When I was eighteen, I went on one of those all night graduation cruises that schools host to make sure you and your friends aren’t out drinking. The cruise had a psychic on board, reading tarot. I got in line, and waited for a half hour, and sat down.

The psychic asked me what I wanted to know. I had only one question:

Will I be a successful composer?

The psychic drew one card from the deck. I’ve forgotten which one (though I did give some thought to lying and saying that it was the King of Cups). He looked up at me and said, “Yes.”

That was all. Asked and answered. I got up and left.

I think that some days, the only reason I kept on going as a composer was because I felt like I had to, because how could that psychic be wrong?

I know how ridiculous it sounds. On the one hand, he could’ve been lying to me to keep me happy. On the other, he could have been instilling the slightest bit of a feeling of being fated to do what I wanted to do. Either way, it appears to be working.