Three Months, Three Weeks, and Three Days

Years ago I traveled to New York City with my mom. I was probably in my late teens or early twenties, but I was going through one of those times where I was single and trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life.

Walking the down the bustling city streets, I was distracted by a voice, “Hey, you.”

I turned and saw an old woman sitting at a small (think t.v. tray size) table with an extra chair. She was a psychic. I am a very open-minded person and thought it would be a bit of an adventure so I sat down (and paid the woman, of course).

I don’t remember much of what she said, but when she got to the end of my reading she told me that I would find true love in three months, three weeks, and three days.

Luckily, this was an easy span of time to remember so when I got back home the next day I figured out which day to mark on my calendar. This was back when cell phones had little more than an alarm clock as an app, so yes, I waited until I got home. When I finished calculating, I was surprised to see that the date was none other than my birthday.

This made sense because I was sure to go out and celebrate with my friends. My birthday rolled around, I went out with my friends, and nothing amazing happened. My heart was not stolen, I did not feel the telltale electric vibes from anyone, and I didn’t see staring eyes across from the room, the beautiful eyes that only noticed me.

Perhaps my psychic friend delivers this same divine time period to any person who happens to sit at her tiny table, changing the words “true love” to “money”, or “a new job”, or whatever situation she feels her paying customer wants to hear. Or, perhaps, this woman does know how to communicate with the divine. And, if this truly is the case, perhaps my message is that my first true love should be myself. Once I love myself, then everything else will fall into place. This is the scenario I choose to believe.