Check Engine, Check Vibes: I Used My Dashboard Warning Lights as a Tarot Deck for 30 Days

Everyone has a coping mechanism. Some people do yoga. Some people journal. Some people pay a woman named Celeste $85 an hour to tell them their ex is a Scorpio. Me? I let my 2014 Honda Civic make every meaningful decision in my life for an entire month.

Here's how it happened: One Tuesday morning, running late for a job interview, I glanced at my dashboard and saw the check engine light glowing like a beacon of ancient wisdom. Normally this would fill me with dread. Instead, I thought, huh, that's probably a sign. I stopped for a breakfast burrito instead. I did not get the job. The burrito was incredible. A system was born.

The Rules of the Road (Literally)

The methodology was simple, which is good, because I am simple. Before any significant decision, I would turn the ignition to the "on" position — engine off, like a real divination ritual — and read the lights like tea leaves:

• Check Engine Light: A hard no. Whatever I was about to do, don't.
• Tire Pressure Light: Proceed, but cautiously. Bring a jacket.
• Low Fuel Light: Yes, but you'll pay for it later. (This one was eerily correct about a gym membership.)
• The Mystery Orange Gas Pump With the Arrow: I still don't fully understand this one, but I treated it as a general blessing from the universe. My car has an arrow pointing to the left, which I interpreted as "go left," which is how I found a taqueria that changed my life.
• No Lights At All: The void speaks. Do the scary thing.

Week One: The Honeymoon Phase

The first week, the lights went three-for-three. When my friend Dana asked if I should get back together with my ex, the check engine light blazed like the eye of Sauron. I texted Dana a screenshot instead of a reply. She said, "Honestly? Fair."

When the tire pressure light flickered on before a first date, I took it as a warning to lower my expectations. The date was fine. He talked about crypto for 45 minutes. The light was right to tell me to manage my expectations, even if it couldn't save me.

Week Two: The Dashboard Gets Personal

By week two, I was consulting the Civic for everything. Which grocery line to pick. Whether to watch The Bear or finally start Severance. Whether to reply to a work email immediately or let it marinate like a fine stew of avoidance.

My roommate, Priya, expressed concern. "You know those lights are just sensors measuring actual mechanical problems, right?"

I told her that Celeste's tarot cards are just pieces of cardboard, and she didn't have a comeback, so technically I won.

Week Three: The System Cracks (Like My Windshield)

Here's where things got dicey. The low fuel light came on and stayed on for what I can only describe as an extended spiritual commentary on my life choices. Under my own rules, this meant every decision for six days was a "yes, but you'll pay for it later." I said yes to helping a friend move. I paid for it later. The system works.

But then the lights went dark. Completely dark. No warnings, no guidance, nothing. According to my own framework, the void speaks, so I did the scary thing: I asked my boss for a raise.

She said she'd "look into it," which in corporate means no, but the attempt itself felt transformative. The void is wise, even when it's just a functioning vehicle.

The Final Scorecard

After 30 days, the official FunChoke tally:

• Dashboard lights: 19 correct calls, 7 wrong, 4 undecipherable (the gas pump arrow remains an enigma)
• My gut: 6 correct, 22 wrong, and one incident I've legally agreed not to discuss
• The breakfast burrito: Still incredible

The most damning statistic? My tire pressure light has been right every single time — because, as it turns out, it's connected to actual sensors measuring actual things, a concept manifestation culture could stand to borrow occasionally.

Would I Recommend Dashboard Divination?

Absolutely not. My "check engine" situation turned out to be a loose gas cap, which cost me $0 to fix and one very smug mechanic to confirm. My car is a 2014 Civic, not a mystic. It does not know things. It cannot guide you.

And yet. When the tire pressure light came on this morning before a big meeting, I wore a jacket anyway.

Better safe than sorry. The lights told me so.