Ever wondered what it would be like to be a telephone psychic?
This week, I’m thrilled to introduce Alyson Mead, ex-telephone psychic and now author of “Searching for Sassy” – a book all about surviving work as a telephone psychic. I was immediately drawn to Alyson’s sharp and witty writing style and asked if she could write a post on her experiences and insights as a telephone psychic. She most willingly obliged
At the end of the post, I’ll tell you about some great give-aways from Alyson as part of her latest book launch.
Over to you, Alyson…
I didn’t set out to be a psychic. Really, I didn’t, and still don’t understand why anyone would willingly claim that title unless it were thrust on them. Part of me still cringes whenever someone uses that term to describe him- or herself.
But maybe I should explain.
It’s not that I don’t believe it’s possible, mind you. A few years ago, I was working as a writer and book editor in Manhattan. Though you could hardly call my lifestyle luxurious, I was living the dream in one of the world’s most incredible cities. Not quite Carrie Bradshaw, not quite Debbie Harry. But after a terrible breakup, I found that there weren’t enough states in the country to put between my old life and me. I jumped into my aging subcompact, hit the road, and wound up in Los Angeles where, as any sane person will tell you, there’s very little publishing work.
Cut to me panicking, then me blowing my last $20 on a tarot reading in an aromatherapy shop where, lo and behold, a job offer at a psychic phone line serendipitously materializes. Whew, that was close.
I started work a few days later, only to have the universe pretty much laugh in my face. I’d taught myself to read cards right after high school and had been giving readings to my friends since college. But I refused to call myself psychic, thinking it some rarified strata of metaphysics that I could only hope to attain with years of suffering, hair shirts and endless prostrations at an altar of someone else’s devising. My mind can be dramatic that way. Suffice it to say that this part of my life was supposed to remain on the side, hidden from view, seen only be a few trusted souls.
But soon, I found myself reading people just like me – lonely, recovering from various make-ups and breakups, looking for connection amidst all kinds of issues and doubt. There was a seemingly endless parade of them, suffering something fierce and looking for relief.
Gulp. I hate it when the universe calls me on my crap.
A month went by before I felt truly settled in the job. The huge majority of the calls we take have to do with love in all its forms, mostly how someone feels or whether a relationship is going to progress. Cheating, sexual satisfaction, arguments, reconciliation – this is the stuff of our days. But despite our gifts, we psychics are a love-challenged bunch. Katie is married to an ex-heroin addict who has to be called on an hourly basis to make sure he’s staying straight, Mercy has left her kids permanently so she can practice a decidedly unrequited kind of love with Martin, and Delia is in love with a married truck driver. Opal is divorced, Jemma starts sewing her wedding dress every time she meets someone new, and Wilma is convinced she’s an alien.
In my spare time, I throw cards, trying to see what’s behind the veil. We throw readings for each other, trying to bring the unseen a little closer. Two of Cups, Two of Wands, The Lovers, Eight of Pentacles. Possibility there, and the chance of learning more. But where the hell is this guy?
We persevere, as much for the paycheck as the knowledge that we’re different. Few of us are cut out for anything else. This work is as much a part of our nature as the skin that covers our bodies. And after my hands are raw from slapping cards on a desk all day, I come to a few conclusions.
What do I know about love? What do any of us know? Am I some expert on connection because I can see and hear things other people can’t? Only the passage of time, measured by the ringing and answering of the phone, will tell if any of us will succeed in finding that rarest of gifts.
Eventually, I stumbled back to my feet and began to date again. Stumble being the operative word. The universe continued to have its way with me; it thinks it’s pretty funny that way. But as my third eye wrenched open and my psychic skills began to increase, thanks in part to the good-natured ribbing and sometimes forcible encouragement of my fellow psychics, I realized I hadn’t just moved three thousands miles to escape my ex. I’d come all this way to heal my heart, develop my gifts, and find the love of my life.
This actually happened, a few years later. I was the airport dropping him off after our first weekend together when “the feeling” set in, that I’d just met the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And when I got into the car and got ready to drive away, The Sun card fell out of my diary, where I’d been using it as a bookmark.
Coincidence? Nah. I was on pretty good terms with the universe by that point and, in my experience, it’s just not subtle that way.
How to Make It As a Telephone Psychic
1. Patience is a virtue. Waiting for the phone to ring can be daunting, especially if you’re counting on its ring to determine the size of your paycheck that week. Cultivating patience with meditation, yoga or other means can help you stay grounded and balanced from caller to caller.
2. Compassion is strength. You will come into contact with more problems and human suffering than you ever thought possible in this line of work. Oftentimes, you’re speaking to people on the worst day of their lives, so it’s best to stay open to whatever they’re going through, rather than becoming overly judgmental or, on the other hand, taking on their pain as your own.
3. Keep developing your skills. You will have time between calls. That’s just part of the job. But it also means there’s time to learn new skills (if you’re working with others in an office, you can practice together), or read up on a new topic that can keep your skills growing and changing into the future. Online courses and journaling are also great ways to do this.
Intrigued? Read More + Great Give-Aways!!
If you love this short post from Alyson Mead, you’re going to love her new book, Searching for Sassy: An L.A. Phone Psychic’s Tales of Life, Lust & Love, winner of the recent Hay House’s Book-to-Screen Pitchfest in New York.
(Please note: The Amazon link is an affiliate link which will earn me a very small commission if you make a purchase. I typically use these commissions to buy more Tarot books which I can share with you on the blog. Making a purchase with this link does not cost you anything extra.)
If you purchase the book on Tuesday, April 24, 2012, you will get access to some fantastic bonuses.
1. Go to Amazon to purchase at least one paperback or hardcover copy of Searching for Sassy. (You’re welcome to buy the e-book version, but you will not be eligible for these bonuses.) This must be done anytime between 12:01 AM LOS ANGELES TIME on April 24th through 12:00 Midnight, LOS ANGELES TIME, in order to receive the bonuses.
2. Forward your receipt by email to readings [at] sassypsychic [dot] com.
3. You will receive an email back from Alyson with the super secret URL to receive your bonuses. Please be patient. This offer is going out to more than a hundred thousand people around the world, so she will work as hard and fast as she can to get your info to you.
For more information, visit http://www.searchingforsassy.com/
Learn More About Alyson Mead
Alyson Mead is the author of Searching for Sassy: An L.A. Phone Psychic’s Tales of Life, Lust & Love. Psychic since childhood, Alyson has been reading people since the age of 19, and has spent the intervening years honing her abilities with certifications at the highest levels in astrology, Reiki, Matrix Energetics, Neuro-Linguistic Programming, Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, and sound healing. She provides humorous and forthright readings and intuitive healing sessions as the Sassy Psychic, serving celebrities, sports figures, and people from all walks of life.
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