In late 2006, just a few weeks before my ex and I were to get married in the eyes of the state (the church wedding would come later), I went up to Los Angeles to spend a weekend with my best friend, Monica. At six-months-older-than-me, she had a lifestyle akin to the one we enjoyed in college: she was working in a coffee shop, living with roommates, and partying every night. I was jealous, not to mention feeling boring and old and apprehensive about marriage, and so she promised me a weekend full of the things I’d been missing.
We went to three house parties in two nights. At the second of the three parties, the hostess had hired a psychic to do mini readings for $15, for anyone who wanted one. And as far as Monica, her roommates, and I were concerned, getting a reading wasn’t optional. I think I went second out of our group. I hid my engagement ring in my pocket so the psychic wouldn’t have that clue to my relationship status, and when she asked to hold a metal object belonging to me, I gave her the ring I wear on my right hand.
“Okay, Marie,” she began in her Eastern European accent. “Whatever I see, good or bad, I will be honest with you.”
She began by telling me I was unhappy in my job (then an office assistant) and that I wanted, and would eventually find, a career in something creative, “like writing and design.” She informed me that I’d been in my current relationship for “one-and-a-half to two years” (we’d just hit the two-year mark a few days before), then warned me that I would meet someone in the next four-to-six months, and leave my husband for him.
I started to cry. I couldn’t fathom leaving my ex for someone I hadn’t even met yet. Actually, I tried to convince her that maybe she meant I was going to leave him for someone from my past; I was re-crushing on Great Love #3 at the time, and wouldn’t have minded ending up with him, but I couldn’t even imagine there was someone I hadn’t even met yet that would be able to entice me away from my husband.
The psychic stood firm. “It’s showing me you will meet someone in the next four-to-six months,” she repeated. “But then in this new relationship, he is the one you’re meant to be with, and you’ll be happy together, and you will have two children.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But that’s not me – to cheat, to leave. What if I choose to stay with my husband?”
“Then you will be happy,” she said after some thought. “But it will be hard work.”
She came around the table to give me a hug (I was still crying), and told me to keep my $15 since I hadn’t been happy with my reading. I went back out to where Monica and her roommates were waiting, and told them what had happened. Monica gave me vodka, and lots of it. I spent the rest of the night drunk-texting Great Loves 1 and 3 – probably shamelessly flirting with both of them – and apparently I also drunk-dialed Carrie in the middle of the night, to bemoan my sordid future, with no consideration for the fact that she was trying to sleep, or the fact that her mom was dying.
I obsessed about this prediction for the next 24 hours or so, then forgot about it and got on with my life and my wedding planning. It wasn’t until after I’d met Doug and left my ex (which ended up happening four-plus-six months later – the party hostess had warned us that sometimes this psychic’s timing was a little off) that I even made the connection.
And of course, ever since then, I’ve been getting psychic readings here and there and meaning to go get another reading from this particular psychic.
Yesterday was the day. My friend Melissa and I drove up from San Diego to Orange County, where the psychic has her actual office, and Carrie came down from LA to meet us.
The psychic’s waiting room was full of various religious and cultural iconography – crosses, books of prayer and palmistry, a large Buddha, statues of saints and frogs (in Russia, I’ve been told, frogs represent wealth). I felt like I was part of the scenery, with my own cross and my healing hand competing for space between my collarbones. Melissa went first, and Carrie was running late, so I got to spend some time alone inspecting this room. There was a framed newspaper article from 1995 on the wall, and I read part of it: I learned that our psychic is from an Italian and Yugoslavian background, that she’s a devout Catholic, that she’s been doing this almost as long as I’ve been alive, and that she doesn’t believe she possesses any magical powers. (“Everyone is psychic,” the pull-quote said, going on to explain that some people are just more in-tune with their abilities than others.) The woman in the article’s photo was a dark-haired beauty, with a large flower behind her ear. The same woman, now, is bleached-blonde, and was wearing glasses and a royal blue track suit.
When it was my turn, I followed her back into the tiny office, a room with a curtained window, a table covered in more statues (including the bust of a forlorn Jesus with a chipped nose, who sat directly in my line of vision during my reading), and two simple chairs. I sat across from the psychic and, when prompted to give her a metal object, handed her the same ring she’d used to read me that night four years ago. This time, she also had me hold out both hands, palms up, which, with my elbows resting on my knees, meant that the thing in her direct line of vision was my cleavage. (Whoops…)
“Say your full name and date of birth,” she instructed.
I did as I was told, and she began.
“It’s telling me you have a very honest soul, a very old soul. You’re very intuitive yourself. But you’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. Your third eye is blocked; you’re unsure of what the blockage is, but it’s keeping you from seeing clearly with that eye. You’ve been working on some meditation of some sort? Keep focusing on that.”
Every psychic I’ve been to, and a coworker in Seattle who used to tell me about her spirit guides, has told me that I, too, am intuitive. I, apparently, have rarely, if ever, tapped into these powers. And I haven’t been meditating, but I am willing to concede that writing this blog – the “soul-searching” she mentioned – could be considered an active form of meditation.
“You’ve reconnected with two people from your past lives,” she went on. “One is your romantic relationship. In the past life, you were together but you were torn apart by others, and you were meant to be brought back together in that life, but instead are coming back together now, as soul mates. And… Did you break up and get back together?” I shook my head.
“It’s showing me a separation.” She pointed to some point on my palm that indicated this separation and rejoining. “But maybe this is just from the past life, when you were torn apart by others. Anyway, he is a good man, and he cares about you very much. I see there are no major problems in your relationship – just the day-to-day things we all go through.” She chuckled to herself. “Do you think there are any major problems in your relationship?”
“No,” I said, smiling. “Not lately.”
Doug and I had a rough start of things, and I often marvel that we did stay together. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked about a period of separation – one other psychic predicted that I would, at some point, even move out. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so forgiving of his early indiscretions, but I was, and I’m confident that those issues are no longer issues, and that my patience and tolerance paid off.
“You will want to change your career – you are very creative, and this is where your true strength lies, in writing and design. And it’s telling me that you will publish a book later. But don’t quit your current job: you are doing well there, and you make good money.” I almost laughed out loud. “Also, it’s telling me you want to go into psychiatry, or maybe social work – perhaps working with children, but not as a teacher. Have you ever wanted to go into psychiatry?” I told her I’ve considered it fleetingly, as an option, but never felt seriously pulled to it. “It’s showing me healing and service, and usually this means psychiatry. But it could also be something through your writing, perhaps the book you will publish will help people.”
The last guess felt most on-point. Sure, I’ve thought about being a therapist, but I always figured that was just because I needed therapy myself. But I do believe I can help people by sharing my story – I believe I have already helped people by sharing my story – and I do give good unsolicited advice. I’m also glad she told me not to quit the grocery store, because I wasn’t planning on it; and while I don’t make good money there, I am surviving – my ends are meeting – which is more than many can say these days.
She told me some other stuff: my health is good, my family’s health is good; I’ll have an opportunity for a residential move in about a year from now – possibly the purchase of property, possibly something out of the area – but it’s only if I want it; the “cycle” I’m in now has no major events or changes in it, but in my next cycle, next year, there will be. Then she asked if there was anything else I wanted to know about.
“Um, yeah,” I said, scared and almost embarrassed to ask. “Children?”
“You will have one child,” she said. “But… It is also showing me a boy and a girl. But see here [pointing to my palm again], there is only one child. Was there perhaps a miscarriage?” I nodded. “That might explain it then. But you will have one child. Right now, I’m feeling very strongly a boy’s energy, but perhaps that was the one you lost.”
Last time she saw two children; this time, only one. It makes sense, but it’s kind of (devastatingly) disappointing. Melissa reassured me later that maybe it just means I’ll have twins: one pregnancy, two babies. And the other psychics readings I’ve gotten – both of which occurred after my miscarriage – both predicted two children, a boy and a girl. So I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how this one plays out. (Or go find another psychic, to get a second/third/fourth opinion.)
And there was one thing she told me repeatedly during our half hour together: “You feel you have all these problems, but you don’t know what they are. That’s because you have no problems; everything in your life is going fine.”
Hell, I would’ve given her the forty bucks to say that and that alone.