If You Can't Prove It, It's Not Real

Believe me when I say I completely understand why skepticism exists. Humans are essentially wired to seek evidence and proof to validate or disprove our experiences. It's our default state. Science demands concrete evidence—it thrives on provable and disprovable facts. We love being able to measure and analyze the world around us and our interactions within it. Data is the backbone of our society. I, too, am driven by data in many ways, though the type of data that influences me has evolved. In our world, embracing the unknown or "not knowing why" isn’t always easy.

Coming from an academic background, I was deeply entrenched in the rigor of methodical research. My identity was shaped by a commitment to sound methodology, carefully controlled designs, and the hope that my results would meet the golden standard of statistical significance. Success in academia meant satisfying these stringent requirements—it influenced everything, from my career as a faculty member to my reputation among peers. Academic research rarely leaves space for intuition, especially in the realm of peer-reviewed journals. This was who I was. And then everything changed. It was as though the universe knew that I needed to go through this transformation, to finally let go of needing to “prove” everything, including my own abilities.

As if a floodgate had burst open, I began receiving messages from "somewhere." Having always been able to see spirits, this wasn’t an entirely foreign concept, but it still left me awestruck. Some days, I felt profoundly blessed and grateful; other days, I was scared and confused. What was I supposed to do with these messages? The self-doubt was overwhelming—crippling, even. But then, information began coming through that was undeniably accurate—details like nicknames of the deceased, heirloom jewelry passed through generations, significant songs, intricate memories—things I couldn't have fabricated even if I tried.

I started documenting the messages I received, writing them down daily, sometimes multiple times in a single day. Occasionally I would receive messages for someone I hadn't met yet. A few weeks ago, an older gentleman named “Gerrard” came to visit me one afternoon as I sat in my living room. I carefully documented everything he shared. Almost two weeks later, I found myself at a local spa for a treatment and Gerrard once again came to visit. I described the details of what I was seeing to my esthetician thinking they might be for her, but she didn't connect with him. About 10 minutes later as I was paying for my service, a young woman approached me, her face alight with recognition. My esthetician had gone back into the staff room and had relayed my messages. The young woman then blurted out, “That’s my grandpa you're talking about, and his name is Gerrard”.

Sometimes it feels as though the universe or Spirit is orchestrating these encounters ahead of time, sending me "meeting notes" in advance. Days, weeks, or even longer afterward, I might cross paths with the individual the message was intended for.

I now have a thick notebook filled with entries—many of which have been confirmed, while others patiently linger, waiting for their moment to unfold. As you might imagine, this has been and continues to be frustrating at times. I've become better at simply sitting with the information, but the uncertainty still gets to me some days.

I often reflect on how my experiences and our human understanding of the world around us has evolved. Before the invention of the microscope, our knowledge of the microscopic realm coexisting with us was extremely limited. It wasn’t until 1665 that Robert Hooke first described the fruiting structures of molds using early microscopes, followed by Antoni van Leeuwenhoek’s discovery of bacteria in 1676. At the time, the idea of tiny living organisms, invisible to the naked eye, would have seemed absurd. Today, however, we know that viruses and bacteria are not only real but, in many cases, incredibly powerful.

During moments of doubt, I like to remind myself that just because we can't see something or measured it (just yet), doesn't mean it isn't real. Turns out, Dr. Seuss' Horton really did know what he was talking about.