My birthday is approaching in just a few short weeks. I suppose it comes the same time every year, so this shouldn’t be a surprise of any sort. But somehow it is.
With this realization I remembered that there was a unique birthday present from last year that I must revisit and think about again.
At a birthday night out with friends, one of my best girl friends, over drinks, brought up that she had a psychic she turned to from time to time. Off the bat, I assumed sarcasm. Or a quick one-liner. She wasn’t kidding. My friend, who hails from Georgia, learned of this psychic from a pal still in the Peach State who raved about the psychic. She was the real deal they claimed. Both women are the opposite of kooks. In fact, they’re smart, level-headed and not easily duped.
So, considering from where the suggestion came, I ended the night saying that one of my birthday presents would be a session with the psychic. I had never tried a psychic. I never wanted to try a psychic or believed in that particular set of spiritual skills. Perhaps the red wine played a role in convincing me otherwise. Either way, I told myself, “On your birthday, you say yes.”
Flash forward to the next morning:
“What have I committed to? Did I really agree to consult someone claiming to know the future? Who looks into crystal balls or reads Tarot or palms or some other far-from- reality pursuit?” I asked myself.
Then, I figured, “Why the hell not?” and got over myself.
Since the psychic is in Atlanta this was an appointment by phone. (Clearly this appointment wasn’t weird and skepticism-inducing enough already, so let’s add not even being able to see her equipment and methods as she prognosticated.) The drill was: I texted the psychic to set the time to talk. Then, during our appointment, I was to begin talking. What I said wasn’t even incredibly important; it was more about hearing my voice and reading my vibrations and energy, so I was told.
When it was her time to speak and provide some insights, she started with things I knew, talking about my relationship to family members, giving far from vague analyses of my life. I guess this is how psychics prove their legitimacy—reading the present correctly so that you have trust in their ability to plot further ahead.
I have to confess, 10 minutes in, I was more of a believer than I care to admit. The psychic had nailed explanations of each of my siblings and parents and had given a dead-on explanation of some past heartache. “How would she know any of this if she didn’t have some psychic, metaphysical goods,” I said to myself.
Then we turned to the future and, within that, love and romance. Without hesitation, my clairvoyant new friend had hope and optimism she was thrilled to share. In 10 months from then I would meet my soul mate, someone who I didn’t yet know but who would be a great man for me. He’d be tall with hazel eyes.
Then I forgot all about her predictions and lived my life, going on dates, working and meeting new people all the time as I usually do.
Did my soul mate stay home during one of the last snowstorms? I’m fairly sure we are not yet acquainted. Instead, it’s another year on the books.