I should preface this by saying that I’m a skeptic. I’m pragmatic, tethered to that which is scientific and logical. I grew up an agnostic, became a Christian, and then abandoned my faith because I stopped believing. Now, I’m an atheist who tries to find wonder in the world. And while I’m in awe of this life and know that the world is greater than me, that so much goes unexplained, I’m not quite ready to go back to believing the heaven // hell binary. I should also say that I’m frightened of death, so much so that over the course of the past twenty years I’ve experienced random anxiety attacks, knowing that one day I will cease to exist. One morning I won’t wake and plant both feet on the ground. Eight months ago, I felt subsumed by darkness, and all I wanted was to curl up in a ball on my bathroom floor and fall into permanent sleep. The irony of this state (and my real fear of ever returning to it) is palpable, and I’m grateful for the fact that I’m no longer a resident of this country. I’ve worked hard to return to a place of normalcy–you know, routine anxiety attacks over my fear of dying.
Perhaps I’ve gone full-L.A., or I’m aching for answers that I went to a psychic. Me being me, I researched extensively, scoured and read hundreds of reviews, and finally chose a psychic that didn’t seem like your ubiquitous $5 for a palm reading situation. Even though I prepared my questions in advance of the reading, I was skeptical. I considered this experience hopeful entertainment. However, after an hour-long conversation, after meeting with someone who knew information that couldn’t be found anywhere but my person, I was unnerved. I felt off-kilter. I immediately went into full analysis mode. Some of what she said can certainly be found in the pages of my first book or by reading any of the very personal essays I’ve written here or on Medium. But yet.
There were things she knew about me and my life that only I, or a very select number of people, know. How could she know about a specific song I play that reminds me of my mother? No one knows this. How could she know details about my views on marriage and my previous partners when my romantic attachments are one of the few things I’ll never write about on this or any space? How could she describe, in excruciating detail, the last few days of mother’s life with a certainty that was chilling? How could she know about a specific dream I had, one which I’ve only recounted to one person?
How could she know?
After a half hour of her “reading” me, she invited me to ask her questions, and I felt relatively satisfied with her responses. What gave me comfort was her reminder that everything she told me can be altered through free will. I asked her the question that few people want to ask, one that made her feel uncomfortable. When would I die? How would I die? What would I die in the same matter my mother had (no, you take better care of your body)? After a few moments, I learned that I will face an illness in my early 60s, something akin to cancer, and there will be a moment where I will have to decide if I want to go. This put me on pause because why wouldn’t I? Why would someone, who wakes washed in sweat over the fear of waking to nothingness, choose to die? (Of course conveniently forgetting that most recent period in February) She shook her head and said she didn’t know. She just said that if I choose to go on, I’ll live into my late 70s, early 80s.
Why wouldn’t I choose to go on?
Again, she didn’t know. Will I be alone? No. Will I be married? No. I nodded because while I long for a partner, I’m allergic to the idea of marriage. I love children but I do not want any of my own. But I don’t want to be alone. I want abundance. I want a life well-lived. And she said that the choice will have to do with the fact that have I done everything I set out to do? The choice will center on that need to do or not do more.
I don’t know what to make of this. Part of me laughs it off because seriously? I met with a psychic? How L.A. But another part of me wonders, how could she know with such clarity and specificity? How?