Eight of Cups

“The Eight is neither a promise of happier times nor a guarantee of success. It simply means that each individual needs to act on their own awareness that present circumstances have little to offer.”
- Advanced Tarot by Paul Fenton-Smith

Eight of Cups Playlist

On July 6th, President Biden and his surrogates maintained that only the Lord Almighty could convince him to step away from the presidential race. On the night of Saturday July 20th, isolated with Covid in his Delaware home, amidst calls from the public and his colleagues to step down, Biden was still very much in the race. I spent that night in Miami with my best friends from high school, and by 11pm, we were cuddled up in our hotel room, punch drunk and giddy, laughing about the absurdity of our choice in this election to keep from crying.

The next day, Biden stepped down and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris for President. This was only a month ago you guys.

I learned the news from some guys in front of me in line to get on the plane back to LA. I spent the entire flight on my thirty dollar internet pass consuming every single piece of content I could find. I watched Trump and his surrogates short circuit on Sunday talk shows. I watched Tik Tok compilations of Kamala Harris laughing, I watched impressionists dusting off their best Kamala, I read tweets from Republicans in meltdown mode and giddy Democrats alike, I listened to Charli xcx’s “brat” in an effort to fully comprehend the idea that “Kamala is brat” so that I wouldn’t look as ridiculous as Jake Tapper and members of his CNN round table who seemed confounded by the concept.

This was President Biden’s eight of cups moment. The eight of cups is about walking away from something, and because eights often signify mastery, this is a card that represents something that is emotionally difficult to walk away from. Biden has spent his entire life in politics, a life that has been dedicated to public service and also to the pursuit of power. Two things can be true, and I’m not going to fault someone for their ambitions. Biden has wanted to be President for a long time. He finally got the thing he’s always wanted, and then he was asked to step aside for the good of the country. I think it took real guts, bravery, and humility for Biden to step aside. I’m sure it was excruciating for him. Thank the Universe he did it.

Eight of cups moments are marked by uncertainty and courage. The eight of cups is about leaving something behind without necessarily having a clear picture of what comes next. Whether the thing you are leaving is a job, a relationship, a city, a friendship… the eight of cups offers only the reassurance that you are making the hard but important choice.

Biden stepping down does not guarantee that we defeat Donald Trump, it does not guarantee that democracy is saved or that the future is female (although, goddamn, folks, hasn't the last month felt amazing?) But Biden’s decision to put personal ambition aside gives Democrats a fighting chance. It gives us the opportunity to make this election about a hopeful vision for the future instead of just a thumb in the dam against fascism. I feel hopeful in a way I haven’t in literal years. Uncertainty is not always a bad thing.

When I was twenty-three, I moved to Los Angeles for a job. At the time, I was in year four of a relationship with my college boyfriend. Let’s call him Nick (not his name). He had just gotten into film school in New York, and we were embarking on a long distance relationship for the first time in our co-dependent history. Since we met, we'd been joined at the hip. I was still in the throes of the worst years of my OCD, and I leaned on Nick for everything. He was a year above me in college, and he was competent, kind, and sane. He seemed older and wiser in every single way. If we were in a car together, he was always driving, and that dynamic extended to much of our life together. This is not an indictment of him — I willingly gave up my ability to make decisions. I often thought to myself, “I’m lucky I found someone who is so willing to put up with me, the craziest person in the world.”

He came with me to Los Angeles to get me settled into my furnished studio with a Murphy bed in Marina del Rey, and when he left, the overwhelming feeling I had was that of a small child lost at the state fair. Suddenly, I was hit with the reality of what it would mean to live alone. I would have to cope with all of the compulsions I had transferred to him, for example. I trusted that he would lock the doors, which meant I didn’t have to spend twenty minutes locking, unlocking, checking, and rechecking. Now I’d be left to my own devices — who knows how long it would take me to lock the doors before I went to sleep? How would I know if I was a good person if I couldn’t ask him and have him tell me? How would I know if anyone was angry with me? How would I put gas in a car (I hadn’t pumped gas since I was a teenager learning to drive — Nick always drove, Nick always took care of things like that)? How would I cope with wandering or intrusive thoughts? I was used to confessing every errant thought I had to Nick.

When Nick left for the airport, I sobbed like a baby. Full on heaving sobs. Claire Danes in Little Women sobs — bereft, snotty, near vomiting. I think part of me knew this was the beginning of the end. I’d been having quiet doubts for a long time, but I shoved them out of mind as far as I could. I didn’t know who I was without Nick, and even though some part of me felt like we were not meant for forever, even though deep inside I knew we were on different paths and were growing a part, those thoughts were identity shattering in a way that my mentally ill brain could not handle. Three thousand miles of distance between us might actually bring about the thing I was dreading and needed at the same time…

What would my life look like without him? What would my brain look like without him? 

The first couple of days were rocky. I was sad, homesick, and frankly, terrified. The first time I needed to put gas in my car, I nearly had a panic attack. I didn’t want to ask for help or look stupid. I was an adult. Twenty-three fucking years old. I’d had my license for six years. I walked up to the pump and nervously looked around, hoping no one was watching. I stood there for a moment staring at the buttons, trying to remember how I’d done this years ago. And then… I just figured it out. Afterward, I felt euphoric. I was not an idiot or a child. I was a goddamned grown up who was perfectly capable of putting gas in a car, driving on the highway, paying rent, ordering takeout, and locking my own damn doors.

I moved on September 11, 2009. Less than two months later, we were broken up. It was heartbreaking, earth shattering. I had no idea what came next. I still loved Nick, though I had finally been honest with myself about how I felt about myself in the relationship. It wasn’t his fault that I had given up all of my autonomy, but it was a dynamic I didn’t know how to undo without ending it. I was also starting to suspect that certain aspects of my personality really grated on him. He didn’t like how loud I was, particularly in public, for example, and I had started laughing less and less.

The first time I started to feel doubts about our relationship, I had asked Nick if he thought we’d be friends if we broke up. He said unequivocally no. That promise stayed with me in the years between when I asked and when we finally broke up. I no longer wanted to be in a romantic relationship with Nick, but I could not bear the thought of losing him entirely. He had been my whole world. We were inseparable, he was my best friend. How would I survive?

He kept his promise. We did not stay friends. We tried to talk for a few months, but he started putting up hard boundaries and pulled back from me entirely. I think that’s what he needed, and I respected it even though it hurt. I know that I caused him a lot of pain too. He chose anger as a coping mechanism, and I don’t really blame him. He felt blindsided, and I get that. I was so afraid of breaking up that I hid my desire to separate even from myself. The moment it entered my conscious brain, it became impossible to keep that secret from him. I had always told him everything.

The eight of cups does not promise that what comes next will be better, only that you’re making a necessary choice. I walked away from my best friend, the man I had shared my life with, the man I thought would be half of me forever. When we broke up, I had to rebuild my identity. I had to learn the hard way that trying to get everything you need from one person isn’t healthy, that you should never settle for being half of a whole. I had to learn how to pump gas and pay bills. I had to sit with the discomfort of worrying that I said something stupid and not having anyone to confess it to. That break up was the beginning of a shift in the way my brain worked. I started being more honest with myself. I started being curious about my own mind, feeling less afraid of my subconscious.

And I met a man who liked how loud I was in public, and who liked when I showed up whole.

We cannot know what is on the other side of a door we are unwilling to open.

We do not yet know if we will win the election in November (though I like our chances). You can’t know what exists on the other side of a breakup. But if you trust yourself to take the leap, to do the scary thing, to step into the unknown, you may find that it is on the other side where authenticity, truth, happiness, and Tim Walz really live.

Recommendations!

All Fours by Miranda July is a stunning, hilarious, erotic, and at turns heartbreaking novel about taking big risks and walking away from certainty with no idea what's on the other side. I loved this book and recommend it HIGHLY.