The Fortune Teller

The quarter century life crisis is a condition. To cure it take one community college class, a cup of coffee and smoke a few American spirit cigarettes. If that doesn’t work call your guru in the morning. There I was in my mid-twenties, surviving New York in a recession on my own.

I had friends, a bachelor’s degree and lived five blocks from the subway. However, living in a utopia of creative ways to pay rent and still have money to keep a social life in the Lower East Side was playing it’s course. I was working, but the pressures to build a career mounted.

At twenty-five, I didn’t want to work in entertainment. Therefore, I studied for the GRE’s. I would sit on my stoop and take different practice GRE tests. What struck me during this time was my love of the word. I find great excitement discovering new words and adding them to the vocabulary family. I didn’t know how I could make a career as a writer.

Like any other Sunday, I loved my walks in the East Village. If I were having a good week financially, I’d order a fancy coffee. In case of a broke week, it was always black coffee. One particular day, I had bought a designer coffee. I was still contemplating what I would do with the rest of my life. However, I couldn’t figure out, what I wanted to do career wise.

In between First and Second Avenue, I would search for my answers. Walking past the very old apartment blocks was a sign for psychic readings. When it comes to psychics, I’ve always been skeptical. I was desperate for answers and had an extra twenty bucks in my pocket. I rang the bell and the psychic lady let me inside.

She stared at me. I was quite uncomfortable and thinking to myself, ” am I seriously spending 20 bucks on this shit? That’s my coffee trust fund for the week.” She shuffled her magic cards. Then, told me this is what’s going to happen ” you’re going to move to California.” I swallowed in nervously. Her tone changed, ” you’re not going to like it and will return to New York.” I asked her about career. She didn’t give me an exact answer.

“You’re going to return to New York with a dream career,” she replied. I gave a nervous smile. The biggest revelations were yet to come. ” You will have a husband and two kids,” her psychic seriousness turned into a jovial grin. ” Geez, moving back to California” I thought, not really what I want. I paid her the twenty-bucks and walked out of the tenement building in the freezing cold East Village night.

I walked around Second Avenue, passing the Patricia Fields shop (which always has wonderful window displays). The urge, the cock and detox, which are gay, dive bar heaven lined next to each other. I looked around at all the people traffic and thought to myself, I don’t want to give this up for the West Coast.

Flexibility is key in surviving life. I did end up moving to California. Being back in Southern California wasn’t my thing. Through moving back west, I did find my dream career, copywriting. The psychic lady was right. Everyday, I’m grateful for having a career path and loving every minute of it. I am waiting to see the other predictions come true, even though I am not looking for a husband at the moment.

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