Before jumping right into today’s events, I’d like to say that I’m no stranger to things most people (at least in the Bible Belt) consider weird. I’ve honestly spent more time reading and learning about meditation, Reiki, Chi Kung, past life regressions, chakras, and “the other side” than I can remember. I like it–it fascinates me–we all need hobbies. All the being said, every time I walk into a room full of crystals or read something online about balancing my aura, there’s still part of me that thinks, You’ve got to be kidding.

So with that in mind–

Today I went to a Spirit Fair (which I’m affectionately referring to as a “Woo Woo Market”) in Fayetteville. My friend CJ invited me and said there would be a lady who talks to angels, spirit guides, and dead people. (There’s a difference.) CJ said she went last year and got a message from her grandmother. When I told my parents about it, my dad said, “See what Dee and Dorothy [his parents, my grandparents] are up to!” I told CJ, “Hum. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

She said, “I’ll buy your lunch.”

“In that case, exactly when will the ghosts be arriving?”

True to her word, CJ bought my lunch, which we ate with some of her friends. Afterwards, it was onwards and upwards (metaphysically speaking, of course). The Spirit Fair was held at a local hotel, where one of the meeting rooms had been transformed into–basically–a waiting room for the afterlife. Again, this was not my first New Age rodeo, but I have never seen so many rocks, crystals, and sticks of incense anywhere else. Of course, not everything was “weird,” as there were massage oils and bath products as well. CJ actually found a bar of charcoal soap called Gender Bender and asked if that was my problem. “Have you been using this?” she said.

Chronologically, the most interesting part of the day for me happened next. However, I’d like to skip ahead for just a moment to say this–CJ and her friends and I did sit in on the angel/spirit guide/ghost communicator session that happened later in the day in another room. And whereas it was fascinating and one of CJ’s friends got a very moving message from her mother, none of my relatives showed up. (Typical.) So since I didn’t have a direct experience with it, I’ll refrain from commenting, leave that part of the day in the “uncategorized” part of my brain, and now go back to earlier in the afternoon and the place we were just a moment ago.

You know–Hogwarts.

In the center of the room was a swath of intuitives, psychics, card readers, and so forth. Honestly, I believe in a lot of that stuff, but I also believe in bullshit, so I tend to be pretty picky about whom I let in my aura (energy field, personal space). Therefore, I hadn’t planned on sitting down with anyone. However, I kept noticing a lady who was doing palm readings who “felt right,” and eventually I got curious enough to get in line, a place I stood for about forty-five minutes. This is good, I thought. She’s spending a lot of time with each person.

When it came my turn, I introduced myself and put my hands down on the table. Since the theory is that our hands reflect our minds and souls, it felt like, welcome to my life. (I haven’t read a lot about palmistry, but I have read a lot about handwriting analysis, and the theories are similar. In short, you can’t hide who you are.) Although some palm readers purport to look at hands and tell the future, the lady today–RJ–said it’s really more about personality, things that have happened to you, and assets and liabilities.

So you’re telling me I’ve been walking around my entire life with a pumped-up Myers-Briggs test in my pockets?

The first thing RJ said was that “some stuff” happened when I was six or seven that caused me to become fiercely independent. Check. She said my reaction to the event (which would have been my mom’s leaving home for a year for health concerns) was to become an island, at least for a while. Then she talked about my life line, my head line, and my fate line, the last of which she said went all the way up. (Why thank you, my dad will be proud.) She said that indicated self-actualization, like I’m here on the planet for a reason and ready to go to work.

When we talked about my fingers, RJ said my most developed fingers had to do with social/political traits (index), moral/ethical traits (middle), and creative traits (ring). Ironically, the finger dealing with communication traits (pinky), was less developed, although she did say I was outspoken. When I told my mom that my communication finger was small, she said, “Well, sometimes I ask how your day was, and you only say, ‘Good.'”

Point taken, Mom.

RJ also said that we wear rings on particular fingers for a reason, that if a ring isn’t comfortable, we’ll stop wearing it. In my case, I always wear a ring on the index finger of my right (dominate) hand, which RJ said meant I had something to say or do. According to Google, that finger is associated with ambition and self-confidence. When RJ looked at my fingernails (which, thank God, I just clipped yesterday) she said sometimes I start things I don’t finish. Yes, that’s correct. But, she said, I’m also determined and finish the things that are necessary.

In the fifteen minutes that RJ looked at my palms, she covered a lot more. However, despite the fact that most of my life is right here on this blog (every day, every damn day), I’ll spare you the details because 1) I can’t imagine that it would be that interesting to you, 2) a man needs “some” privacy, and 3) my pinky finger is only so developed. Still, I will say that RJ said my worry lines were being “kept at bay” by a guardian angel and that I have a rather long life line, indicating that I’ll be around for a while. (So deal with it.)

This evening I went for a jog and thought a lot about my palms. Especially I thought about that guardian angel who’s working so hard to keep my worry lines from crossing my life line and that I should probably offer him a raise or at least send him a thank-you card. Then I thought about my long life line, and how whether or not that means I’ll live to be a hundred, it’s still an excellent reminder that my life now isn’t my entire life–it’s just part of it–a phase. I actually thought about Moses, how his major “reason for being here” didn’t really start until he was forty. Hell, Colonel Sanders didn’t begin selling fried chicken until he retired at the age of sixty-five. So I’m reminded that I probably have time to figure things out. What’s more, I’m reminded that every life and every hand tells a story, each a great mystery filled with purpose, heartache, and hope.