset with me. Actually, it is upset with you. It just appeared in my spread—I did a “three-card spread,” which means I laid three cards on the rug and my cat sat on one—and the Chariot card was upside down. I think that means it is doing a handstand. It is very dramatic. The Chariot, from what I can tell, is a man in a chariot, and he is pulled by two horses (or sphinxes, depending on the deck). One is black, one is white. I initially thought this was about a bad parking situation, but I have since learned it is about willpower and direction. And the card is demanding a written apology from you for steering your life wrong.
Now, I am not entirely sure how a card can demand an apology. It is made of paper. But it has a very stern expression on its face. It looks like my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Gable, who once made me write “I will not glue my homework to the dog” fifty times. So I take this seriously.
You have been steering your life wrong. I know this because the Chariot told me. It says you have been trying to drive two horses in opposite directions. You want to go to the grocery store, but you also want to go to the moon. You want to eat healthy, but you also want to eat a whole cake. You want to be responsible, but you also want to nap. This is the problem. The Chariot is screaming, “CHOOSE A HORSE, YOU FOOL!” (It knows I am a fool. It is very perceptive.)
So, how do you write an apology to a card? First, you must admit fault. Get a piece of paper. Write: “Dear Chariot, I am sorry for trying to go both ways at once. I have been like a shopping cart with a stuck wheel. I have been zigzagging through life, bumping into doors and apologizing to mailboxes.”
Second, you must explain why you steered wrong. I believe you did it because you thought you could multitask. You thought you could drive the chariot while also reading a book, texting your ex, and cooking soup. You cannot. The Chariot is a vehicle of pure focus. It is not a minivan with a DVD player. You have been treating it like one.
Third, you must promise to change. This is the hardest part. The Chariot does not accept vague promises like “I’ll try harder.” It wants specifics. You must promise to pick one horse. For example: “From now on, I will only steer toward things that make me feel like I am not falling asleep at the wheel. I will stop trying to please everyone. I will stop telling myself I can do it all, because I clearly cannot. I cannot even keep a plant alive, and that plant just needed water.”
Now, I should warn you: after you write this apology, you must read it aloud to the card. I did this. I read my apology to the Chariot, and I felt a strange warmth in my chest. It might have been my lunch, but I think it was the card forgiving me. Or at least tolerating me.
The Chariot is not your enemy. It just wants you to go somewhere. Anywhere. Just pick a direction and go. You cannot win a race if you keep circling the parking lot.
So, write your apology. Put it in an envelope. Address it to “The Chariot, c/o Your Own Heart.” And then, tomorrow, when you wake up, choose one horse. Only one. And drive.