How did I get here? 

No seriously. 

How? 

This is the furthest place I thought I’d be. I have, for my entire adult life – even as a teenager, been a pragmatic, inherently practical person that believes only in what can be rationally explained by scientific, data-supported evidence. 

My family is inherently skeptical. I’ve often thought that if we were a house in the Game of Thrones our banner would be a cynical looking old man peering through a magnifying glass incredulously – and our house words would be “Prove it.”

My poor husband can speak to this on my behalf. He will tell me about something (anything) and my replies are usually something along the lines of “Okay, but what’s your source on this? Is it credible? How do you know for sure?” 

And he rolls his eyes. And then I take a moment to be grateful he chooses to stay married to me. 

I have been attempting to curb some of this behaviour though – as I’m coming to realize that no one in the world is particularly fond of being constantly questioned and interrogated (and corrected); occasionally it puts a damper on the easy-going chat it was supposed to be. 

So it’s a paradox! Almost hypocritical. How could *I* become spiritual? It certainly puts a lot of confidence into an area with little to no evidence-based criteria. 

I’ve always claimed to be a scientist – through and through. And for me that means holding a belief, based on the information provided, until there is evidence to speak otherwise – or the information provided broadens and leads to a new conclusion. 

And ironically, that process is exactly how I came to believe in some pretty crazy shit.

For a long time, I was agonistic. I had no evidence to prove there was a god, or ghosts, multiple dimensions, or any of that other phoo-ey – but I also didn’t have any hard evidence to prove there wasn’t either. So agnostic was a good choice. I could move forward in my life with the confidence of a beautifully simple “I don’t know.” 

Nearly a decade later, for some unknown reason, I let my friend talk me into going to a psychic. Why I actually went I’ll never know. I’m of the mind that psychics are all a buncha scammers pedalling their BS for a handsome hourly rate. That said, as skeptical as I am – I also believe in the critical importance of experiencing something first hand before passing judgement. I was drawing conclusions on psychics based on what others had said, not from my own first-hand experience. I also thought maybe there would be some entertainment value in observing what vague bull this woman would say: 

“Oh you will travel a lot, and you love deeply… blah blah..” You know, something generic that fits everyone. Like the horoscopes in the back of the newspapers. I prepared myself to be wildly unimpressed, and for how I would get to gloat to my friend all the way home about what rubbish it was. 

The cruel part of me was interested if she (the Psychic) would scramble or get fidgety because I KNEW I was going in there with the full intention of saying Yes or No. And nothing else. I didn’t want to offer *any* type of lead. I would not be a pawn in her scheming! 

So, the day comes, and I sit down in front of this “Psychic”. We’ve exchanged pleasantries and that’s it. Then she says casually while organizing her things.

“You’ve just broken up with someone.” 

This was true, and I was almost impressed but quickly my inner skeptic silently said: …Pfffftt Everyone going to see a psychic just broke up with someone. The odds are in her favour with that one. 

Aloud I said: “Yes.” 

Her: “2 months ago”

My Silent Inner-Skeptic: … hmmm lucky guess. 

(It was 2 months.)

Aloud: “Yep.”

Her: “You lived together… for 2 years.” 

My Silent Inner-Skeptic: *blinks* (almost exactly 2 years) – I said nothing aloud. 

Her: “You had 2 dogs, he took one, you took one.” 

My Silent Inner-Skeptic: frantically searching through papers and databases trying to comprehend what is happening. 

[Note: for those stubborn skeptics like me (holla!), thinking she thoroughly perused my facebook page to get all this info… At that time, this break up was not posted online. I actually even had close friends that didn’t know we had parted ways yet because we were quite quiet about it all. Neither he or I made public announcements, it wasn’t on the internet or public knowledge in anyway. Also, she only had my first name when I booked the appointment.] 

She continued to tell me extremely (EXTREMELY) detailed and intimate things about myself, my thoughts, behaviours, and my life. None of which I had ever (and some I would never) post in any public way. Some I’ve never said aloud. She told me things that I was still mulling over in my mind, decisions I hadn’t made yet, and through her saying some of these things back to me was like she’d unearthed a crucial puzzle piece that made sense of thoughts that I had been struggling with for quite some time.  

I was prepared to go see this woman and prove to myself that psychics were bullshit. Because they ARE bullshit. That’s not REAL. It doesn’t make any SENSE. There is no EVIDENCE. Therefore it CAN’T be REAL. 

And instead, I wound up with 2 weeks worth of insomnia because I had to UNDERSTAND this. I had to know how she did this. How could she interpret thoughts and ideas I’d only ever had in my own mind? How did she know about the people that had most recently passed away in my life? How did she know that the guy I had a crush on at the time was 5’10, and that his dad had died when he was very young?? How did she know that? HOW did she know that?? Guys. I said YES and NO the WHOLE time. (5’10!! She knew he was 5’10! WTF.) 

So you know what I did? What any good scientist does. Research. 

Basically under cloak and dagger (I was SO embarrassed) I went and bought a deck of tarot cards. I was desperate to experience what she did. It’s easy to be skeptical of someone else – but if I experience this first hand, then I’ll know. Right? Kind of. 

I spent an EMBARRASSING amount of time studying tarot. Basically every spare moment that I wasn’t working or playing music, I was studying. I would explore the history of it, where it came from, symbolism, and the content of the image in context with the time it was created. I studied what each card ‘meant’ – and not just by one book – or two… but by 9, 10…17… and then 9-10 sources online as well. I told absolutely zero people what I was doing because I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I felt like I was one step away from a nice new white jacket and a fancy padded room. 

The studying continued… 

This was almost 4 years ago. I’ve been studying tarot for almost 4 years now. I still find this absurd. Granted these days, it’s not every waking hour like it was for the first year or so. It’s more leisurely. And I’ve had some pretty f**ked up experiences first hand that I will save for another blog. And I have NO idea how this shit works. But based on my personal, first-hand experience, it seems to… and rather consistently at that.  

And the funniest part is, I’m still hilariously skeptical… OF MYSELF.  I’m skeptical of ME. I accuse myself of scamming MYSELF. 

I will only acknowledge myself for information I unearth that is detailed, precise and with no added information or help. Which, has been a helpful training tool. It’s made me extremely thorough and shrewd when it comes to readings. 

So yeah. That’s the weird story of how a pragmatic, practical, rational, scientific-minded person becomes spiritual. You believe what you believe until evidence shows otherwise. And that one woman blew the doors off my entire tangible-only belief system. 

I’ll be over here in the mean time, one cuckoo short of a nest. I’d appreciate you restraining yourself from calling the nice people at the asylum. Perhaps I’ll come back from this woo-woo place, but in the mean time I’m finding this rabbit hole quiet homey. 

#callmeAlice