A few weeks ago I shared a personal problem with my advisory board: the loose grouping of friends and colleagues whose opinions I trust and sometimes even listen to. Their words were wise but I was still undecided, and so I decided to see an intuitive who lived on the outskirts of town.
A friend’s daughter had consulted the woman (I’ll call her Cassandra), and Cassandra’s reading was spot-on. Cassandra identified the daughter’s medical issue and suggested a course of action, which turned out to be a good one.
My issue was relatively minor and likely would have resolved itself had I been more patient. The problem with problems, however, is that they linger. They are like houseguests who trash the place, promise to leave but do so only when there’s nothing left to munch on.
Now, for those of you who have never consulted an intuitive, be forewarned: sitting across from one is unnerving. You realize suddenly that you are paying a stranger $60 to nose around in your life for 30 minutes and that within milliseconds she’ll know you cheated on your 4th grade math quiz and are wearing holey underwear. You’ll get this sinking feeling that she’ll make horrid pronouncements, like your dog is going to die, which will freak you out even though you don’t have a dog.
Cassandra the intuitive didn’t smile as I stepped into her office. She sat on one side of her huge desk, I sat on the other, feeling like a job applicant. She closed her eyes and told me she was going to do a quick scan of my body to see what was what. Oh no! She was going to see my underwear.
When she opened her eyes, she looked at me accusingly. “You’re giving me a headache,” she said.
This threw me. I know I can be a pain in the ass, but a pain in the head? Read more