I used to be obsessed with psychics. Tarot readers, palm readers, crystal balls—you name it, and I paid someone to work their magic. Why was I so obsessed with knowing my future? I blame it on my fear of abandonment. Whenever I really liked a guy, I was terrified to lose them. The first man I ever loved abandoned me, so why wouldn’t the rest follow in papi’s footsteps? It was a reasonable expectation.
Eventually, I realized getting a glimpse of my immediate future harmed more than it helped. After the readings, I would solely focus on what was going to happen and not on the present moment, and that is a highly stressful way to live. If I kept running to psychics when my relationships got complicated, I could never let go of control. And let’s face it chicas, we aren't really ever in control. So I worked on myself and abandoned my fear of abandonment and the psychics along with it . . . for the most part.
Like any addict, I occasionally slip up. I have a stack of tarot cards that I read once in a while and just a few days ago I went to see Norma, an elderly baraja reader my friend recommended. The sole purpose of my visit was to get some clarity. From launching my very own new website to my deep emotions for men that weren’t going anywhere, I needed direction. So I sat down and waited for Norma to reveal my future. I watched quietly as she shuffled the deck, bracing myself for the worst and hoping for the best.