I was only 12 years old when my fate was sealed forever. Under darkened rouge sheets, I eagerly awaited in a tiny blue desk chair while a volunteer mom played fortune teller at the esteemed middle school carnival.
She intensely examined my palm line, dragging her pointer finger diagonally across until abruptly stopping halfway.
“Your life line stops short,” she said. Never had I felt such panic. “Or, maybe it doesn’t. I can’t tell if it picks back up or not.”
Great! Maybe I was destined to join the 27 Club; then again, maybe I wasn’t. If my volunteer fortune teller couldn’t concretely determine just how long I had left, it was probably best to assume the worst.
Then came the woman’s gasp.
“Oh my, this says you’ll be married quite young, definitely by 20!”
Or at least something along those lines. It’s a bit hazy, seeing as I got caught up in the thrill of telling my mother that she would have a child bride for a first born. My teenage years were simply bound for a thrilling high school sweetheart love that would propel me into an impossibly short life, and a whirlwind of romance was certain to find me sooner rather than later.
Except, I’m now 20. My destined marriage is nowhere to be found, and I’m left thinking about how I’ve shattered that image my 12-year-old self thought was our future.
Just recently, I recounted this story in a crystal shop run by a man who offered tarot and palm readings, shadow work guidance or anything remotely related. He abruptly stopped my woe-is-me act with a monologue — sorry, dear reader, I won’t be recounting this word for word, much as I’m sure you’d be enthralled — that ended with his free advice to never get caught up in a fortune.
Quite shocked to hear this man’s transparent take on his own line of work, I was not oblivious to the ulterior motive behind his condescending decree that a new fortune was in my best interest to fix the past fortune teller’s mistakes. However, there was still an underlying expectation that I would sign up for a session with him to help cleanse and realign my chakras to fit into the future he could see.
Now, my issue with fortune tellers — as many cynics would say — is that they leech onto the overarching human experience of love that could be applied to anyone and maybe an overly specific detail or two that places a heavy weight on your shoulders. Lured in with a promise of a more secure future, you leave $50 lighter and emotionally heavier, a new worry line etched across your forehead because you found out that if you don’t find the love of your life in a blue shirt by Tuesday, you’re bound to become a spinster.
Seriously, don’t even bother to look at anyone not in blue.
When Valentine’s Day rolls around, it may be tempting to pay an Etsy witch for a love spell, but forewarning, it won’t cure your empty heart.
I support manifestations and prayer, but those are free for good reason — let’s not forget about everyone’s issues with the Catholic Church’s price for indulgences. When a moment of silence is taken to reflect on your life, followed by a self-driven vision for the future, you should do yourself a favor by looking inward toward what you want to see differently.
If you so need the outside voices, though, I encourage you to find thoughtful — and free — advice from the people you surround yourself with instead. A carefully folded fortune teller game with friends will likely lead to better insight, as they understand your life more than anyone who may or may not possess a third eye ever could, which in turn presents the opportunity for a more meaningful conversation that catalyzes a well-crafted plan for the future.
There’s something so deeply intimate about divulging our secrets to each other on couches as we laugh and create elaborate plans to secure the first date. Liveliness overtakes the room as the walls bear witness to our hopes and fears that may one day come true, except it’s not solely defined by a person with a crystal ball.
This energy is found within our connections to each other.
The innate experience of conversation is completely free of charge; if you need a stranger for advice, I must remind you that, technically, tarot readings traditionally cost nothing since they supposedly naturally find their way to you if the energy of the universe determines you need to hear them.
Regrettably, these connections that we seek may be artificially created with a monetary incentive — for understandable reasons. In a time when headlines shower us with the misfortune of the struggling job market and varying state responses to ICE raids, perhaps this is simply a reaction to the void of hope that plagues the United States. Intertwined with our desire for a stable future, engaging in a basic shared human connection to put our worries at ease may be a way out.
Sometimes, though, it’s just quicker and easier to pay someone for that clarity anyway.
It’s not wrong to want the thrill of a fortune to drain out the news — the appointment is an escape to focus on your own problems in life. However, when a person’s attention is taken advantage of to play on the insecurities of their future for another person’s monetary profit, the heart of the fortune has been misconstrued and no longer exists as a means of consolation.
In this sense, you have become a mere paying customer, and while I would like to think these fortune tellers are humans, too, that sympathize with their clients, this exchange is purely transactional.
A side quest to have someone read your tarot may sound like the perfect anti-date for Valentine’s Day, but heed my warning: You will find much more solace with your other single friends, debriefing every moment that brought you together on a day of capitalistic faux love, than seated across from someone eating away at your pocket as they ask for five more dollars to reveal the first letter of your true love’s name.
Thea Findlay is a communication junior and opinion writer for The Battalion.
