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   Each day I do a Tarot reading. The time of day varies--Sunday is really the only day I do a morning reading. Sometimes it's when I get home from work around 4:30 and I am sitting with a mug of tea. Other times it's after dinner at 7:30. Most usually it's just before I go to bed, and by that time it's late enough where I don't do a full reading  and instead do a single-card draw.

     For the last three months or so, the single card I regularly select is the Queen of Pentacles. I use Kris Waldherr's Goddess Tarot, and in that deck the Queen of Pentacles is depicted as a beautiful silk-draped Indian woman, regal and self-assured. (In Waldherr's deck the suit of Pentacles is associated with the goddess Lakshmi.)

I was a professional barista in my past life.*  My job was more than just an after school or part-time college gig, and I was far more competent than those who steam milk into huge soap suds, who pull watery and weak shots of espresso, and who pump drinks full of syrup and sugar.  I was bona fide.   I had been trained by the best, award winning baristas in the area.  I read all of the latest coffee trade news and gossip.  I worked 40+ hours a week.  My cappuccinos were crafted to such perfection that all of the Italians in town would come flocking to the shop, bringing with them their friends and family visiting from Europe.  “The best cappuccino in town,” they’d say, as I poured the perfect micro-foam in the shape of delicate hearts, tulips, swans, or rosettas.  I went to trade shows, conferences, and competitions.  I had a job with benefits.  I was a professional.

But those days are far, far behind me.  I’m proud of my barista skills and training, but I am relieved that I no longer have to bust my butt for rude customers, demanding management, and lazy coworkers.  I don’t smell like milk or coffee grounds, and my arms aren’t dotted with burns or rashes from constant exposure to scalding hot machines or water.  It’s been years since I’ve slung espresso.  Much to my consternation, however, when I’m feeling particularly anxious or dealing with an especially troubling conundrum, my unconscious and dreaming mind often returns me to coffee shops and cafes.  In my dream worlds, coffee has become a literal manifestation of my anxiety.

       This post is one of a series examining the individual steps in Joseph Campbell’s “hero’s journey” model.