Ten of Cups

Ten Of Cups Playlist

I knew it was coming, and it still broke my heart. This was the summer my daughter (three weeks from turning ten) learned the truth about Santa. I should have known I was flying too close to the sun with my insistence on immersive annual treasure hunts. This summer my magical house of cards fell.

A few weeks ago, we were in Vermont with a collection of our friends and their kids. This is the third year in a row that I’ve staged a treasure hunt complete with mythology, internal logic, ongoing character arcs, and epic lore. I spent a few hours running around in the hills and woods hiding clues (and bossing my husband around), and then it was time for the magic to begin.

The kids “found” the letter from the fairies on the path to the pond. After deciphering the first clue, my daughter pulled me aside, a grave and serious look on her face. “Everyone is saying that you are the one who makes the treasure hunt, not real fairies. Is that true?” I weighed my options in my head as my life flashed before my eyes. My first instinct was to lie: “No, of course I don’t make the scavenger hunt, I know it’s real fairies.” But another part of my brain took over. I played out that scenario, and knew that if I had denied it, my daughter would stomp back inside and yell at her friends that they are wrong and she has proof (we are still in the “what my mom says is true” phase, honestly a great phase). With great power comes great responsibility, I reminded myself. And so, I came clean.

I wasn’t ready.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. “Fairies aren’t real???” I told her I’ve never seen a fairy, and I’m the mastermind behind the treasure hunts, but just because I’ve never seen a fairy doesn’t necessarily mean that they aren’t real. “Do you wish I hadn’t told you the truth?” I asked her as she sobbed. “Yes, Dummy!” she screamed at me, completely out of control of her emotions, magic dissolving all around her. I gave her a big hug, and told her I know how she feels. I told her that her brother and the younger kids still believe in the magic and I hope she’ll play along for them. I told her that now that she knows the truth, she can even help me with the scavenger hunt next year if she wants to (she doesn’t).

We continued on the treasure hunt. My six year old son kept remarking about how it was so cool that he was a “real life treasure hunter.” His five year old friend, Lulu, told her mother, “Now I know pirates are really for real.” The older kids played along, deciphering clues, traipsing through the woods with flashlights, listening for trolls and fairies. This year’s hunt was harder, requiring both math and reading skills (plus code-breaking!), and it took hours to finish. We found the last treasure box as the sun was setting.

As we do every year, the children spread out the treasure (coins, costume jewelry, glass bottles, binoculars, crystals) across the table, ready to go around in a circle youngest to oldest and pick one piece each round until all of the treasure was chosen. Graeme sat down next to me on the couch, tender and raw, still sad. With a sharp intake of breath, she turned to me aghast, “Wait, is Santa real?” I whispered, “Yes,” because I couldn’t cope with that question in that moment in a house filled with people, but I knew in my bones this conversation wasn’t over.

Our flight back to LA was at 5pm EST, and we didn’t get back to our home until well after 11pm. The kids were jet-lagged and feral, and we managed to wrangle them into their beds after quickly scarfing down a pizza. I lay next to Graeme, tickling her back, and in that moment, she looked me dead in my eyes and said, “So, is Santa real?”

I took a deep breath and answered honestly, “I wish I knew what you want me to say.” And in that moment, she knew. Tears poured out of her eyes, and a guttural sound that can only be described as anguish came from deep in her belly. It was the sound of pure grief, a sound I’ve never heard before from my child.

I explained that the spirit of Santa is real, that we all choose to believe in him and create him together. Yes, parents put presents under the tree, because there are billions of kids in the world, and no one (not even a magical being) can do all of that in one night. I tried to soothe her with the promise that she could now be a part of creating the Santa magic for Toby and for other children (she was not interested in that idea though she will keep the secret, she doesn’t want her brother to feel the way she feels right now). As tears streamed down her face, she asked, “Did you feel this way when you found out?” Yes, Baby, of course I felt this way. “Is there still magic in the world?” Yes, my love, there is still plenty of magic in the world. “Where? What magic?” 

I had a tough time answering that. 

There’s still grown-up magic in the world — the magic of falling in love, for example, of holding your baby for the first time, the magic of losing track of time with your friends, the creative flow state, seeing a piece of art that moves you, making a new friend, watching Beyonce perform. But kid magic, childhood magic, the magic of mythic beings, quests, fairies, trolls, elves, the magic of a bearded man in a far-off snowy land who knows exactly what you want for Christmas, that magic is ending for my child. I told Graeme that she could still choose to believe in Santa… “How?” she pleaded with me, please tell me how. I told her that she could use her imagination. But of course, there is a difference between using your imagination on purpose, and immersing yourself in a fantasy world that activates your imagination seamlessly without you having to tap into it.

“Are we still witches?” she asked. “Yes, love, of course we are,” I told her. I explained that for us to be witches, it means that we understand the magic of the natural world, that we believe that we are connected to each other and to all living beings. We are not witches who fly around on broomsticks, but we take time to notice the magic and connectivity of the world all around us, and we believe that we can help make the world a better place. I’m pretty sure that answer disappointed her. It disappoints me sometimes! Who doesn’t want to fly around on a broomstick?

The Ten of Cups is an overwhelmingly positive card — it indicates that all of your emotional needs are fulfilled, that you are overflowing with joy. In most decks, the ten of cups depicts a family and a rainbow. When you get this card in a reading, the answer to your question is yes, everything’s going to work out. 

So what is the difference between the nine of cups and the ten of cups? Here’s how I think about it: the nine of cups believes in Santa. The nine of cups is a child on Christmas morning, padding down the stairs in pajamas and discovering that their dreams have come true — they’ve gotten what they wanted, they wished for something and it materialized. The ten of cups understands that Santa is something we co-create with our family and our community. The ten of cups believes in the spirit of Santa, even as it places the presents under the tree. 

The Ten of Cups is a happy card but it requires more from you than the nine of cups. The nine is a gift to you from the universe, and the ten is a gift you must give back. The Ten of Cups makes me think about legacy, tradition, community, and mentorship. When you have received the blessings of the nine of cups, what comes next is your responsibility to share that joy with others.

I’m heartbroken for my daughter. It’s been almost two weeks since her discovery and she still wells up when she talks about it. Yesterday, in the car, with my son’s front tooth dangling precariously out of his mouth, the conversation turned to the Tooth Fairy. What would the Tooth Fairy bring Toby for his very first lost tooth? I made eye contact with Graeme in the rear view mirror. We have not explicitly discussed the Tooth Fairy, but I could see a wave of recognition and understanding pass over her face as she kept the dream alive for Toby. 

A few days after she learned the truth, Graeme curled up on my lap and whispered into my neck, “When Toby knows about Santa, does that mean Santa’s over?” No, I told her, no no no. Christmas magic continues forever. “I still get presents from Santa and I’m 38! I'm not even Christian!” 

Do I wish she still believed in Santa? Of course I do! I’m not ready for her childhood to end! She’s got enough grown up worries, my little worrier, and she’s on the precipice of her teen years in a world of bigotry and fat phobia and misogyny and Donald Trump and impossible comparisons and fentanyl and fucking car accidents. I want her to believe the world is a safe and loving place, even though I know the truth that sometimes it just isn’t. I want her to feel that all of her cups are filled, that her emotional needs are met easily and magically. 

At the same time, I acknowledge that a big part of growing up is facing the disappointing truth about the world and continuing to show up anyway. A big part of growing up is recognizing what makes you happy and understanding that sometimes it takes work to get there.

My daughter turns ten on Beyonce’s birthday (also her birthday, obviously). This summer (when she still believed in Santa), I took her to New York City for three days to see a handful of Broadway shows and spend some quality one on one time together. We got matching necklaces, our birth stone and a little squirrel charm (an inside joke — when she was little she used to ask me to do “squirrel talk” instead of “girl talk”). I reminded myself to remember the feeling of my daughter’s pride at matching with me — she will move away from me as she becomes more and more herself, but right now she loves twinning with her mama.

A few days ago, she snuggled up to me in bed and said, “Can I ask you something, but please don’t get mad?” Of course, I said, I will never get mad at you for asking a question… “Are all of my birthday presents going to be necklaces? Or do you think I’ll get some toys too?” 

Ten is a precipice. Ten is a transition. Ten is the end of a cycle. We can both feel it. 

She will still get toys for her birthday. She can be a kid as long as she wants. I’m not in any hurry. Fuck, this parenting thing is hard. 

The Ten of Cups is a moment worth savoring, a time for gratitude and generosity. You’ve worked hard for the life you’ve created. It’s time to enjoy it. But it’s important to remember: sometimes for magic to exist in the world, you have to be the one to create it. 

A NOTE FROM ME!

Dear Readers! School is about to start and I've got a bunch of deadlines, so I'm going to take two Mondays off from newsletters and then I will be back with a VENGEANCE!!!! See you on September 16 for the Ace of Wands, and the suit of creativity and passion!

In the meantime, I hope you'll recommend my newsletter to someone who might enjoy it :) And listen to the playlists!