When I was about six I sat at the kitchen table, my small finger tracing the fruit design repeatedly marching across the faded vinyl tablecloth. My voice belied my tears as I begged my mother to tell me what I should do. I needed guidance. I needed reassurance. I needed to know what to do. My mother couldn’t tell me the answers I searched for.
My question? “Mom, what should I do when I grow up?”
I was 6. She was 29. I doubt she probably felt anymore comfortable in her quest for self-actualization than I was. I have a feeling she may have been more than a bit exasperated by my naturally curious and yet anxious self. I probably wasn’t an easy child to raise in that I’ve always been a worrier.
Her answer, by the way? “I wish I had a crystal ball and could tell you, but I don’t.”
I sure wish I had a crystal ball myself these days.
I’d ask it for career advice. For medical advice. For parenting advice. For friendship advice. Definitely for fashion advice.
But instead, I’ve got what I’ve had for just about 38 years. Nothing. My crystal ball supply is still empty.
I’d brew up some tea, but I only have the tea bag variety and I’m not sure that works quite right.
I’d make a ouija board but I’ve only got an empty cereal box and crayons and I’m pretty sure it would only commune with the wrong sort of spirit.
I’d lay out some tarot cards but I’d get too distracted by all the pretty pictures to figure anything out.
I’d read my palm but my skin’s so dry that I’ve got extra lines all over them.
So here I am, sitting Richard-like at my kitchen table, sorting data and opening up Excel documents like a wild woman. Unfortunately, we all know how well it worked for Richard, ready to trade his kingdom for a horse.
*On a directly related note, what are your favorite author’s websites and why do you like them? What content do you most want to see on an author’s website? Thanks for your thoughts.