I was excited when I read the email that had just popped into my inbox. A well-known radio personality wanted me to come on his morning show. I’ve been interviewed by many print reporters and guested on several radio and TV shows, and I’m always eager to talk about what it’s like working with spirit. So after my last client of the day left my office, I called the telephone number he provided and tried not to be a star-struck kid when I heard his voice.

I thanked him for thinking of me, and he suggested a date for me to be on his show, which he shared with a couple other personalities. Unfortunately, on that date I had booked two clients and didn’t want to disappoint them, since they’d both waited a couple months to see me. I suggested another morning. Not good for him, a nationally known rock group visiting Toronto that weekend already had the slot.

As we jockeyed to find a date that worked for both of us, he told me a little about how he saw our interview would go. Then said with a giggle in his voice, “And, of course, we’ll have some fun with you.”

Uh-oh. My you-know-what detector started pinging. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said, and I imagined his Cheshire cat grin. Or the Jaws shark as it got ready for lunch. “We’ll just have a few laughs.”

I asked him if I could call him back and quickly hung up. Then I did what I should’ve done first. I looked him up on You Tube, and as I watched how he handled some other interviews, my heart sunk down to the soles of my feet.

As I saw clips of him goofing on various guests and really taking nothing seriously, I thought, Do I really want to do this?

Granted, I’ve done guest appearances where the interviewer always ended the segment by asking me to talk about his or her love life or family or whatever. And I’ve had light-hearted and good-natured gabs with radio personalities. But with those people, I always felt that, deep down, they respected what I did. And whether or not they believed in me, spirit or the afterlife, they kept a sceptical yet open mind.

But this fellow, I sensed, made his name by belittling people, making them the butts of jokes, and then turning around and saying, “Hey, it’s all in fun!” I’ve worked long and hard to build my reputation, and nothing was worth being made to look like a visitor from the Twilight Zone, or being put in a position where I had to defend myself.

As much as anyone who knows publicity is good for business, I telephoned the fellow back, thanked him again for thinking of me, and politely told him I did not think being on his show was a good fit for me. He seemed surprised that someone was turning him down.

Coincidentally (but there is no such thing as coincidence, right?), the next day I received another email from someone who wanted to interview me. This was from a magazine reporter who was doing an article on fortune tellers, and she wanted to photograph me with the tools I used to predict people’s future.

After I finished rolling my eyes, I politely thanked the reporter for thinking of me, and told her I wasn’t a fortune teller. I was a medium, and my job was connecting clients to their loved ones in spirit. When I said this, the reporter seemed confused, and asked what was the difference between a fortune teller and a medium. I told her that people connect with their spirit folk to get a sense of peace, and not the day’s lottery numbers.

When I hung up the phone, I remembered Katherine Hepburn’s famous line: “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, as long as they spell your name right.” Well, my name is spelled right on my business card, and when a client passes that card to a friend, that’s all the publicity I really need.

If you have any questions or comments on this subject or on any other spiritual matter, feel free to write me at mail @ carolynmolnar.com. And please visit me again!


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