Have you ever visited a psychic? Would you like to gaze into a crystal ball during these uncertain pandemic days and be reassured that yes, everything is going to be all right? If so, you’re not alone.
Last month, I read an article in The New York Times about how the pandemic has led many suffering from anxiety and fear to seek spiritual guidance via online psychic readings. Fortune tellers are seeing a big increase in business, as stress about the future has turned their customers to the supernatural for clues or answers. Most want to know when the pandemic will end; others seek guidance in finding romance when social distancing is the new normal. Those who suddenly lost their jobs are eager to make a career switch but don’t know where to begin.
Although I’ve been hit by pangs of frustration and despair over the past year, I’ve not consulted a psychic. Nor do I plan to. However, I can understand and relate to people who are overwhelmed and can’t see a way forward, as I was in a similar situation when I was forty-one. A supernatural session with “Angelica” turned my life around.
On my forty-first birthday, I’d fully expected Hank, my boyfriend of seven years, to propose. We’d been living together for three years, and the next logical step seemed to be marriage and maybe motherhood. (I say “maybe” because of my age.) He and I loved one another, got along better than most couples we knew, and existed in a happy day-to-day bubble. We both had satisfying careers, close friends, a comfy apartment with a grand piano, and shared many of the same values, except when it came to visualizing our future as a couple.
Even though Hank had been upfront about not wanting to settle down and raise a family due to his “advanced age of 51 years,” one year earlier, he’d given me an antique rose gold “friendship” ring that hinted at a change of heart. I truly believed it was only a matter of time before he would board the family bandwagon. But when no engagement ring materialized on my birthday the following year, I realized I had a big decision to make. I once again broached the long-term commitment issue with Hank, who hadn’t budged yet insisted there was room to compromise. How do you compromise on having a kid? I wanted to know. He had no answer.
Although I was devastated by this final impasse, I knew that continuing with Hank’s non-plans meant sacrificing my own. It was only a matter of time before I’d become bitter and our love would turn sour. On the other hand, as long as I didn’t dwell in the future, I was content with our status quo. Did I really want to go through the upheaval of another failed love relationship and re-enter the dating scene in my early ‘40s? Perish the thought!
Thankfully, my best friend Jenni saw the situation more clearly than I did. “If Hank can’t commit after seven years, ten or fifteen might not be enough either,” she warned. Ouch. Unless I was willing to “hang in there for the long haul,” it was high time to “settle down, not settle for.” She had a point.
Jenni confided that she had been stuck in a similar predicament years earlier and had visited a fortune teller, Angelica, as a last resort. The session had helped put her future into perspective, and over time, she emerged more at peace with herself and her choices.
“Desperation pretty much sums up how I’m feeling,” I told my friend.
“Then let me see if Angelica is still in business,” Jenni said, “and if so, I’ll schedule a session for you as a birthday present.” I promised to think about it.
At first, I dismissed the psychic realm as a bunch of hocus-pocus. Then I remembered that my mother had visited a fortune teller at age twenty after a failed romance. “Lady Olga” had read my mother’s tealeaves and predicted that she and her current beau would soon be parting ways. Her future husband, a man with the initial “J,” would soon enter her life, and they’d wed six months later. Soon after, my mother met “Joseph,” whom she married right on schedule. If my parents’ destined love and long, happy marriage was a testimony to the power of the tealeaves, I couldn’t just dismiss it as nonsense. I told Jenni I was open to meeting Angelica.
As I approached Angelica’s home one week later, I worried about what I would hear. What if she told me that Hank and I were finished? Even though it was a distinct possibility, I wasn’t sure I was ready to have a stranger sound the death knell of our love. I rang the doorbell, my heart leaping around my chest.
Angelica’s sing-song voice and ethereal presence set me at ease, as did the cloister-like interior of her home: a statue of Mother Mary greeted me in the living room; religious icons and paintings of angels hung from the walls. After introducing ourselves, Angelica asked me to sit without crossing my arms or legs so she could “tune in” properly. I obeyed. She closed her eyes and asked my “Higher Guides” to envelop us in a “golden circle of healing light and protection.”
After a long silence, she began to tell me things about myself that even Jenni didn’t know, such as falling out of a tree as a child, a long-ago pet who “still hovers around you.” My body language eased up as I realized that Angelica was more Glinda of Oz than the Wicked Witch of the West. Could she wave her magic wand and change Hank’s aversion to marriage and motherhood? The answer became clear as she uttered her first prediction.
“Soon you’ll be living in Eastern Europe,” she said in a voice brimming with excitement.
I jolted. “What on earth would I be doing there?” Although I longed to explore more of Europe, a long-distance move was not a consideration. My career, friends, parents, and Hank were all in Massachusetts.
“I see you standing in front of a room of students,” she continued. “It seems you’re teaching English.” I squirmed in my seat. “Tell me, Linda, is this something you’ve been thinking of?”
“Absolutely not!” I almost blurted out. I’d been working as a development director at a local nonprofit and had started interviewing with other groups that would take my career to the next level. Without wanting to divulge too much, I politely told Angelica that no, teaching overseas was not even a remote possibility.
As she went on to describe scenes from my “Odyssey” abroad—singing and playing piano, traveling to exotic locales, and meeting attractive men—I had to stop her, as her sixth sense obviously needed a fine-tuning.
“Um, Angelica,” I said timidly, “can you back up a bit. I’m still involved in a relationship here that I’m hoping will work out.” Without revealing too much detail, I told her about the proposal that didn’t happen and the ring Hank had given me the year before. “Even though we have diverging views on marriage and parenthood, all this time I’ve felt that Hank was my soul mate,” I continued.
Angelica dropped her dreamy eyelids again and sat in silence for a long while. When she finally looked at me, I sensed at once that I was the one who was off-track. “I’m sorry, Linda, if this isn’t what you want to hear, but your relationship with Hank isn’t working because he’s not your destined love.” I burst into tears; she reached over and handed me a box of tissues. “What I’m getting at is that your true love isn’t here in the U.S.”
“He’s not?” I glanced around the room.
“No, your future spouse is waiting for you in Europe.”
Europe? My eyes widened. “Can you tell me what he looks like?”
Angelica squinted and moments later said, “I see a tall man with glasses.” That certainly narrows the field down to a few million. His image was “fuzzy,” which meant he wasn’t coming into my life for a while. It seemed that my “Higher Guides” didn’t want me to know more details. “But don’t worry, Linda,” Angelica added. “Your Russian grandmother’s spirit is watching over you. She’ll lead you to the right place.”
“Would that be Russia?”
“Not necessarily.” She tossed aside a few shimmery strands of grayish hair. “But I believe a Russian icon will lead you to your future husband.” That seemed highly doubtful, as I hadn’t seen a Russian icon up close in years, and there were few opportunities to visit Orthodox churches where I lived.
Angelica ended the session by sharing scenes from the Odyssey that awaited me if I had the courage to embrace it. I thanked her and left, feeling conflicted and confused. She hadn’t offered any affirmation about Hank; on the contrary, he was a barrier to fulfilling my personal goals. On the other hand, it was exhilarating to think the future could be so alluring. I longed to see more of the world, but for the past seven years, I’d deferred to Hank’s preference to stay within a five-mile radius of home. Now that I thought about it, why had I put my travel plans on hold? I was also eager to reconnect with my passion for classical music, another Odyssey selling point.
Over the next few weeks, I pondered Angelica’s words, which had unearthed some of my deeply buried frustrations with Hank. I discussed the pros and cons of leaving him and moving overseas with Jenni and my parents. I even researched opportunities for English teachers abroad and lusted after photos of the Franz Liszt Music Academy in Budapest, where I envisioned walking in my musical idol’s footsteps.
One year later, I would volunteer for the Friends of the Liszt Academy and two years later, I would be singing onstage there. Aside from my musical immersion in Budapest, many other predictions Angelica had made came true. Which ones, exactly and how did they come about?
It’s a very long story and one I’m eager to share, but at 275 pages, it’s too long to post here 🙂 You can read about my overseas adventures in ODYSSEY OF LOVE: A MEMOIR OF SEEKING AND FINDING this spring when the book is published. Until then, here is a short synopsis: https://wordpress.com/page/lindajamsen.com/29.
Stay tuned for an opportunity to read an advanced copy!