i have been a diarist for as long as i can remember. my mother gave me her old journal, her pages mostly torn out, when i was about to turn nine. more than anything else, probably, it is my life’s work. i have all the diaries typed up in a word document, which means i can tell you that the word “destiny” shows up several times in my journals, almost always in a sentence like “i feel destined to be alone.”
this tells me a lot about myself: that i have primarily used the diary as a record of romance, that there are through-lines in my life, that even the diary has lacunae.
but then again, a search for the word “fate” brings up a different story: that i have felt like i have tricked fate, that i believe my decisions are fated, that i wonder if i believe in fate as a way to absolve myself of responsibility.
the story is always dependent on what words you choose to tell it.
here is the truest fate, the truest destiny, i know: nothing is final. one season follows another; night follows day follows night; the moon waxes and wanes and waxes.
we are at the cusp of a new year and a new decade, my darlings, and we are gonna make it through them both if it kills us.^
^ cribbed from the mountain goats’ “this year”
this week’s deck: the wooden tarot
this week’s gems: tigers eye, rose quartz, ruby