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I admit it: I’m a romantic. That’s not always easy when being madly in love with a woman who lives 2200 miles away.Wait a minute: I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me first explain something about being an Empath.

People sometimes ask, “John, what’s it’s like being an Empath; being that sensitive?”

Sometimes, they think it must be “fun” or “exciting.”

Actually, sometimes it can be a real pain in the butt.

Yep, you read that correctly.

Why?

Because, as an Empath, I sometimes get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that things are going to go wrong (incredibly wrong) and because I am so-o-o-o-o-o sensitive, that feeling is often a million times stronger (at least) than is warranted by the situation. Though I’m a self-proclaimed “Drama King,” I have learned to use meditation to detach from situations before reacting to them.

Not only that, but because I’m psychic, I sometimes know when things are headed for disaster even before the carnage takes place.

What’s this have to do with Kathy’s flowers?

I knew you were gonna ask.

Anyway, last week my betrothed excitedly informed me that one of her essays had been accepted for publication in an on-line journal: Coolness!

Outside of a poem that she wrote decades ago and her own blogs, this was her first publication.

As a writer and her man, I was naturally overjoyed for her.

How does a romantic man show support, pride, and love toward his betrothed?

That’s right, I needed to send flowers: ASAP!

As Kathy once said to me early in our relationship, “I always love getting flowers! You can never mess up with that!”

Like any other romantic man in a long-distance relationship, I dialed the number of a flower shop in her locale. She lives in Tempe. It gets hot there: very hot. So hot that a cut flower arrangement can rapidly wilt away to a not-so-cool-looking-collection-of-dead-things in no time at all.

I know this, the flower shop girl knew this, and now that this fact has been shared on the internet, even the CIA and the NSA know this.

While talking with the flower shop girl, Miranda (as a psychic sensing FAIL, I have learned always to take names so that it makes it much easier when things do crash and burn), I felt that dark feeling in the pit of my stomach and directed her to call Kathy to arrange delivery. Miranda was cool with that and promised to send me a text with a pic before she had the flowers delivered that day.

Despite experiencing that sickening feeling of a looming epic fail, I completed the order and the rest of my work day. Of course, one of the biggest thrills of sending Kathy flowers is the surprise reveal when she receives a stunning arrangement proclaiming her man’s love, pride, and support!

I reasoned that I was just feeling my anticipation toward her reaction: after all, I had dealt with this florist before with fantabulous results.

Still, that uneasiness lingered with me and when I meditated on it, my consciousness returned to the delivery. I was certain that something was underfoot that would derail the Flower Happiness Express before it reached Kathy’s house.

Now, some people (me included) accept the idea that thoughts can somehow influence and create future events: manifesting. As a person who has endeavored to live intuitively for over three decades, I am pretty comfortable embracing the difference between knowing the future and working to create it. Let me assure you, Dear Reader, that in no way in Hell did I not want Kathy to get those flowers that day.

The Universe, however, had different plans.

The text and pic never arrived.
Miranda never contacted Kathy.
The flowers never arrived.

Some of you who know me may have seen and/or heard my “Vinnie” persona. Vinnie evolved from my childhood experiences and my uncles from Jersey (as in Knew Jersee). Vinnie is the sort of guy who watches “The Sopranos” or any Martin Scorsese mob flick when feeling homesick. Vinnie mutters a favorite vulgar word that I will not write here. Though I can accurately credit Vinnie’s tough guy persona as having once saved my life on a stretch of New Mexico interstate, his presence in my world now is much lighter and his demeanor sometimes pops up when I need to confront someone.

Someone like Miranda.

Someone who didn’t follow through when I was gettin’ all those pretty flowers and things for my Katharine Marie.

Someone who should feel grateful, real grateful if you know what I mean that there’s twenty-two hundred miles ‘tween us: You know what I’m talkin’ about, right?

No, Vinnie didn’t make an appearance. The Universe saw fit to squeeze in a three-hour time difference between my home in Pennsylvania and the flower shop so by the time it was apparent that the flowers NEVER reached their destination, all I could do was leave a few polite and appropriately terse voicemails.

Unfortunately, I had to blow my flower-giving cover, though Kathy was gracious about it.

“That’s so sweet and I’m sorry that they didn’t arrive,” she said.

“I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I’ve left messages, but they must’ve gone home. Wanted you to get them today.”

Sometimes, my best isn’t good enough and I called it a day, ending it as I commonly do with meditation. As I meditated, I had no sense that evil had befallen the flower shop or the people involved: it was just a fail. In the morning, I would call and straighten things out, though I was more than a tad bummed. Being published is a big thing and Kathy deserved to have them to mark that occasion. Of course, it wasn’t the end of the world, but it was still a disappointment.

In the morning, after meditating, pulling my animal spirit card, then journaling, I called Kathy.

“John, guess what? My piece is going live today!”

“Coolness!”

I then called the flower shop. The nice woman (Miranda was unavailable) explained that the delivery van had broken down. They also had been unable to get in touch with Kathy. Further, they were going to credit my account and upgrade the arrangement without additional charge.

“Well, there is a slight problem,” I said. “Kathy is leaving for Sedona this morning.”
We talked some more: would I want them to deliver the arrangement before she left, to Sedona, or wait until she returned to Tempe?

“You need to call her and arrange that.”

“Ok,” she said.

Of course, Kathy loved the flowers. Not only that, she was thrilled to have them arrive on the very same day that her essay went live. Additionally, they included a box for her to use to transport them to Sedona.

Part of being an Empath is accepting that all things happen as and when they need to: that was the gift The Universe gave me with Kathy’s flowers.

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