The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy Treatment

Here's my idea for a new method of therapy. It's called the Self- Fulfilling Prophecy treatment. People, I don't know if this reflects intelligence or stupidity, believe what they hear. We believe something if it comes from an external source, whether that's a Time magazine, a Cosmopolitan, a politician or a friend. People are especially inclined to believe something if they've spent money to hear it, deeming their usage of money a worthwhile investment. Crafting a therapy treatment around this knowledge isn't cheating or corrupt, it's just playing into people's psyches, understanding how people work and using that knowledge to further the a) success of a business and b) the effectiveness of a therapy treatment. With no knowledge whatsoever of a person's future and having only the social skills to understand the client's situation and ability to read them well enough to know what it is they want to hear, you too can become a highly successful therapist and change many lives for the better.

Here is the story of the genesis of this brilliant idea:
My mom is an acupuncturist. She and her husband share a practice. He teaches at a nearby acupuncture school and has a highly successful practice. He is one of the bigger names in acupuncture, especially in teaching because he practices a form of acupuncture not widely taught or practiced and is, supposedly, a fabulous teacher. My mom has been in practice for five years, although she rounds up to eight, and although she is devoutly adored by her patients, has a humble practice and no other major source of income. Money, for whatever reason, has never been either of my parents' forte.

To maintain her license, my mom needs a certain amount of 'continuing education units' a year, usually obtained through seminars and lectures. Dr Tan, an eastern medicinal healing superstar, was teaching a weekend class on Chinese astrology and diagnosis in Portland, Oregon. My mom jumped on the opportunity to soak up info from the great Dr Tan and, knowing well my love for wandering around yet unexplored cities, invited me to come along.

After the first day, my mom was a bit disappointed with the seminar. She was stuck in a hotel conference room all day, instead of exploring a city that I assured her is fantastic, and she was straining to listen to an old burnt-out Chinese man fumbling through a topic which, for a good reason, had never been taught to a white audience before.

"The textbooks he gave us, so we could follow what he was saying, are in Korean! You know that sheet or characters I was supposed to be familiar with? Those characters are supposed to let us get the important information out of the textbooks but even if I WAS familiar with those characters, how am I supposed to pick those out in an entire book full of the tings, written backwards, in tiny print... and they all look the same!"

The next day was slightly more successful. Because on the second day, Dr Tan read the horoscopes, the in-depth life paths of some of the audience members. After scrawling down her birth day, birth time, birth place, moon sign, sun sign, social security number and mother's maiden name on a slip of paper, my mom got her horoscope read. Over dinner, she gave me a detailed recounting of her life according to Dr Tan, the man we had just seen come out of a restaurant, can and take out bag on one arm, blonde 25 year old assistant in heels on the other.

"He said something really interesting. He said, not knowing anything about me or what's going on right now, that I will not, in my life, be supported by my partner. I was thinking about it and that's not necessarily a bad thing, it's just what's lined up for me."

I chimed in. "Thats a good point. Because on your own, that's when you do best- when you have the most drive and energy and when you take the best care of yourself."

"And right now, the last few years have been in the wood sign for me which means, well I don't know, I forget but the next few blocks of years of my life are metal metal metal metal. Which means, money."

"Is that metaphorical? Success, abundance or something or does it literally mean cash money cash?"

"Literally, it means cash."

Seeing as how my mom paid good money and traveled halfway across the country to soak up all the info that Dr Tan had to dish out, when he told her she was going to make a ton of money, my mom of course believed him. But this prophecy begs a few questions: how; where is it all going to come from? So, knowing her past and having been given her future, my mom's only job is to fill in the gaps, examine her life and ask herself, is the path that I'm on now going to be the one that will lead me to all this cash in my future? Put in this context, immediately became apparent that no, continuing along with the way things are, will not bring about the buckets of lollie promised to her. So it will have to come from somewhere else.

"Maybe this cancer clinic idea I had. Oh speaking of which, I should call Dr. Pujet back. Or maybe my anti-sugar book is going to lead me somewhere. I should get to work on that actually. Maybe I'll dedicate the two hours between my patients today to writing."

And just like that, my mom has begun to craft and shape the future that she knows will be hers. All of the things that my mom knows will come to her, she's now began to work on reigning in. And will it work? Of course.

People believe what they hear, whether it's the findings of a study reporting that people living in Boulder, Colorado represent the happiest and healthiest population of any American city ("Ha- that's so true," I thought after reading the headline. "I eat great, am totally happy and do tons of sports. As a matter of fact, I think I'll go for a run right now.") or a psychiatrist telling her patient that he is ADD and cannot function normally without being medicated. People are so impressionable that they'll do the work necessary to live up to the image they hold for themselves. Unfortunately, that image, for most people, is not very good.

Skipping on the Brink

Its a Sunday and in Boulder, in January, its supposed to snow, they say but its raining, at an angle from the mountains west where there are storms and freezing temps to the plains east where tornadoes come here and there but in between, the valley of Boulder is safe from, or deprived of, either and both. We ride bikes and rock climb, we ski and six year olds break piggy banks to send tooth-faerie dollars to Haiti, simply because we dont live in the real world. Graffiti is of love, hearts and beauty. Its warm and pleasant always and when its cold, its freezing, the mercury strains to compress, and coats are worn- North face if youre from California, fur if youre from New York, sandals if your from Texas. Nobody's a local. We've all come from somewhere else because no one can be born in Boulder, no one conceived and death is just a voluntary return. Im from California but dont consider myself human so I wear Monte Belle. My other coat doesnt have a name or a brand but its red and warm and it fits me the best that any misfit material can- covering a body that's naked and will rebel against any covering by changing size, shape and hue- Coats are worn, the body shivers but the cold isnt really felt even, it doesnt matter at all.

Did I mention? I've always lived in a valley- LA at first for several years, where so much goes on that really nothing happens and now in Boulder, where so much is happening that nothing really has to go on. We're all floating to and fro in the tidal waves we've made in the bathtub, without having moved at all. I started rock climbing a month or two ago and now Ill climb anything, I decided to start running and just because I decided, I can run as fast as I want for as long as I want and it all feels the same. Swimming, we're pushed forward and reach our destination much faster than expected, not even knowing we were in a stream, the current pushing us where ever we choose to go. Strokes cant keep up with our progress so why not just lay and float, I say, and the rain outside pours on.

It gets louder and louder within the walls of this cafe, until it becomes unbearable and then I realize its silent. The coffee grinder breaks the din, turns on and turns off and turns out I AM still here. Not only that but my legs are crossed, my back is bent, my hand moving. The coffee I finished half an hour ago was free and the pastry a dollar twenty-five. I paid for it but my wallet doesn't miss anything. I ate it but I can't feel it anywhere inside my body.

The man sitting in front of my table to the left is watching, complacently, a slideshow of cold cuts on his computer and is grooving to some unheard tune. I'm meeting people for dinner, as if they'll show. as if six o'clock is universal. as if someone else is living a life too, just like mine maybe but the hair that falls in front of their face when they stoop is blond, maybe, not brown like mine.

Is it possible or is this it? Is it just one streaming immortal, amorphous cloud thats there whether or not we divide it up, divvy it out and assign characteristics to this one versus that. Just for fun.

Im hungry now. (How did I know?) I've been eating less, not as hungry as often, and I feel like more liquid comes out than I put in. But running my hands down from my ribs and onto my hips, there is still and always will be a little hump built up on top of the base of my belly. A little hump of warmth that is stollen from my freezing fingers and hands, just sitting there waiting to protect the baby that isn't there and won't be for many years still. Knowing that I have no control, no matter how much or little I eat, of my sole purpose, manifested and clearly stated by my anatomy, shape and purport, calms my mind and upon racking my brain (given much more credence and attention than it deserves) for solutions of who to be, what to do and how to live, reassures me that, by breathing, blinking and bleeding, I'm doing exactly what I need to be doing and am fully fulfilling my potential.

In the cafe, a pot breaks, plates clatter, a kid jabbers in an unbelievably high-pitched loud voice. The usually impeccable bathroom looks like a crime scene. A boy walks in with a sword in sheath hanging through the loops in his backpack next to his nalgene water bottle and I think. Is it possible that today is the day of every exception?

My phone buzzes across the table with the name of the restaurant and, looking at the time, the amorphous cloud of shapes and colors falls to the ground, compartmentalizing, and the pieces are assigned the sounds that were already there but are now rationalized. I recognize the song in the room and the familiarity spreads down from my ears until my hair and hands come back into my field of view and I can feel every part of my body, aware of what shoes I'm wearing based on the height of the arch and the comfortable pressure on the slope of my foot top.

A chilly bike ride and a warm wonderful dinner awaits but I can't, just not quite yet, know how that will feel.