“Take the job” My Little Voice Commanded

The first true time I my little voice was tested in a big way that would definitively affect my future, my earning ability, and where I was cognizant of a true conflict between that little voice and my rational thoughts, or what I call my rational mind, was in 1988 when I was re-establishing myself after my second divorce.

I had just enough money start over: rent an apartment, put down deposits for the apartment and utilities, and buy groceries for about a month.  By the end of that month, I needed to have a full-time job.

The problem was I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  Previously, I worked in several fields, but mostly as a secretary or as a bookkeeper for a good portion of my adult life.  I had no degrees other than my Executive Secretarial certification obtained from a business school right after high school.  While I good at these two careers, I was bored by them and didn’t enjoy having my skills or expertise dismissed.

My real passion was in writing, but it failed to provide a stable income, plus I had no formal education in writing.  I was a self-taught writer—a successful one with various publications and genres, including three books published, but when it came to real jobs, I didn’t have the qualifications.  So, here I was needing a job but didn’t want to be someone’s secretary or bookkeeper again, and there was nothing I could do involving writing.

A friend suggested that I go to Hudson’s (now Macy’s) and apply.  Sales.  I can’t say that I had ever considered sales for myself, though I had sold Tupperware years earlier.  At the time, I didn’t like feeling I was being pushy, so I never considered myself to be sales material.  In fact, I disliked sales people immensely myself because so many were pushy.  Consequently, my interest wasn’t high.

For three weeks, I looked at ads, but the economy was tight and I had moved into a manufacturing community where jobs were being outsourced.  Jobs were few.

One day at the end of that third July week, I was in a sleeveless summer dress, sandals, and bare legs, my hair windblown from open car windows, approaching the mall.  I was running errands.  My little voice said, Go apply at Hudson’s.  Now.

“But I’m not prepared,” I argued.  “I’m not dressed properly.  I don’t have a résumé with me.”

Doesn’t matter.  Go anyway.

I knew better than to apply without looking professional.

The little voice pushed.  I argued, all in the matter of a couple blocks.  Approaching the last entrance, I found myself turning in despite my rational arguments.  Sheer gut instinct had turned the wheel of the car.

What’s the harm, I thought.  I can pick up an application and return it later when I was properly dressed.

I parked the car, grabbed my purse, sliding the strap on my shoulder, entering the closest door, which took me into the Men’s Department.  I approached the sales girl behind the register, asking for location of the main office.  Following her directions, I walked through several departments, noticing how many people were working, what they were doing, wondering what it would be like to work there, doing that type of work.

At the desk of the Customer Service desk, I asked for an application.  The gal behind that desk excused herself and came back with an older woman who was dressed in a business suit.

She introduced herself as the human resources director and gave me an application, asking me to fill it out right there.  I told her I didn’t have all the necessary information with me—all the addresses, reference information, etc., that I needed to fill out the application fully and correctly.

“That’s okay,” she said.  “You’d be doing me a favor by filling it out now.”

So, I did.  Prepared to hand it over and leave, I was surprised when she asked, “Are you able to do an interview right now?”

“But I’m not dressed properly.  I wasn’t prepared to do an interview.”

“That’s okay.”  Again, I was told I’d be doing her a favor.

We sat down and for the next ten or fifteen minutes, I answered the typical questions.  At the end of the interview, I expected her to tell me that she would get back to me.  Instead, she offered me a job on the spot, telling me that I would start in the Men’s Department.  I was surprised, to say the least.

Mentally, I knew what she was offering me wasn’t going to be money for me to pay my bills.  The pay was minimum wage and I needed a couple dollars more per hour in order to meet my minimum monthly expenses.  Minimum with no frills, no surprises.

I asked for the couple extra dollars.

I was told that no, that couldn’t happen.

My little voice spoke up.  Take it.

Mentally, I argued, saying But it isn’t enough.  I won’t be able to pay my bills.

It’s okay.  Take it.


It’s okay.  Trust me.

While I had tested my little voice with smaller tasks before, this was the first big decision I’d be making based on its direction.  As usual, that little voice’s instruction conflicted with common reason and my rational mind.

As I sat there, looking at this woman who was waiting for my answer, I thought, what harm would it do?  I can always quit if I find another job or one I like better. 

“Okay,” I said, finally.

She asked me if I could start tomorrow.  I told her no, that I needed the weekend and that I could start the following week.  She then said, “Let me have you meet the manager you’ll be working for.”

Her name was Amy, but it would be several weeks before I learned what had happened.  Apparently, I already had the job, the minute I went up the clerk in the Men’s Department asking for a job application.  Amy had seen me come in.

As I strolled through the store, as I made my way to Customer Service (CS), Amy had taken a short cut, entering CS through a back door.  She told the director that if I was applying for a job, she wanted me in her department.

I took the job, working in the Men’s Department for a month, and received a raise that got me closer to my monthly minimum.  Half a year later, I moved to the Shoe Department, and a few months after that moved to Customer Service where my bookkeeping experience was put to use, as there were few employees who had that particular educated skill.  In the end, I became the department’s supervisor, which in time, would lead to other supervisory jobs, including working at Kellogg headquarters, where once again, my educational background, including my accounting background, was valued and appreciated.

That little voice had known far better than my rational mind.

Only later, as I looked back on my employment journey that would eventually lead me into education and the dream of working in the field of my passion—writing—did I understand how trusting that little voice had immense value.

Projected Thoughts

Mackinac Island is one of my favorite places in Michigan and the island became more special once I learned that the all-time classical time-travel movie, Somewhere in Time, starring Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour was filmed there.  The island is magical in that no automobiles are allowed, except for the fire trucks.  Transportation are bicycles or horse-drawn carts and wagons.  In winter, the 500 or so residents travel by snow mobile.


My first summer visit to the island was with my first husband and our two daughters.  We were typical fudgies, staying in the downtown area, taking in all the typical visitor sites, including the fort and a short hike up to the Grand Hotel.  Then, visitors could go inside and look around, and even sit on the porch.  Now visitors have to pay a fee for that privilege if they aren’t staying at the hotel.


I visited the island throughout the years, several times, and always with a friend.  Often we would rent bicycles where we would travel around the island and follow all the inland trails.


The last time I visited, I fulfilled my bucket-list wish and stayed at the Grand Hotel.  While I couldn’t say much about our view from our room (a back roof), the food was fantastic, with the luxury of sitting on the porch.


During our stay, my friend went in search of the labyrinth.  I wanted to sit on the front lawn, where there is a lovely fountain and where the lawn was the location for the Somewhere in Time when the main characters, Richard and Elise, are reunited one last time, breaking the barrier of time.  Several benches sat on the lawn, circling this fountain, and allowing me a view of the famous stairs, leading up to the hotel.


I had just sat down, fully enjoying the sounds of the birds and water splashing, when a young boy, about eight or ten, and his grandmother sat on a bench opposite of me.  The grandmother appeared tired, probably looking for a break from this energetic, active child.  He talked constantly to her and she would reply in monosyllables.  Then, he started throwing rocks into the fountain and at the birds, becoming destructive and disregarding nature.


I didn’t want to leave, and I was feeling that they were intruding on the loveliness of the landscape.  Minimally, the boy was intruding.


Not wanting to leave and wanting the quiet back, I began project thoughts to the boy:  Grandma, I’m bored, I want to leave.  This isn’t fun anymore.  Let’s go.


I kept repeating those thoughts, projecting them toward the boy.  Several minutes passed, and lo and behold, I heard the boy say, “Grandma, I’m bored.  Let’s go somewhere else.”


Without another word, she rose from the bench, and they held hands as they moved on.


The quiet I had been seeking returned.

The Red Thread

By the time I was 24, I was married and expecting my first child.  We lived out in the country, so going to town to run errands was a planned event and with a list.  If something wasn’t purchased, most generally, the item would have to be put on the list again for the next trip.

On this particular trip to town, I needed to pick up a spool of red thread, but I had forgotten to bring a piece of the material I was using with me.  I needed an exact match.  I didn’t want to wait until my next trip to make the purchase because my ability to finish the project had already been delayed by several days already.  The thought of having to wait several more days if not a week displeased me.

At the time, I’d been reading a lot of books about intuition, how we are all born with an intuitive ability but that for most people, it remains underdeveloped because it wasn’t understood at the time.  While it was known that women were often seen as being more intuitive than men, the science wasn’t clear at the time as to why.  That science would come decades later, but at that time, a woman’s intuitive was something to joke about.

I was curious about my own intuition, but I wasn’t sure how to develop it.  While books spoke about it, there weren’t how-to books on the market back then as there are now.  At least, these books weren’t in the stacks of the public library that I used.

I been wondering if I could develop my intuition, let alone trust it.  And now, on this day, I had an opportunity, so I decided to test my intuitive power on red thread.  I was down to two possibilities.  Thread A was the one that I rationalized was the correct color.  I saw the fabric in my mind’s eye.  I sincerely thought it was THE thread to buy.  Thread B was the one that my intuition was telling me to buy, but I had no rationale behind that feeling.  None.  I couldn’t base the feeling on a single fact.  I thought it looked too dark, that it wasn’t even the right family of shades; it was a wine red, not the more cherry red Thread A was.

Because I didn’t want to take one spool home and discover it was the wrong choice, I decided the best way to test my intuitive powers was to purchase both.  Spending even so much as an extra dollar on a limited budget taxed my sensibilities, but I was desperate to have usable thread that evening so I could finish my sewing project.  As much as I hated returning items, I decided if I needed, I could return the spool that ended up being the wrong color.

So, I marked the threads lightly on the spool’s ends, marking the one I thought was the true color as A, and marking the one my intuition was telling to buy as B.

When I got home, I was astonished and surprised to find that thread B was a perfect match.  It was so perfect, in fact, that when the thread was laid on the material, the thread completely disappeared.  I had to look hard to see it.  Thread A, which I’d been so sure was the perfect match, was hideously incorrect.

The test was a small one, but my intuition had been correct and convincingly so.  The question in my mind now was, how trustworthy would this intuition be on larger purchases or events that had outcomes that were more important, if not downright critical.  Would I be able to trust my intuition no matter what?