On Being Believed

I don't say I believe. Belief is what people reach for when they don't actually know something, and I'm not in the business of reaching. I say in my experience, because experience can be tested and corrected, while belief mostly just sits there being sincere and asking to be admired for it. When I tell a woman what I'm seeing, I'm not asking her to have faith in me. I'm handing her information — the way a locksmith hands you information about your particular lock — and if I'm wrong about it, I'd genuinely rather know than have the two of us sit there being comforting to each other.

People ask what to call this, and I understand why — it's tidier to have a word. Psychic sounds like something wedged between a nail salon and a check-cashing place. Intuitive sounds like a personality quiz result. Neither covers what actually happens when a woman running three companies calls at midnight because she can't sleep and needs someone with no stake in the outcome to tell her the truth about a deal her board already talked her into liking. I've stopped needing a tidy word for it. I need it to be exact, and useful, and over before either of us has wasted an afternoon pretending it was something softer than that.

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