The faucet fills my glass with water, but I don’t dare take a sip yet. As I squeeze the lemon into my drink, I mentally levitate. It’s true that I am now earthier and less judgmental. With just one sip of lemon water, I feel myself become effortlessly radiant.
I skip my morning coffee because I’m high on vitamin C. My body is detoxing, and I feel more in tune with the miraculous rhythms of life. I tell my boss I won’t be coming into work today, or ever again. My corporate marketing job has always felt beneath me. When my boss sends me a threatening email in response, I forward it to a reputable journalist. For I am a whistleblower. My senses feel heightened, and I am suddenly porous to the universe and all it offers me.
During my eight-mile run, I barely sweat. A passerby points at me, asking whether I’ll give the eulogy at his funeral. I am now an empath and tell him his stage four cancer is not actually a death sentence. Has he tried lemon water? I imagine a cable news anchor asking me what it feels like to save lives for a living.
“It feels good, Anderson. It feels damn good.”