Micah described his life as if he was talking about an article of clothing that no longer fit. He said he’d been feeling this way for a couple months. Micah had just turned 40 years old, was unmarried and believed he’d accomplished nothing in his life – even though he was a well-liked, tenured university professor who constantly received high marks on student evaluations.
“They give me better grades than I give most of them,” he joked, the first hint of a sense of humour he’d made during our telephone session.
“I don’t know,” he continued. “It was as if I woke up one day and I didn’t feel like me anymore. Last night, a friend asked me to have a drink with him on 2-for-1 beer night, and I begged off. The last time I went to a bar, I saw all these people getting wasted and I couldn’t stop wondering why they were doing that. I couldn’t even finish my martini. It’s not like I’m giving up having a drink now and then, but hanging out in a bar isn’t fun anymore.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Can you believe I’d rather stay home and read this book I found on the train?”
I thought about the messages from spirit I’d just brought through for Micah during our session. His father, a contemplative man who had died from lung cancer, suggested Micah spend some time alone, just thinking. And then start gathering his ideas into a book based on his classroom lectures.
I spoke a question my guides whispered into my ear, “Why do you like teaching?”
We were silent for a few moments. He didn’t say more, so I had to prompt him.
“Why did you become a university professor?”
Though we were speaking by phone, I imagined him shrugging his shoulders. “It just felt right. No, it’s more than that. When I was in university, I was impressed by some of my professors, and thought I could do to for others what my profs were doing to me – opening my mind to new ideas.”
“And do you feel you’re doing that?” I asked.
“I hope so. I’ll tell you, I’m about to turn 40, and I already feel like an old grump. Y’know, I was just walking by the yoga studio down the block, and I couldn’t believe how many cigarette butts I saw crushed out by the front door. Who in their right mind would have a cigarette before trying to improve their body?” He signed. “Maybe I’m being too judgemental.”
I hid a smile. “Or maybe you’re an old soul,” I said, then explained myself. Old souls tend to be contemplative, because they’ve lived hundreds of lifetimes, studying the world and trying to raise humanity’s consciousness through helping others. And when they incarnate, they often have a problem trying to understand why the world seems so crazy.
“That idea’s similar to the lecture I gave last week to my philosophy class. Except I was talking about being, not souls. So what’s a new soul like?”
“Think of the young child who wants to try everything,” I answered. “Unfortunately, some of them find that what they enjoyed so much has become something they can’t live without. Sometimes, that can develop into an addictive behaviour. But that doesn’t mean that every new soul is going to become an addict. Some of them just want to take off their shoes and walk through the park, as if they’re discovering the joy of nature for the first time. They see themselves as the centre of their universe. They want to play.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” he said, and I heard the furious scratching of a pencil on paper.
I suggested that Micah look at himself as an old soul, and he was perfectly fine for not drinking to excess, smoking or engaging in other spiritually questionable behaviours. Perhaps he’d take these thoughts and go write a book. I felt like jokingly asking him to remember me in with the writings.
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