There was once a time when I believed in astrology, bought books about palmistry and Wicca, and owned a set of tarot cards which now gather more dust than insight. It’s been many years since anything supernatural has influenced my reality, but I did have my palm read last April and again today.
My friend and I made our first visit together on one of those girls’ nights out where we practiced our own exorcism of her ex-boyfriend with coffee shop sobs and greasy $1 slice pizza in the East Village. We each spent $20 to have our palms read at the nearest fortune teller in the Lower East Side and I didn’t plan on heeding any of the woman’s advice. Our fees were for entertainment rather than counsel.
The palm reader made three predictions for me that fell on a yearlong timeline. The first, was that a trip was in my near future and her advice was to make it a romantic one. Hell no was my response to that. I did have a trip lined up, but she was a few weeks off on the departure date and I had no intention of making it a trip for two.
The second prediction was that in November I would find my inspiration for life — the one thing I truly loved to do. Obviously I thought she was on crack. That’s a very specific fortune involving something very elusive. I discounted her on the spot and didn’t think twice about her words until November rolled around. She got it right. Shit. I mean, YAY!, but shit.
You see, her third prediction was that I wouldn’t be in New York in April of this year. When she told me this, my crack theory had been reinforced since I had just signed a year long lease starting in June. Following November and especially after making a rather unexpected career decision last week, I began to worry about this. I’m fully aware of how stupid this is but it was nagging me anyway.
So today I went to another fortune teller wanting only one question answered. Will I be here in New York three months from now? I probably should’ve turned around when the door was answered by a sleepy-eyed burly woman wearing stained pajamas and a scruffy pink bathrobe, but it would’ve been rude since I had clearly just disturbed her afternoon nap / movie watching time. I think she was watching Knocked Up.
I opted for a tarot card reading and when she started placing the cards side by side in rows of seven pausing only to ask me probing questions which I tried to deflect, I knew she was a fraud. She refused to make predictions and the few statements she imparted could be used for any scenario. “Do you want to be here?” she’d ask after I asked whether I’d still be around in three months. “If you want to be here, you can be here” she’d say after I refused to answer.
She wrongly assumed quite a few things too, including the fact that if I were to move somewhere it’d be somewhere like California or Chicago or various other cities within the states that she rattled off while looking for a glimpse of affirmation in my eyes. It also seemed to catch her off guard that I don’t have family here and that I don’t live with roommates. She also got it all wrong when it came to work. Really she was just terrible at the whole fortune telling business.
Nevertheless, she did reaffirm something that I guess I had forgotten. She told me to stop wasting money on fortune tellers because if I wanted something to happen, I could just make it so. She said this right before taking the $20 fee from my hand. I suppose this time I was really paying for counsel. Ha!