The Wheel of Fortune: A slice of life and 2026

The Wheel of Fortune is the tarot card that will guide us through 2026 (2+0+2+6=10, which is The Wheel’s number in Tarot).  Here is my little blurb about it that you can find anywhere online: The Wheel is about fate, cycles, luck, divine timing, and the unseen forces that shape our lives. It reminds us that nothing is static—everything is always turning, even when it feels like we’re standing still.

La Rueda de la Fortuna, from the Tarot Yohualli Ehécatl deck from MiCorazónMexica

I knew I wanted to write about The Wheel for my Cuentitos, because it is a special card for me. But I also knew I didn’t want to approach it in the usual way. I didn’t want to simply explain the card or list its meanings. Instead, I wanted to show how The Wheel exists in everyday life—how its metaphors reveal themselves through moments of choice, movement, and trust. What follows is a slice of life, an encounter with The Wheel as it unfolded for me. I asked my guides to show me the path to the cuento, and they did so literally (and with their usual sense of humor).

The other day, I went on a walk at Town Lake with my childhood friend Alejandra. What began as a casual walk unexpectedly turned into a six-mile loop around the trail. It was sunny and all the birds were out—specifically, five herons flew by our path. I love herons because they are a part of my name, De La Garza. Garza is heron in Spanish, so my name literally means “Of the Heron”. So I always take their presence seriously. One blue heron stood out to me in particular—stately, still, and grounded. Without words, he shared a message of inner peace.

Before the walk, I had been feeling angsty—sad, a little anxious, irritable. The heron reminded me that these feelings were reactions to my thoughts and perceptions, not permanent truths. He reminded me that peace and stillness are always available on the inside, no matter what is happening externally.

Later that evening, I felt pulled to journey for myself. I wanted to ask for guidance on writing about The Wheel, as well as advice on stillness and releasing the mucky emotions.

One of the five herons, looking grand and handsome

Within seconds, I slipped into a trance and found myself swimming through water (which is notable, since I don’t swim very well in real life). I moved quickly, and when I lifted my head above the surface, I realized I was in Town Lake. Immediately, I knew I was going to meet with Heron.

I found him standing tall on a rock near the trailhead, as I had seen him during my real-life walk. As I approached, a deep well of emotion opened inside me. The same angsty feelings from earlier in the day came rushing forward. I sat on a rock beside him and let the tears flow—both in the journey and in my physical body. Heron carried a gentle, grandfatherly presence. When I cried, he wrapped his wings around me, holding me close. He encouraged me to let my tears fall into the water, trusting that the water would help carry away what I no longer needed to hold.

I shared my feelings, my thoughts, my fears. What I appreciated about Heron was that he didn’t rush to give me answers. Instead, Heron was a good listener. He asked curious questions, gently teased me, and helped me to arrive at the answers in my own authentic way. He validated my grief and reminded me that grief itself is a movement—a turning of the wheel.

We then turned to the story I wanted to write. Heron asked what I felt most drawn to in The Wheel of Fortune. I told him that when The Wheel appears in my readings, I often experience it as a reminder to trust. It signals that the universe is always in motion, that our guides, spirits, and ancestors are working behind the scenes—creating, shifting, weaving a tapestry of future possibilities. I noted that, to me, The Wheel Reversed was quicksand—stagnation, bad luck, and, figuratively, getting stuck in the muck.

Like nepantla (see my other cuentito), The Wheel reminds us that we are always in between—between moments, identities, endings, and beginnings. Even when it feels like nothing is happening, something is always turning—whether through divine intervention or our own human intentions. 

Then Heron reminded me that I had seen a total of five herons on the sendero, noting the significance of the number. As did my mother, coincidentally, when I texted her a heron photo earlier that day.

The Keeper of the Wheel, from the Celtic Shaman’s Deck

In numerology, the number five represents change, freedom, and adventure. It is a number of energy, engagement, and versatility—the very qualities needed to invoke transformation. Those five herons felt like a living symbol of The Wheel itself: with trust and change comes freedom, movement, and vibrancy.

Before we parted, Heron reminded me that I could return to him anytime I needed guidance or peace. In that moment, I realized that his earlier message at the ordinary reality lake had carried deeper meaning. Inner peace is something I can access by journeying, by tending to my inner world, by nurturing the relationships I’ve built with my guides. They are always available to me.

As I returned from the journey, hovering briefly over my body, I breathed that peace back into myself. I spoke to myself lovingly and returned to my body from the journey. When I opened my eyes, I felt different—still, grateful, and genuinely content with the life I’ve been cultivating.

This experience helped me understand that The Wheel of Fortune is not only something happening to us—it is also something that lives within us. Yes, The Wheel represents the vastness of the universe, fate, and time. But we are infinite too. We are interconnected with that same motion.

While luck, destiny, and timing are threads in the tapestry of life, we also carry an inner Wheel—one we can return to again and again. In each moment, we are offered a choice: to stay stagnant in restlessness and negativity, or to turn inward and reconnect with the peace, trust, and stillness that have always been there.

The Wheel is always turning. The question is whether we trust ourselves enough to turn with it.

And because I am really corny, I’m going to leave you with the lyrics from John Lennon’s song “Watching the Wheels”.  Yes, I know he was a troubled and controversial man, but this song is apropos:

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round

I really love to watch them roll

No longer riding on the merry-go-round

I just had to let it go

I just had to let it go

I just had to let it go