I discovered tarot during one of the hardest periods of my life. After a devastating breakup and having to part ways with my therapist, I didn’t have the energy to search for someone new to talk to. One evening, I glanced at my bookshelf and saw a tarot deck I’d owned for over a decade. I’d opened it maybe once in all the years I had it because I didn’t know what I was looking at, nor was I particularly motivated to learn; I have always been more predisposed toward science and empiricism than woo. I don’t know what led me to reach for it then, but when I did, the art is what made it click. Tarot is a form of visual communication, using drawings and symbols to depict archetypal experiences through the unique lens of each artist’s subjective interpretation of the human condition. I found myself conversing with the tarot deck, asking it questions I might direct toward a therapist, and noticing how adroitly the tarot illuminated my shadows. I quickly acquired a few more decks. What fascinated me most was comparing them — card by card and suit by suit — to one another, studying how each artist interpreted the same archetypal experience in their own way. The variations offered a window into the artist’s subconscious, revealing layers of meaning in the smallest details. Tarot quickly became a new way for me to explore the emotions and revelations that follow a breakup, helping me make sense of my complex inner world in a way that felt insightful, personal, and unexpectedly rigorous. Noticing that these archetypes spoke to universal, age-old experiences that all humans share made my own pain feel less isolating. What I was going through — loss, uncertainty, and the need for healing — was common enough to be immortalized in a 78-card system whose history spanned centuries and whose footprint spanned cultures. Realizing that my struggles were part of a shared narrative — even a common one! — brought a soothing sense of comfort and connection in a time when I felt so alone. Like I was the only one who had ever failed. From January, when I first leafed through that old deck, to February, when I was fully off-book and fluent, was a zero-to-sixty experience of the best kind of rabbit hole. Tarot had everything that appeals to the inveterate nerd in me: beautiful art, a complex structure, inherent ambiguity, and a rich history that weaves together culture, politics, mythology, religion, and esotericism, topics that can teach us so much about our world. I did not choose tarot. The tarot chose me and speaks through me — and by May I was so comfortable with its language that I was reading for crowds at a festival. Today, I’m not only a tarot reader but a tarot collector, with several hundred decks (many of which are quite rare) that represent as many art styles as points of view into who we are as a species. The part of my identity that reads tarot seems to juxtapose my professional life in technology and policy, but it’s actually an extension of how I think about complexity and problem-solving. In my career, I constantly navigate interdependent problems that require critical thinking and an appreciation of nuance. Tarot offers a similar challenge: decoding signs and symbols to uncover deeper truths. Both fields demand more than just logic; they require intuition, pattern recognition, and a willingness to embrace uncertainty to find meaningful insights. For me, tarot is not a magic key to the future. Rather, it is a quiet, gentle tool for reflection and introspection. It’s a way to look at life’s challenges from different perspectives, using symbolism to navigate the intricacies of our thoughts and emotions. My aim is to bring that same sense of curiosity and humility to each session, guiding you to explore the deeper meanings in your own journey, without judgment or predetermined answers — just a conversation between you, me, and the tarot’s stained glass window unto the intuited world.