Before I was eleven, I only spoke if I had to answer a question from a grown-up. At school, the teacher rarely called on me. I guess she didn’t think I wanted to shine in that way. Reserved and shy, I became a watcher. As I watched, I analyzed and thought about everything intuitively.
I analyzed interactions and saw how assertive people succeeded. On visits to other kid’s houses, I noticed how parents acted, and what children did to gather attention. In my free time, I hid in my room or under the dining room table to read, or played piano if no one was home. The only time I liked to go outside was to ride my bike, but that diminished after a bad fall, when it took forever for my dad to pick stones out of my chest and shoulder.
After that, I spent the next fifty years listening to my frustrated mother ask, “What happened to you?” Clearly, she liked the follower child more than the outspoken adult. But, heed her not. I pushed and pulled myself to speak up, to empower my feelings with actions, and to become self-employed.
Now, it seems I’m reverting to the old ways. I really like to stay home alone. When I visit my grown children they mention my bad hearing, and I get frustrated in places where there’s too much noise. My doctor claims my hearing is good for my age, but old people’s hearing is basically not all that good. So sometimes I tune out voices, and use my intuition to sense what’s going on.
All my life I wanted to be mysterious and enigmatic. My job as a psychic has made that come true, as I work in a field where so much of the esoteric lies unexplained. Now that my book, Carriers of Genius, has been published, I realize that during those years of writing four to eight hours a day, I became a recluse.
Change is good so I’ll embrace it, and let life unfold in waves. Maybe, I’ll catch those waves. Definitely, I’ll try to let the turbulent ones pass me by.