Thirty Years of Cards: Trust, Time and Practice

I was born into a family of card players. Decks of playing cards were present already early in my life, not for divination, but as a centerpiece for social gatherings, togetherness and initiations into family traditions. My grandparents taught us how to shuffle, how to play, how to treat the cards with care and pay the deck respect. My grandparents were dedicated bridge players, and through them I learned to respect the deck as something that carried structure and value as well as history and tradition.

Before I encountered tarot, I had thus already formed a relationship with the suits, the court cards and the rhythm of the pips. Holding a deck of playing cards, I sensed layers of meaning beyond the game itself — a quiet awareness that these symbols had carried human concerns long before me. This intuition was confirmed the first time I experienced cartomancy as a living practice, through an elderly woman who combined candle lights and crystal balls with card reading, palmistry and intuitive perception. That encounter left a lasting impression, not because of her performance, but because my innate knowledge of cartomancy was being confirmed.

I bought my first tarot deck at the age of fifteen. There was no internet at the time, only bookshops, and I was fortunate to live near one in Oslo that carried a small selection of esoteric literature. Tarot felt both intriguing and unsettling. I was sensitive to atmosphere and energy then, as I still am, and it took time before I trusted myself enough to buy a deck and bring the cards home. I familiarized myself with the cards, on my own, through books, observation and repeated practice - reading mostly for myself.

In my twenties, I travelled extensively through Europe. The tarot deck accompanied me everywhere, as essential as pen and paper (I am a Gemini, after all...). Alongside formal studies in history and religion, I read widely in spiritual and philosophical traditions. Daily work with the cards taught me something fundamental: tarot is uncompromising. It does not soften its reflections to protect the reader’s self-image. At that stage, I was not always ready for what it revealed.

My thirties brought more geographical stability, but deeper inner work. After years of exploring different spiritual and religious communities — many of which proved disappointing — I returned to a simpler practice: meditation, nature-based awareness, embodiment, and listening inward. My relationship with tarot deepened. I came to understand it not as a system requiring intermediaries, but as a direct dialogue, grounded in practice, honesty, and time. I also understood the importance of patience: this was work that could not be rushed.

Entering my forties coincided with periods often recognized as a The Dark Night of the Soul. These years clarified something I now hold as central to my practice: wisdom is not accumulated through information alone, but through lived experience, reflection and willingness to shed skins. Tarot, in this sense, matures with the reader. Time lived becomes context; experience becomes language.

Today, my work with cards exists alongside ongoing training in mediumship, intuitive perception, and a deepening relationship with the natural world — particularly animals and plants. I do not experience this as a departure from tarot, but as a widening of the same conversation. As I move toward the next decade of life, the practice continues to shift and expand, constantly towards greater clarity and depth. Janne

Playing cards from early age