Be Who You Wanna Be

Everyone has an artistic bent. Jeannie paints, Judy cooks, Denise connects as a volunteer, and Pat sewed her granddaughter’s wedding dress. The last time I sewed and painted was in middle school. When I cook for my grown children, I keep my fingers crossed that it’ll be one of my rare, good result days. When I volunteer, I’m in action mode rather than connection mode.

 

All my life I’ve felt like everyone else knows how to act but I lost the map. In elementary school, I studied the popular girls to glean what to say and when to laugh. With no pets, I couldn’t mimic Walt Disney, who lost himself in the world of his farm animals. He gave them names and said each one had a distinct personality all its own. Every day, he talked with them and made up stories about their lives. That’s the way he fit in.

 

It’s possible that many of you wonder how you fit in. On Wednesday, I had an answer to my own question when three year old Annie came for a piano and voice lesson with her mom Jo. Annie nudged her mom.

                                                                                                     

“What’s your name?” Jo asked. She writes my checks, so I thought it might be a game.

 

“Jan,” I said.

 

“See?” said Jo. Annie looked stricken, ready to cry. I got down low so we’d be face to face.

 

“You thought my name was Princess, right?” Annie nodded.

 

I explained to Jo that young children don’t understand the word introduction, which is when I play the opening notes before my voice students sing. I always tell the little ones, “Now remember, the princess goes first and I am the princess.” It’s the only time I feel like a princess, and I enjoy it. I decide who I am, and I am her. I even imagine the beautiful dress I have on.

 

So anytime you feel like it, you can be the princess, the chef or the high fashion designer. Go on. Just be who you wanna be.

 

A Psychic's Oath of Secrecy

My first good psychic loved to gossip. When he did readings for me, he bled juicy facts about his clients. Who slept around, who shoplifted, and who spent way more money than her husband realized. At first, I thought I was part of his inner circle, but later I realized he just had a big mouth. He put those confidences out on the table, along with his beat-up Waite-Rider tarot cards. I vowed I would never be a read-and-tell psychic. No blabber mouthing for me.

Once in a while when I do readings, something comes out of my mouth that shocks me and I remember it, but most of the time I have no recollection of what I say to my clients. My brain doesn’t generate the information I give. It just facilitates it.

Two women came for a consult yesterday. They said they’d been to see me twice before, but I remembered nothing. Only one of them even looked familiar. I have a quick brain that recalls a lot, but in this case, nada. Maybe my vow of secrecy wipes out sensational or sad disclosures. I believe I’m just a radio, a conduit with my brain as the motor.

I’ve always taught music to children and I keep their little secrets safe. I guess I follow those same rules with my intuitive readings. It’s just not my business to share their intimacies. I wouldn’t want them to share mine. 

Kindness in the Big Apple

Earlier this month I spent three days in New York City. Back in 1973, when I finished United’s flight attendant school in Chicago, I was almost assigned Newark, New Jersey as my home base. I was happy to get D.C. because I had been to NYC in the early 70’s and I found it rushed and unfriendly. I know now it was me, not the people.

This visit I went into a shop to buy a loaf of gluten free bread to take home. The young Hispanic man asked if I wanted a plastic bag. The bread was wrapped in plastic so I felt confused, like I couldn’t hear him.

“Maybe it’s my age, but I tend to drift off sometimes and I don’t hear,” I told him.

“I can’t ever hear my mom, so I don’t think it’s your age. She calls me and I actually don’t hear her. I don’t know what it is,” he said.

I decided to use my intuitive skills. “Maybe you were meant to have another name, and you would respond to that one. Something like Jim Bob. That would get your attention.”

We had a laugh and off I went, only to return for lunch. As he handed me my take-out, he leaned forward and smiled. “Have an amazing life,” he told me.

Oh how wrong I was about New Yorkers. From the helpful girls on the subway, to the tourist family by Rockefeller Center, to the older man who told me the city was covered with elm trees until the blight, to the maintenance man who leaned on his broom and laughed when I told him I’d been walking in circles. Their friendliness enveloped me like a warm coat. And with 40 mph winds and temps in the low 30’s, I needed it.