The Psychic Was Right. But I'll Stick With Non-Toxic Sunscreen In Case
I was walking through the psychic fair when a woman pulled me over.
Pick a number from this chart and I will tell you your future.
I don’t know why, but I was drawn to 256.
“From that number I can tell you that you will marry your boyfriend, have two boys and be a writer.”
I was 20 years old at the time with a high school boyfriend and dreams of being a political reporter. So the prediction hit scarily close to home. And they all came true. (Except the poltical reporter part, I dropped that a few years later.)
And yet, I am not really a believer in all things psychic. I had some giveaways: I was wearing a small ring gifted to me by my boyfriend. I was carrying a steno pad as I was covering the event for the school paper. And the two boys? Well, good guess.
The thing is: I want to believe. I want to fast forward so I can know the answers to all those questions that irk me. Will my kids be healthy? Will they be happy? Will my husband manage stress or kill himself with worry? Will my parents be around to see their grandchildren marry? Will I?
So, when I was at Canyon Ranch recently, I went to another psychic. My cynicism in one hand, my hope to assuage my fears in another.
She told me that I was co-operative and I had a voice. She said not to speak with residue when I was feeling powerless. (I think that meant that I shouldn’t be so snarky. But we all know that is my trademark.)
She said that there would be success in work and kept saying Erma Bombeck over and over. She said my kids would be fine and described them to a T, she said my husband needed to learn to handle stress and he would live a long time.
Phew. But I know that I gave her all the clues: being nice with an edge of humour when I walked in, asking about my husband directly, telling her I had three kids (birth order theory is very descriptive). Giving her the title of this blog.
The clues to me were all there. And so when I left there I didn’t feel that sense of peace I was looking for. I know that my marriage is solid; that I will do what I do; my kids are who they are. But I fear, what most parents fear - the split-second. The instant when life changes.
The diagnosis.
The phone call.
The knock at the door.
That sound.
The moment of no return.
Those instances that can’t be predicted by us, or, sadly by psychics. Those events can’t be avoided by non-toxic sunscreens, washing fruit or banning Barbie. The fear of those moments lives inside me and every parent. And so we go through our day, managing the little things: urging our kids to eat cucumbers; wear a sweater; do their homework. We obsess about the little things, knowing that no one will ever be able to tell us what our future holds.
Would you ever see a psychic? What would you ask?
Want more chaos? Last year, I wrote a post on how I manged to have a girl after having two boys and what we did with the information.
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