At the end of March I attended The Creative Ink Festival (it’s awesome, as I’ve outlined here), not too far from where I live. As it’s local, I use it to catch up with writer friends and refill my reservoir. This year, I received some unexpected, but much needed, nourishment from a fellow attendee.
As I relaxed at a Creative Academy social event, a lovely woman named Aggie sat down beside me on the elegant blue chaises in the upper lobby of the Delta Burnaby. She was waiting for a colleague, and because Creative Ink is a super friendly and inclusive conference, we invited her to join us. Turns out, Aggie does psychic readings, and as she waited, offered to do one for me. She passed me a handful of multi-coloured polished stones from an organza drawstring bag she stashed in her briefcase. Aggie told me to hold them in my hand moment and then cast them onto the green file folder she used to create a make-shift desk on her lap. The rocks clacked together and fell into a jumbled group- I spied a specimen of vivid red jasper, rose quartz, a fragment of amethyst, and a flash of turquoise. Then, Aggie studied the array, silent for several heartbeats before she shared what she had learned about my future.
“You need to accept your passion. Focus on humour- things that make you laugh, enjoy life. Life will divide your luck between good and negative. Don’t worry if something bad happens because it may in fact be positive.”
I nodded, mesmerized, as Aggie continued.
“Wealth will come soon. You need to take your passion seriously and serve your heart first. Listen to your intuition.”
I thanked Aggie. She packed up her rocks. As she stood to go, she looked me in the eye.
“Dear, I can’t stress enough to you how critical it is for you to pursue your passion.”
And with that, she left to locate her friend. Our paths didn’t cross again.
I’ve never had a psychic reading. It’s not that I dismiss it, though I admit I have doubts about those who do it for money. Aggie gifted her reading knowing only that we share a love for writing- evident as attendees at the same writing festival. The curious thing is, everything she told me I’ve been saying to myself for the last few months. To hear them come from a random stranger, one I only had the fortune to meet because we sat next to one another that evening- curious, disquieting, but also affirming.
Aggie confessed she once did readings professionally, but grew tired of “informing people of what they already recognized” and felt they could “figure it out for themselves”. It was as if the Universe sent this unassuming woman to confirm that what I’ve been worrying about is vital to my identity and my mental health. Writing must become an indisputable part of my life, if my life is to suit my definition of well-lived. I can’t find joy without it, though I often forget that.
Thank you, Aggie, for convincing me what I perceive in my heart is true. Confirming for me that what I’ve been saying to myself about my writing, and what I want to do with my life, is important and true.
Now, to find the courage to accept this unexpected nourishment.