It has come to my attention that some people may have erroneously concluded from this journal's title that I am a New Age sort of person. This impression is understandable, but nevertheless mortifying. I most definitely do not want to be thought of as a New Age sort of person (despite having lately succumbed to aromatherapy, hem hem). I have had to spend far too much time around the real thing, and believe me, it's wacky stuff.
When I was 25, I moved from Seattle back to San Francisco. I settled in, got a job, made new friends, and fell head over heels in love with the city itself. However, being in love has never blinded me to the object of my desire's faults. San Francisco certainly has a few (and I am resolutely not making the obvious pun). One of these is the hordes of New Age people cluttering up the landscape. They're everywhere, and they have no shame.
Let us take the case of Harriet. I worked with Harriet at a law firm. She was a very waifish type, all huge eyes and skinny limbs and floaty dresses. She was also the biggest sucker for New Age woo woo I have ever met. She kept a de-ionizer in her office, to keep out the bad molecules. She had an assortment of crystals, geodes, copper bracelets, pyramid shapes, bear amulets, stones of varying magical powers, and a rosary (just in case, I suppose) in her desk. She went in for chakra alignment, past life regression, channeling, and just about anything that was purported to have Nature Magic. She was also a zestful pursuer of every new movement in the self-help field.
Harriet finally decided to invest her savings in a sound, practical enterprise. She announced this with real excitement in her huge, moist eyes as I sat eating lunch in her de-ionized office one day. She wanted me to take her car for a month while she went to Indonesia to buy the special products she was going to sell. In return, I would drive her to and from the airport. I agreed, and asked what she was going to buy, thinking she might have decided there was money to be made dealing in Indonesian arts and crafts. She leaned forward and whispered, "Sand!"
My jaw dropped. I remember this quite clearly. "Sand?" I whispered back. "Sand," she said confidentially. "It's the very latest thing. Sand tray therapy. You need special sand for it, though." I was really staggered by this notion. She continued, "See, you have little figurines, and the patient moves them around in the sand tray, and works out their inner turmoil. But it can't be just any sand. It has to have really good vibes." I nodded, wondering how quickly I could get out of her office without hurting her feelings. It took ages. She was very sensitive about people bolting from her, with good reason.
She did go to Indonesia, and she did buy sand, but I don't know if she made her fortune with it. We quarreled when she failed to come back on the day she planned to. She missed the day by about three months, in fact. Soon after, I left the law firm and Harriet's notions behind. But she still remains my primary example of New Age absurdity and why I shudder when someone mistakes my familiarity with astrology as meaning I'm a true believer.
Time to go smear on some Peace of Mind gel, I think.