she said. “So yes, you are.”
I tried not to look too excited. I didn't dare reveal any of my insecurities to Dr. Moss, but I'm certain she was aware of them. Wisely, she didn't press me to open up. I guess she knew I needed time for everything to sink in. In a scholarly tone, she proceeded to give me feedback on the reading, minimizing how phenomenal the whole situation was. In this, Dr. Moss was similar to many other scientists, striving to be objective by putting emotions on hold. To hear her discuss what had occurred, I could just as well have been sitting in algebra class listening to a teacher review the principles of a new theorem.
As she went on, Dr. Moss validated every significant specific I had described in her home. “It's quite common for psychics to pick up an exceptional amount of detail,” she informed me. “In fact, many psychics have told me that in this highly receptive state, colors appear more vibrant and objects seem more defined and compelling than they do in everyday life. Nuances we wouldn't ordinarily attend to stand out with a crispness that isn't otherwise present.”
I listened intently, transfixed. Despite my youth and inexperience, Dr. Moss was treating me as a colleague, an equal, never using her credentials or expertise to place herself above me. Not once, however, did I mistake her understated supportiveness as a lack of enthusiasm or interest. Rather, I saw it as a sign of her professionalism. It was clear that she had a deep respect for abilities such as mine, yet at the same time refused to glorify them or present them as anything but perfectly natural.
I could easily have spent the entire afternoon with her. There was so much I longed to know. Questions arose from my childhood: What do these abilities mean? Was I responsible for the dire events I was able to predict? Also, new questions arose from our meeting: Can I direct my abilities? Is it possible to look into another person's life whenever I like? How lucky I felt as I listened to her responses, the intelligence of this quite human but tough-minded researcher. With practice, she explained, I could learn to direct my abilities, which were now in an unformed, immature state, and happened spontaneously without conscious control. But, she continued, when psychic abilities ate fine-tuned, one can look into a person's life if the person is open. When someone is closed off and private, she continued, it's much harder to pick up information about them. The key now was for me to practice and get feedback on my readings. Though all people had some degree of psychic ability, she felt I had a talent.
And then, as it was clear she had to proceed with her workday, she asked, “How would you like to come work as a volunteer research assistant and psychic here at the lab?”
Dumbfounded for an instant, I doubted that I'd heard her correctly. But there was no mistake. She wanted me to join her UCLA staff! I accepted immediately and we agreed to meet at the lab the next day.
At exactly eleven, there I stood, facing the NPI, a towering red brick giant looming above me. Two large automatic doors swung open, I walked through a large central lobby and stepped into the elevator. For the past twenty-four hours I'd been fantasizing how the lab would look. I'd envisioned it as a huge place that took up an entire floor, with phones constantly ringing off the hook. I imagined a staff of scientists, both men and women, all wearing horn-rimmed black glasses and white lab coats like Dr. Moss's, and wondered what they'd think of me.
I exited the elevator on the seventh floor, took a right turn, and headed down a long beige-tiled corridor until I reached Room 23-189. I stood still for a moment, inhaled deeply, and then slowly pushed open the door.
At first I thought I must be in the wrong place. I panicked. The lab was not at all what I'd pictured. Off balance, I tried to steady myself. Then I saw Dr. Moss waving for me to come in. I was so relieved
I tried not to look too excited. I didn't dare reveal any of my insecurities to Dr. Moss, but I'm certain she was aware of them. Wisely, she didn't press me to open up. I guess she knew I needed time for everything to sink in. In a scholarly tone, she proceeded to give me feedback on the reading, minimizing how phenomenal the whole situation was. In this, Dr. Moss was similar to many other scientists, striving to be objective by putting emotions on hold. To hear her discuss what had occurred, I could just as well have been sitting in algebra class listening to a teacher review the principles of a new theorem.
As she went on, Dr. Moss validated every significant specific I had described in her home. “It's quite common for psychics to pick up an exceptional amount of detail,” she informed me. “In fact, many psychics have told me that in this highly receptive state, colors appear more vibrant and objects seem more defined and compelling than they do in everyday life. Nuances we wouldn't ordinarily attend to stand out with a crispness that isn't otherwise present.”
I listened intently, transfixed. Despite my youth and inexperience, Dr. Moss was treating me as a colleague, an equal, never using her credentials or expertise to place herself above me. Not once, however, did I mistake her understated supportiveness as a lack of enthusiasm or interest. Rather, I saw it as a sign of her professionalism. It was clear that she had a deep respect for abilities such as mine, yet at the same time refused to glorify them or present them as anything but perfectly natural.
I could easily have spent the entire afternoon with her. There was so much I longed to know. Questions arose from my childhood: What do these abilities mean? Was I responsible for the dire events I was able to predict? Also, new questions arose from our meeting: Can I direct my abilities? Is it possible to look into another person's life whenever I like? How lucky I felt as I listened to her responses, the intelligence of this quite human but tough-minded researcher. With practice, she explained, I could learn to direct my abilities, which were now in an unformed, immature state, and happened spontaneously without conscious control. But, she continued, when psychic abilities ate fine-tuned, one can look into a person's life if the person is open. When someone is closed off and private, she continued, it's much harder to pick up information about them. The key now was for me to practice and get feedback on my readings. Though all people had some degree of psychic ability, she felt I had a talent.
And then, as it was clear she had to proceed with her workday, she asked, “How would you like to come work as a volunteer research assistant and psychic here at the lab?”
Dumbfounded for an instant, I doubted that I'd heard her correctly. But there was no mistake. She wanted me to join her UCLA staff! I accepted immediately and we agreed to meet at the lab the next day.
At exactly eleven, there I stood, facing the NPI, a towering red brick giant looming above me. Two large automatic doors swung open, I walked through a large central lobby and stepped into the elevator. For the past twenty-four hours I'd been fantasizing how the lab would look. I'd envisioned it as a huge place that took up an entire floor, with phones constantly ringing off the hook. I imagined a staff of scientists, both men and women, all wearing horn-rimmed black glasses and white lab coats like Dr. Moss's, and wondered what they'd think of me.
I exited the elevator on the seventh floor, took a right turn, and headed down a long beige-tiled corridor until I reached Room 23-189. I stood still for a moment, inhaled deeply, and then slowly pushed open the door.
At first I thought I must be in the wrong place. I panicked. The lab was not at all what I'd pictured. Off balance, I tried to steady myself. Then I saw Dr. Moss waving for me to come in. I was so relieved
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