You follow her into a room, it's dark, and there's music playing. She tells you not to be afraid. It's not going to kill you, she says with a smile. You've never been spiritual, not until recently anyway, and part of you is scared and worried. But another piece of you is extremely open to this experience. You've never heard of oracle cards before and you got that tarot card reading that one time and it felt pretty good.
But there was something inside of you that was worried you'd hear something that wouldn't help. That would make you feel worse. And you didn't want that, you were more scared and terrified of someone agreeing with the what you think about yourself in private.
As she gathers her things together The National's Graceless* comes on the radio. Oh, I love this one, she says as she bops her head up and down nonchalantly. As you fall inside of your head the lyrics dripped slowly into your ears:
"Is there a powder to erase this? Is it dissolvable and tasteless? You can't imagine how I hate this. Graceless. I'm trying, but I'm graceless. Don't have the sunny side to face this, I am invisible and weightless. You can't imagine how I hate this..."
And that's how you spent the past couple of days, feeling invisible and weightless. Lost in a crowd, drifting through an ocean of people, ebbing and not flowing, existing, looking, hoping, pretending, pretending, pretending.
Pretending that you were okay and pretending that you were going to make it through the summer** and the only honest thing you've done all month was agree to get this reading because you knew it would be quick and easy and maybe it would push you over the edge but maybe it would give you hope. Maybe it will help, you think.
Before you know it, she finishes the reading***. You feel better for some reason, even though you know there's some kind of trick to these things like how many of the statements can apply to anyone and there's nothing special about what you heard but something inside of you believes everything you heard.
You feel at ease. You feel, well, happy. You walk up to the stereo and plug your phone into it. You play a song you haven't listened to in a couple of years that you finally start to understand.
"And then an old friend sang to me, ”We gotta find some energy”. To balance in between, being real and being free. Rain down some change on me, flow through me like a stream. Light fire ‘neath my feet, balance me in between."
You feel like you have found that energy. You feel excited to go to sleep and wake up the next morning [which is something you haven't felt excited for in a long time], you're ready to continue your life.
You have something to help lift the burden you carry every day and that's enough for you.
*You've heard this song before. It was one of the few songs that you'd listen to on repeat at work while you lifted and delivered boxes. Small boxes, large boxes, trunks, tools, envelopes, and the printer paper boxes you had to bring to all six copy stations in Building One and all four copy stations in Building Two and you had to bring a couple more boxes to Lori in accounting because she has a secret stash of printer paper that she uses for her personal printer. And you decide to be nice to her because you haven't been nice a day in your life and maybe if you have a positive outlook on life -- for once -- you will be rewarded, rewarded the way you were a couple weeks ago when your boss took you out of the mail room so you could take measurements for the Boys in Construction. You're nice because maybe, just maybe, your boss will pull you out of that windowless, dungeon of a mail room and give you a desk job. A desk job that will make you feel important. Because this, this is what has been important to you over the past year.
**By this you mean suicide. You have always thought about it. And every summer, when the couples are getting married or going on trips to France or posting up pictures of themselves at the beach you feel an ache inside your chest you never feel throughout the rest of the year. And it isn't really the couples that get to you, no, it's the smiling. The constant smiles that barrage your Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter feed. The pictures of people enjoying themselves and the way you look down at your palms like you're missing the joke, or there's something going on that you've never understood, or maybe you're just different like all the Kindergarden teachers told you. And maybe you're special but you know you aren't. You know there's nothing special about you and you're not sure if this makes you happy or sad or different but you know you don't want to lift boxes anymore and you're tired of Chrissy's complaining even though she's your boss and even though she does less than you do, you're tired of her and her bullshit. You're tired of everyone's bullshit, really.
***You need to find your happiness everyday and the rest will start coming naturally. Your life lacks color. You're trapped in black, white, and gray. "There is nothing holy, superior, or righteous about resisting pleasure or hiding your beauty". You need to, like, share who you are with the world. You know, like, life is to be enjoyed not endured. Accept yourself as a beautiful human being, please. Indulge in good music, time with your friends, and good food. Live your fucking life 'cause it seems like you aren't. There are people that love you, let them.