It Is Written in the Stairs

Fate, fortune, and a diamond duck brooch.

A long time ago, in what feels like another lifetime, I met with a psychic at a night market in Thailand.

I was twenty-three and lost, physically and metaphorically. I’d spent the evening wandering through a massive urban catacomb searching for my friends, and the better part of a year living halfway across the world searching for myself. So far, I’d gone in circles and found neither. When I encountered a stall with a sign promising answers, it was an easy sell.

The psychic sat tucked behind a curtain, at a small card table adorned with a floral scarf. He wore a wide grin and a bejeweled duck brooch pinned to the lapel of a brocade jacket. It was just quirky enough that I instantly adored him.

His duck was a bit sassier than this one, but you get the idea.

I settled into a white plastic folding chair that squeaked when I sat. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked, half out of friendliness and half trying to assess his legitimacy.

“My whole life,” he said. “The gift was passed down from my mother, passed down from my grandmother before her.” As good an answer as any.

He didn’t consult cards or tea leaves or a crystal ball. He didn’t study my palms or even hold them. He looked me directly in the eye — in a way that managed to feel more comforting than creepy — and told me what he saw.

As he shared my fortune, he scribbled the details on a sheet of thin, white paper, using one of those four-button mechanical pens that lets you alternate between colors. One key word went down in red ink, the next in green, the next in blue. My haphazard, technicolor future.

In the center of the page, he drew an image of a stick figure standing at the bottom of a staircase.

“This is you,” he said, indicating the figure. “Progress is like this,” he traced the pen up the staircase, stopping on each level, a remarkably slow ascent.

“You think it’s possible to go from here,” he pointed to the lowest step, “to here,” he pointed to the highest step. “But that’s not how it works.”

This wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear.

At the time, I was very concerned with “progress,” in the measurable, cultural striving sense. Collecting a regular paycheck. Building a resumé. Scaling a ladder.

Living in Thailand had never been part of the plan, but when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t say no. I hadn’t studied abroad in school, had barely traveled anywhere. I sensed, correctly, that such a stint would be hard to pull off at another chapter, and I might as well jump.

I’d packed light, not counting the heavy volumes I brought to study for the LSAT and the GRE, trying to cover my bases. I’d brought another book, too.

It was 2007, during the very long moment when Eat Pray Love dominated the bestseller list. You couldn’t pass a bookstore without seeing it plastered in the windows, couldn’t take public transit without spying multiple people immersed in its pages.

Of course, I’d read it, too. Perhaps even twice by this point. And like so many others, it spoke to me.

I was struggling to understand who I was, where I was headed, why I was on this planet — which, might I add, are very normal questions for a human person, especially at twenty-three. But I felt defective for wondering. Maybe, I reasoned, the answer was waiting for me halfway around the world. Perhaps even at this psychic’s table.

“Change is gradual,” he concluded, handing me the sheet of paper, now covered in his scrawl. “And you’re going to have to make a lot of stops in between.”

Despite his confident delivery (and my relative desperation for answers), I didn’t pay his predictions much mind.

The truth was, I wanted to be entertained — uplifted, even — and instead I’d been frightened. He told me I would not marry the man I was currently with, nor would I marry for at least another decade. He said I would eventually do the kind of work that I wanted, but that it would take nearly as long. Success would come, but not quickly. There would be stumbling blocks, learning curves… stairs.

I wasn’t pleased with my fortune. I wanted everything, tied in a bow, as soon as humanly possible.

Nonetheless, I kept the piece of paper, safely tucked inside a book. And though I took his words with a hefty amount of skepticism, I found myself consulting them all the same. I studied that page in the weeks and months to come, as though the details might knit themselves together to reveal my place in the great tapestry of what is meant to be.

Fifteen years later, the truth is plain as day. He was right about all of it.

Exhibit A.

Looking back on that time, none of it feels familiar — neither the experience nor the person who had it. I’d hoped my time abroad might yield answers. As it turns out, it did and it didn’t.

Over that year, I wrote a novel — a terribly green coming-of-age thing that went right into the drawer upon my return, where it remains to this day. But it got me thinking about writing, about publishing, about pursuing an editorial career path. It made me question everything I thought I wanted and reexamine what I actually did. I returned without my massive LSAT and GRE study books and with a new aim.

To write it that way makes it sound like I had an epiphany. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, it was more of a slow realization, unraveling into a tidal of questions. It’s lasted fifteen years and counting.

I’ve never understood how to pace myself, whether in work or love or life. I tend to vacillate between extremes, a card-carrying member of the sprint-walk-sprint-walk approach to being. Distance running does not come easily to me — it feels about as natural as a platypus trying to do ballet. But I love it all the same, for how it physically forces a skill I have such a hard time with.

It’s been years since I’ve thought about the psychic. But lately, his words have been playing in my ear. He was accurate, of course, if not in his predictions then certainly in his advice.

The thing about a staircase is that it’s not just about progress, but about perspective. As you make a slow ascent, every step affords you a slightly different view, another vantage point where more becomes visible.

Some steps happen gradually. Some are hard-won. Some steps you need to visit over and over. But when you reach the top of the staircase (or at least a higher flight), you discover the things that seemed so important at the bottom — huge, insurmountable, worthy of losing much sleep over — have faded with time. The steps you thought you’d never tackle recede into the distance.

And sometimes you see, with unexpected clarity, how they all connect.

Much to my chagrin, that chapter of my life did not usher in a whole new way of being. What it did was something I couldn’t appreciate until now.

It deposited me at the bottom of a staircase. I’ve been climbing ever since.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Serpentfire Tarot by Devany Amber Wolfe

This week’s card is the King of Wands. Throughout this reading, I’ll be using he/him pronouns in reference to the character of the king. But the energy of this card is applicable to all.

You know those people who suddenly decide they’re going to do something and then, like a Nike ad, JUST DO IT? “I’m going to learn to speak French,” they say, or “I want to open a shop,” or “I’m going to move to New Zealand to learn about organic farming.”

Then you blink, and suddenly there they are — farming or merchandising or fluently chatting away, while you’re still struggling to cross off a to-do list item that’s been haunting you since last year.

Or perhaps you are one of those Just Do It people, in which case, let’s talk! I want to know your secrets. Because for so many of us, the gap between the idea and the realization of it feels like a widening chasm.

A master at alchemizing energy into action, The King of Wands loves to get shit done. To-do list’s, projects, founding companies, scaling mountains — there’s nothing he won’t attempt to tackle. What’s more, he’s exceptionally good at it.

For regular mortals, this approach can seem exhausting. Moreover, it can seem impossible. (Like when you’re staring down a task so overwhelming your only reaction is to erupt in nervous laughter and then take a nap.)

The King of Wands does not get bogged down by the process. He simply puts one foot in front of the other and trusts that when he looks up, he’s going to be well on his way.

How does he do it? Is he especially good at breaking things down into bite-sized tasks? Is he exceptionally, unshakably confident? Whatever it is, he’s probably spoken about it on a dozen or so podcasts. (Maybe even written about it in a bestselling book or three.) But that’s the curious thing about outliers — even with step-by-step instructions, others don’t seem to have the same results.

So instead of offering up a how-to tutorial, the king is providing a list of things he has never, ever said:

“I have no idea how to begin!”
“But I’m too old!”
“I don’t have the right experience.”
“What if I fail?”
“But I’m tired.”
“What if I put all this effort in and find it was for nothing?”

“So?” says the king, when faced with any of these questions. (The king pays absolutely no mind to excuses.)

When it comes to getting stuff done, particularly the things that both exhilarate and frighten us, the king has just one piece of advice:

The doing is the reward.

Whether you’re chasing your dream, caring for another person, trying to bring about change in the world, or just trying to make it through the day, the doing is what matters.

The outcome — whether it “works,” whether it’s well-received, whether it’s met with a thank you — isn’t up to you. Yes, there are times when you need to pay some mind to the results. But your mission, should you wish to accept it, is simply to do.

Just for fun, The King of Wands invites you to sit down and fill one page writing about a dream of yours — the first thing that comes to mind that makes you feel interested or excited. It should be stream-of-consciousness — don’t worry about what comes out, or how it sounds — and ideally written by hand.

Once you’ve done it, ask yourself: Did you know you had this interest? Is it a surprise in any way? Is it something you’d like to pursue?

(If you’re really up for a challenge, try this practice every day this week. By the end of the week, you’ll have a collection of ideas.)

Before you let yourself get carried away with excuses, try to find a way to incorporate some element of this dream into your life, however small.

And as you do, remember: This is the reward.

---

Thank you so much for being here!

If you enjoyed this letter and would like to receive future installments, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.