Long before I knew what the term meant, I knew I was clairvoyant.   Almost on a daily basis, I could predict what people were going to say word for word before they said it.  As a burgeoning 8-year old, I thought everyone had that knack. 

I had difficulty channeling other kids and – oddly — my parents.  But every other adult was fair game.  Split seconds before an adult would say something to me, I’d hear their question/comment in my head.   On rare occasions, I could answer a question before it was asked.

As a surly adolescent, I lost every bit of self-proclaimed psychic ability and to this day I have never been able to resurrect it.  Weird, I know … huh? 

I have always been mesmerized by psychics, gypsies, fortune tellers and, of course, Radar from “M*A*S*H*”.  I feel a weird karmic, almost kismet, connection to them.  At a party once, the host hired a psychic to tell everyone their fortune.  When I walked in the room, I immediately announced, “Tell me something good.”  The woman took one look at me and said, “No, you tell ME something.”  Turns out, she wanted to know if I could “read” her.  Of course, I couldn’t – but it was the oddest sensation when I realized she was on to me.

I’ve often wondered what it would take to reconnect with my psychic self.  I didn’t harness any of my energy when I was little.  I totally took it for granted.  And, believe me, when Dionne Warwick sang about “Déjà vu”, I should have freakin’ listened.

Now my clairvoyance happens once a year if I’m lucky.   And it’s always vague, innocuous things … like realizing I’m entering an office building I envisioned the night before.  Maybe I should start hanging out with gypsies and see if I can glean anything by proxy.  Doubtful … but I’m willing to give it a shot.