Falling Back in Love With Tarot: How Curiosity Rekindled My Spark
- T'Fawnia Borne
- Oct 13
- 3 min read
Falling Back in Love With Tarot: How Curiosity Rekindled My Spark
One thing I’ve learned? No matter how long you’ve been practicing your craft, you’ll never know it all. And honestly, that’s what makes it beautiful. The mystery, the layers, the endless unfolding—it keeps you growing. The moment you think you’ve “arrived” is the moment your passion starts to wither.
I began my tarot journey back in 2015. At first, I was fascinated by every card, every symbol, every reading. When I started reading for others, it felt powerful—like I was stepping into something bigger than myself. But somewhere along the way, I made the mistake so many of us do: I thought I had mastered it. I stopped studying. I stopped digging deeper. I leaned only on intuition, which is beautiful in itself, but without the balance of study and curiosity, my practice grew stagnant.
It didn’t happen overnight. At first, I brushed it off as just “life being busy.” But over time, I noticed that what once brought me joy was starting to feel like work. Promoting myself. Trying to prove to people why they should pick me as their reader. Watching likes, comments, and numbers instead of just enjoying the magic of the cards. Slowly but surely, my spark dimmed.
And then came the voices from outside. My family and friends told me tarot was evil. My dad worried about my soul, afraid that I’d end up in hell because of what I was practicing. I didn’t have the words or the history to defend myself at the time. I just knew that as a young girl, I’d seen Miss Cleo on TV, and I was hooked. Something about tarot called to me. It wasn’t about power, control, or evil—it was about curiosity. I wanted to know what my future held, and I wanted to answer questions for myself instead of paying someone else to do it. That curiosity was my doorway in.
Here’s the truth I’ve discovered after all these years: tarot isn’t just fortune-telling. It’s a mirror. It shows you what’s already inside—your fears, your hopes, your patterns, your possibilities. The cards don’t hand you a locked-in future; they show you potential paths and invite you to choose which one you’ll walk. Tarot is less about predicting life and more about participating in it with awareness.
When I finally remembered that, everything changed. I realized my passion hadn’t disappeared—it had just gotten buried under pressure, expectations, and other people’s opinions. I had been so busy defending tarot and selling myself as a reader that I stopped being a student of it. Once I returned to learning, the fire came rushing back. I started reading books, diving into history, studying spreads I’d never tried before. I stopped asking, “How do I convince people to book me?” and instead started asking, “What can I discover today?”
And let me tell you—when curiosity came back, joy came with it. The readings started to feel fresh again. The cards spoke louder. Even my intuition got sharper because I was feeding it with knowledge. I stopped doing this for validation and started doing it for me.
What I know now is that curiosity is fuel. Passion fizzles when we replace curiosity with performance. When we start thinking we know it all, or when we let outside opinions drown out our own voice, that’s when the fire dims. But the beauty of passion is this: it never fully dies. It waits for you. And the moment you get curious again—ask new questions, try new approaches, reconnect with your “why”—the fire reignites.
So, if you’ve ever felt like your spark has gone out, let me encourage you: it’s not gone. It’s just waiting. Go back to why you started. Surround yourself with people who understand your passion instead of those who dismiss it. Study. Explore. Play. Allow yourself to fall in love with your craft over and over again. Because that’s the real magic—not being an “expert,” but being a lifelong student.
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