On Clay, Doors, and Faeries: The Tools I Received Before I Was Ready

Today is kind of a weird day, spiritually speaking. If you know me well, you may be somewhat aware that I've recently rediscovered my one-time interest in divination. Only it's different now that I'm older. 

When I was younger, I would discover interests, sometimes even acquire tools... and then not really do anything about them. Younger Me always felt like she was in some weird holding pattern. Like it wasn't time yet to really dig into a lot of the things that piqued her interest. Part of that had to do with the fact that I was too busy processing trauma to focus on much else. The rest really did just feel like me... waiting for something I couldn't quite identify. 

At my current age, I see things much differently. 

It's taken me most of my 49-year life to reach the same emotional maturity level most people were at by the time they were 30 or 35. So, I fully realize I don't have all the time in the world. I know that if I want to learn something, do something, or dive really deeply into something interesting, I need to do it now.

So, I got back into divination a while back, acquired some new tools, and started reading with them daily in the mornings to help set intentions for my day. I've also made a real effort to really learn the systems I've adopted and integrate them into my daily life, and it's been a game-changer. 

But I also have this treasure box of old divination systems and oracle decks that I acquired way back in the '90s when I was still really young. I hadn't felt much need to open that box at my current age and reintegrate anything in it, as I thought of those items as belonging to someone else –– someone I just wasn't anymore. 

Then last night, I dreamed I opened the box

In the dream, I took out a couple of select items, and I started to use them again. When I woke up, following suit in real life felt like the right way to start my morning, so I did that.

Opening that box and taking things out of it with the intention of loving them and using them again felt so strange. On one level, it really did feel like I was touching someone else's things –– maybe someone who had passed away a long time ago. But on another, I recognized these tools as old friends of mine that I hadn't seen in eons:

• A clay/pottery rune set from the '90s that was my very first divination system. The box was pretty beaten up, as I'd actually used this set a fair amount. And the burlap bag that held the runes had a mysterious stain on it, likely just from age. But the runes and guidebook by Horik Svensson were just as I remembered them and in pristine condition.
• An ancient Egypt-inspired oracle deck called The Book of Doors. I remember being deeply intrigued by this deck, but not using it much, as it was way too complex for me at that age. It is, however, right in line with where I am now.
• An oracle deck called The Faeries' Oracle, inspired by the artwork of Brian Froud, someone who was (and still is) a huge artistic and creative influence on me. It was never officially used, as I acquired it shortly before moving cross-country and leaving it behind.

So I washed the burlap bag by hand, nervous about the stain but unwilling to throw it away. And I did my morning reading with a combination of cards from The Book of Doors and The Faeries' Oracle. It was such a strange feeling, starting my day with these relics from my own past. But it also felt like reconnecting with something valuable that I thought had been lost to time and age.

When the Algorithm Breaks Your Routine: 6 Lessons in Resilience for Creators

So, there's this massive AI art group on Facebook where I'm the primary moderator. This being the case, I've developed a daily habit of hopping on there in the mornings to see what's going on, remove anything that violates community standards, approve posts, and make sure everyone's behaving before I go start my day.

But this morning, I opened Facebook as usual, only to find the group gone instead. It had been Zucked for God only knows what reason. (The notification they gave the owner was vague at best, as it often is when it comes to Meta.)

No warning. No explanation. Just a blank space where something big and vibrant used to be. The owner appealed the decision, obviously, and the group may be reinstated. But stuff like this can't help but get you thinking about certain things when it comes to content creation and how you manage your digital presence, especially if you depend on any part of it for income.

It's About More Than Just a Facebook Group

If you’ve ever helped build or moderate a thriving online community, you probably get why the (hopefully temporary) loss of that group knocked me for a loop. It becomes part of your routine. You check in. You contribute. You help people. You share what you’re working on and cheer for others as they grow. It becomes not only a digital space, but a personal anchor.

And like most things that are part of your daily routine, you don't consciously think about what they mean to you until they're not there anymore for whatever reason. 

As someone who actively avoided anything that looked even vaguely like responsibility or required me to manage other people for most of my life, I now recognize that group as the catalyst for a lot of personal growth in these areas. I realized that under the right circumstances, I actually enjoy those things. And they make me better, as a person and as a creator.

So that group mattered. 

The Illusion of Ownership

Here’s the hard truth about platforms, though. Especially examples like Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, and the like. They come and go. They operate by rules and standards that are sometimes vague and arbitrary. They can change those rules at will for any reason or no reason at all.

It's easier than most people think for their content to get caught in the crossfire through no real fault of their own.

We talk a hell of a lot about "our" groups, "our" pages. But we don't actually own any of those spaces. Facebook does. Instagram does. X (formerly Twitter) does. And those platforms can revoke access, throttle reach, or erase whole communities without notice.

Why Are Some People Always Around, but Never Really There?

There’s a specific kind of energy that comes from people who never interact with your posts and never cheer when you hit a milestone, but consider it important to keep tabs on you regardless.

Sometimes it’s an ex-employer or old client lurking on your LinkedIn for no good reason. Sometimes it’s a family member who dismissed your ambitions for years but still feels the need to track you all over the internet without being invited. And sometimes it’s a frenemy or an ex you know is secretly rooting for you to trip, because they’d feel better about their own inertia if you’d just slow down a little.

The Social Media Stage (Without the Applause)

Social media was something that was supposed to help us all connect, and sometimes it does. But it also makes it incredibly easy for people to stealth-monitor your journey without ever truly supporting it, especially people who know they should probably just mind their own business. They can lurk. Gossip. Screenshot. All without ever actually engaging.

Sometimes it feels like being on a stage where half the audience showed up with their arms crossed, just to see if you’ll flub your lines. And even if the evidence isn't right in your face all the time, you still feel it. You know the difference between being followed and being witnessed. One nourishes. The other just… drains.

Lurker Role Call: 5 Classic Types You Might Recognize

The following are just a few of the most common lurker species I've run into over the years, listed purely for observational purposes, of course. If you see yourself in one of these, maybe rethink your habits. 

1. The Ghost

Never interacts, despite knowing you personally, but is always watching regardless. You find out they’re still tuned in via a random slip in conversation six months later.

Signature move: “Oh, I saw that thing you posted,” on the tail of total silence when it was live.

2. The Spy

Usually a toxic ex or a professional rival, but may also be someone like a former boss who gave you the boot at some point. Claims they don’t care what you’re doing, while checking your updates more often than your actual friends.

Signature move: Story or profile views, tracking breadcrumbs, and muddy footprints in your analytics.

3. The Narrative Thief

Doesn’t engage, but uses your life as conversational currency. Often found quoting your updates to mutual acquaintances or even passing off your words as their own, without ever speaking to you directly.

Signature move: “Oh, I heard you’ve been doing some kind of writing thing lately.”

4. The Silent Frenemy

Used to be loud support... until you outgrew them or otherwise rubbed them the wrong way just by existing. Now they just lurk, half-hoping you fail.

Signature move: Occasionally showing up to argue with you but never to support or congratulate.

5. The Lurker Relative

Joined social media purely to watch you. Doesn’t post, doesn’t engage. They just kind of exist in the background like a bad smell. Loves to pick apart what you post on social media behind your back or use it as ammunition against you.

Signature move: Following you when they haven't been invited to (or possibly even after you've pointedly asked them not to), and then acting like you’re the weird one.

Visibility vs. Vulnerability

Being visible is part of the gig when you’re using your web presence to build something or get your voice out there. But it comes with that weird side effect everyone knows and no one actually likes. People from your past (or the sidelines) showing up to watch or be all stalkery and weird, but never to actually help or support.

And the worst part? They think you don’t notice.

There's really only one thing to say to that. You’re allowed to keep creating, glowing way the hell up, and growing, even when you’re being watched by people who’d rather you didn’t. 

Let them lurk. Let them wonder. Just don’t let them dim you, because they’re not your audience. They’re just background noise. And you? You’re the main event.

Writing Myself a Walking Staff

When I first came up with (and participated in) the first-ever cycle of my original Feast of the Wandering Pen challenge a month ago, I didn’t really know where it was going to take me. I just knew I needed something to get me back to writing for myself again, like I used to before my copywriting business blew up. 

A reason to write every day. A reason to keep showing up, even when life felt like a whirlwind of client projects, chores, and distractions.

So I decided to carve out a commitment, like a notch in the bark of a tree. One post a day. No pressure for perfection. No requirements as far as topic, length, or style. Just daily presence and steady forward movement, even if keeping up only meant posting a few sentences on certain days.

At first, it didn’t feel like I was doing anything special beyond creating a good habit I hoped would stick. But then something shifted. 

Slowly, day by day, I started to feel steadier, and the writing itself eventually started to feel like something I could lean on. I found myself constantly coming up with ideas for new posts, finding inspiration in everything from movies I put on in the background while I worked to everyday conversations with Seth or friends online.

A Staff Built from Small Choices

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was writing myself a walking staff. Not a literal one, of course, but something symbolic, solid, and supportive all the same. Each day I chose to write — even when I didn’t particularly feel like it, even when I felt like I had nothing to say — I showed up and added to what I was building. A bit of bark here. A twist of leather there. Occasionally, even a new groove or two in the wood for flare.

The staff slowly grew from repetition and quiet persistence. Some days my contributions were made of tea and incense. Other days, mental exhaustion and more cussing than I should probably admit to. But every time I showed up for it, it showed up for me in turn.

The funny part is that none of that really hit me until today, the last day of the challenge. 

This morning, I pulled a card from my Green Witch Oracle deck as part of my morning reading. It was the same card that showed up not long ago in another reading –– the Walking Staff card. But it landed with a different kind of weight, since I knew I'd be posting my last Wandering Pen entry within hours. This time, I felt like it was saying, "Yes. You did this. You built something real."

What Happens When You Outgrow Your Own Mythology

There’s a strange kind of grief that arrives when the story you once told about yourself — your guiding myth — no longer fits. Especially when it wasn’t just any story, but the story. The one you poured into poems or blogs or old journal entries by the bucketful. The one that helped you survive, make sense of the chaos, and eventually form a self that felt real.

It starts the day you finally go back and revisit it, usually through old personal writing or artwork. You re-read the essay, re-open the journal, pull up the old blog post. And it hits you. You don’t live there anymore.

The Myths We Write Ourselves Into

Whether we think we do or not, we all have personal myths. They're the stories we cobble together to explain to others (and sometimes ourselves) who we are, why we are, and what we think we’re made of. And they can be based on memories, emotions, trauma, and whatever scraps of meaning we can find to sew the whole mess together. 

Although your mileage may vary, my personal myths always sounded a lot like:

• "I'm the forthright, loyal person who always puts others first."
• "I'm the survivor who's been through a lot and stubbornly survived."
• "I am the misunderstood artist no one ever truly sees."

Those myths can be empowering or limiting. Often, they’re both. Even painful myths can be strangely comforting when they give us structure, identity, or purpose in a world that so often leaves us feeling like we have none. They help us navigate the world. They help us feel known, at least to ourselves.

But what I didn't realize way back when I wrote my personal mythology in the first place is that myths are meant to evolve. And when they don’t, they start to limit us instead of holding us. 

When the Old Archetypes Stop Fitting

I recently re-read something I wrote about four years ago or so –– a Medium essay called All the Dead Darlings I Used to Be. I wrote it for a contest going on at the time, and although it never picked up traction (and certainly didn't win the contest), it remains one of my favorite pieces of writing I've ever shared online.

It was raw and emotional and beautifully true at the time. A kind of tribute to some of the past selves I’d shed over the years –– the Dead Darlings, as I called them. Each one named (after their ages at the time) and carefully laid to rest. Each one a little story I’d carried with me over the years, each one a chapter in the big, moth-eaten bible of me.