Yesterday I went to a psychic along with two friends. She told me that I would be wildly successful and was a born leader. She also told me that I had been having a lot of trouble with difficult friends over the past two years (uh, no) and that animals were comfortable around me, particularly horses (side note: the last time I was on a horse, it threw me and the rock that got lodged in my hip remains).
Obviously, the psychic got a few things wrong. But when, out of the three of us, she didn’t offer me her card, I automatically assumed that it was because:
A. She assumed I didn’t believe (and given the horse part, who can blame me?)
B. My demeanor/energy/aura was too toxic to invite back.
C. A meteor was going to hit me sometime in the near future, so there really was no point in wasting a calling card.
Rather than react like a level-headed, rational person, I assumed doom would soon befall me. When I ditched my case of the heebeejeebees, a little voice whispered, rather sarcastically, “Really? A psychic charging $20 for 10 minutes at Eastern Market in D.C.? That’s who you’re looking to for life advice?”
That same voice has been cropping up more and more lately — kind of like my own comedic commentator that is constantly in awe of my life — and I think it’s time I start listening.
In 2012, I’m going to get upbeat yet relaxed; ambitious yet patient; I’m going to follow through with my longheld (and long-ignored) goals and aspirations. Why should I need a psychic to tell me anything?
Although, Cosmo‘s bedside astrologer does say that I will be irresistible around labor day…