Getting Curious

It is often said that curiosity killed the cat, but what fate awaits those with a lack of curiosity? As a therapist, my own curiosity is a powerful tool. When discussing cases with my supervisor, she often will tell me, "get curious". When I'm sitting with a client, it's essential that I pay attention not only to what they are saying, but how they are saying it, and what else is going on. If they tear up, if their facial expression changes, if their body language shifts, I will often ask "what just happened there?". It's an opportunity for us both to get curious. What did we touch on? What's going on with your body? Something shifted.

Outside the office, My curiosity tends to have more of an inward focus. If, as Plato said, the unexamined life is not worth living, I'm safe, at least for a while. It's become a large part of who I am, curious about myself, questioning my reactions to other people and environments.

I tend to surround myself with others who value this kind of curiosity. For me, it's one of the ways we care for one another.

How are you? What's important? What's hard? Who are you in this place, in this moment?

My wife's parents are good at this. They ask good questions, and listen to the answers. Perhaps it's due to their Quaker background. They know how to sit in a moment. I've always been grateful to them for that.

A dear friend from high school came for a visit last night. I hadn't seen him in 26 years. Within minutes we settled, we listened. We got curious about each other.

Where have you been? What have you experienced? How does that inform who you are now?

Curiosity is a gift, it's what keeps us moving forward, as species, as a community, as two old friends on the couch.

Showing up

How do we show up?

I've written before about being enough, you can find it here.

(Go check it out, I'll wait)

On a related note, I had been doubting some of the ways I've been showing up. At work, at home, for my friends, even for myself. I've been feeling more tense than I like, I've caught myself being short, sarcastic, even dismissive. This is not how I like to show up. I like to be present, grounded, open-hearted. I want the people in my life to know that I'm here for them, and that I see them for who they are. On a good day, I accomplish this. I can meet at least some of their needs, and I get some of mine met as well. Lately though, I just haven't felt all there.

Yesterday I got some feedback from a client that let me know that however I thought I had been showing up (or not), it was enough for her in those moments. She felt supported, and safe and able to do her work because I was there with her.

I needed that.

The day before, I came upon a young woman who was in the throes of a panic attack. I invited her into my office and I was able to help her get back under control. We did some orienting, we tried some breathing exercises, but I think what actually did it was that I was really there with her. We were connected, and she felt that.

In short, I showed up.

Two messages in two days that I am, in fact showing up. It doesn't mean that I can stop worrying about how I'm arriving for the people in my life. However, it's good to know that maybe I'm not as checked out as I have thought.

Inevitably, how we enter that space that gets held between two people is going to shift. It changes based on how we feel, how they feel, and what's happening in the moment. The greatest gift this work has given me is an awareness of that. Having the curiosity, the courage and the desire to address the questions of "how are we doing with each other? What do we need to attend to?" is a gift to both of us in that moment.

I'm grateful to ask it, and to hear the answer, and to go from there, every time.

It's always worth it.

All the Difference

There are times when I am touched by what I read. It doesn't happen often enough, perhaps I don't read enough of what touches me. As a graduate student, the opportunity to read what comes to hand and catches my eye is rare. Over the past few days I have been blessed again and again by a book. When Women Were Birds is exquisite. For a man who cherishes the relationships that women have with one another, it is a gift. I have often romanticized women's connections with one another. I freely admit it. Although, in my process of putting those relationships on pedestals, I have come to understand what I idealize, what I find sacred and essential. I know that women can be mean and petty and shallow and manipulative in their dealings with one another, just as men can be. I also know that men can be tender and supportive, and love one another in a deep and profound way. I have been blessed to have some women in my life who have let me in. Who have allowed me to be in relationship with them in ways that most men are not allowed. We have done a great disservice to intimacy in our culture by sexualizing it. Sex can be intimate, without a doubt, and hopefully is often. But there are many paths to intimacy, and I believe the gate that guards the door is not sex, but vulnerability. This is why I feel there is a gender gap when it comes to true relationship. Most men often don't do intimacy well, especially with other men, but too often even with their female partners.

It's too scary. It's too...vulnerable. 

One of the most powerful things about my work is the opportunity to model vulnerability, especially with male clients. It's hard to nail down what this means, exactly. I know what it's not. It's not weakness, it's not submissive, it's not disingenuous. It is perhaps simply the absence of a mask. The moment when you leave it all out there, and you're ok with the result, whatever that looks like. It's easier for me with some men than others, and sometimes we never get there, but that's the goal.

Intimacy is often one of the bravest things two humans can do together. 

There's something about the therapeutic environment that allows this, maybe even demands it. Most men struggle with this, especially with other men, because we have been taught that it's not safe, and often it's not. What this means however, is that we have generations of men who have never been fully seen. Hundreds of millions of individuals who have never gotten feedback on who they truly are, because it's too scary to really put it out there. The result is a nation of men who are uncertain about themselves. Men who, when they feel "less than", put on more masks, get more violent, more angry, more abusive in a desperate attempt to prove that they are ok. All the while, they slip further from their goal.

Terry Tempest Williams' book brought all this around for me. Her writing woke voices I haven't heard in a while. Whispered between her words, were the voices of the women in my own life who made an impact. some by their kindness, some with their humor, some with their judgment. Voices of women that have loved me, supported me, been disappointed in me, and at times likely hated me.

But they all saw me.

And as Thoreau once famously wrote, that has made all the difference. 

Peering into the Abyss

I had a client last night that was feeling disconnected from his peers because he doesn't pretend very well. He's real, he's deep, he's smart and he's kind. Socially, that can be a challenge on a college campus. This guy was sitting in front of me asking if he should learn how to "play the game" so he could have more friends. I wanted to grab him and yell "Don't you dare!".

I love this kid. I love his intensity and his passion and his dark and wandering thoughts. I love that he's out on the edge of the abyss of his own mind and he's leaning way out over the deep darkness, curious about what's bumping around in there. It's uncomfortable, and it's scary, and it makes him feel like he's doing something wrong and dangerous, but he knows that if he turns around and walks away from that it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He knows how to live in a cage. He knows that it feels safe and the rules are given to you, and you get to have your life simplified. Here's the thing, he stepped outside that cage, and he has seen it from the outside.

It cannot be unseen.

So he's sort of stuck on this ledge. I know he's going to be ok. More than that, I know he's going to be one of those men that moves people in a really profound way. The people who are fortunate enough to be touched by his words, his actions and the way he dares to ask questions that have no answers will be grateful for that experience.

I know I am.

So, for now, we sit on that ledge together, sometimes throwing pebbles into the darkness to see if they hit something. Sometimes just sitting. What he needs more than anything is just to know he's OK.

I think, at the end of the day, that's all any of us really need.

For a Sweet Friend

I lost a friend this month. After years of struggling with the loss of her daughter in a car accident, she took her own life. Pam and I met in massage school, which is a very special and unique place. Everyone shows up with their insecurities about their own bodies. Add to that all the myriad feelings we have about other people's bodies. Then you get naked and practice working on each other, which is nerve-wracking to say the least. The bonds that get formed are tight, tender and nurturing. Our school was small, there were 10 of us at the beginning, I think 8 of us were left at the end. Pam and I connected immediately and we paired up with each other the majority of the time.

I came into that school with some heavy anxiety. I was molested when I was 12 by a man who used the term "massage" to legitimize the destruction of boy's lives. Being told where and how to touch someone has always been a massive trigger for me. My path to massage school was a long and winding road, but at the end of that road, I found myself in a small room with 9 strangers and a lot of apprehension.

Pam was my safe place.

We spent 20 hour weekends together for a year. We talked a lot and I came to understand just a fraction of the pain she carried. I didn't know Pam before she lost her daughter, so I can't say what she was like then. When I knew her she was a sweet, kind and generous woman who was also, unfortunately, broken in a profound way.

As I said, massage school is unique. I remember the smell of Pam's hair, a couple of moles she had, and the way her hands felt as they eased into the muscles of my always too-tight traps. I remember how dirty her feet always were from going barefoot. I know she cherished her husband, both of her daughters, her wide community of friends, and a couple of small elderly dogs.

Her hands shook.

Small tremors that may have been telling a story of what was going on under her own skin. When she used very light pressure, it was obvious, and endearing in a way. When she moved deeper into the muscle, the tremors were undetectable as she set about her work. She was good at it.

Pam was a searcher, a seeker of healing for herself and others. She helped countless people as a teacher, friend, and bodyworker. I'm deeply saddened by the choice she made, and hopeful that she found what she was looking for.

She left the world a little better than she found it, and it's a little less well off now that she's gone.

Safe travels, my sweet friend.

Enough

My dreams were busy last night, and a common thread ran through them all.

I was unprepared. 

I'm starting a shift at the Counseling Center of our local state college today. I spent 9 months up there last year (you can read about it here), so I know what I'm getting in to, and I'm looking forward to it. Throughout the day yesterday I was in contact with a couple of folks up there for various reasons, and the message I got was that I would be busy today. I wasn't entirely prepared for that. In my mind, I knew I had an appointment with one client from last year. She's awesome and I was looking forward to that. The rest of the time I figured I would catch up on some research I wanted to do for a dream group that I would be facilitating this year and generally hang around and be available if a student came in and needed to talk.

By the end of the day yesterday it was clear that this was not how the day would unfold. I needed to interview students for that dream group, I had at least two intakes, and that regular client as well. I also needed to meet a guy at my house to get a bid on some flooring work, so there will be a lot of up and down the hill and running around.

Back to my dreams... I reflected on this feeling of being unprepared. Did I have what I needed? My mind raced through all the physical items that were required. It was a short race. It's a short list. A bottle of water, my reading glasses, a couple of pens and a notebook. Maybe a snack.

Back when I was a cabinetmaker it often took over an hour just to load the truck with the tools I might need to do an installation. (cabinetmakers in general do not like to leave the shop, it makes us nervous, and we don't know how to travel light)

With this work, it's all about internal tools. It can take a while to develop them, but once you have them, they're always on board. So the discomfort that was showing up in my dreams wasn't about forgetting a crucial item, it was about questioning my internal readiness.

My unconscious was working through my anxiety around this.

Not so much "am I ready", but "am I worthy"

I received a gift last Thursday when the staff and interns of the Counseling Center gathered for the Put In, the start of our journey together this year. We did a short meditation and as I sat and allowed my mind to weave it's way through whatever wildlands I had created for myself, a message came through.

"You are enough"

This is truly one of the most precious things one can say to another. More importantly, it's one of the most important things we can say to ourselves. On that particular day however, there was another part to this message

"You always have been"

Sometimes when we hear something important, we can't let it all the way in. Sometimes we need to go back a ways (sometimes a long ways back). Sometimes we need to get down on one knee and look that kid in the eye and make sure they understand. Often it takes more than one try, you know how kids can be.

Sometimes in life it's about trying as hard as you can, but other times it's about letting go and trusting that you are exactly what is needed, just as you are.

Before I lose you in a Healy-feely haze where the only sound you hear is a rousing rendition of Kumbaya, let me be clear. This is one of the bravest and most difficult things we do as humans. To show up in all our messy, unprepared, authentic ways.

I don't know how the day will turn out. I don't know who I will sit with, what they will need or how I will show up for them. I do know that I will show up though, and despite my dreams of not having what I need, I know that this is the only thing that is required.

It will be enough.

The Importance of Feedback

A friend recently commented on her circle of friends, remarking how grateful she was for them, and how much they had helped her grow. She mentioned that they sometimes have dinners where they give each other real and relevant feedback. This is, perhaps, the greatest gift one human can give another. I wrote about my internship at the Counseling Center in an earlier post, you can find it here

Many times this past year I have been both witness and participant to the power of giving truly good feedback. It's often a great tool in group therapy work when a member has shared something big that they are now uncertain about. It is very scary to open yourself up to a group, no matter how close you all are. Often there is still that voice in our heads that says "if they really knew me, they wouldn't support me".

When someone stands up to that voice and shares anyway, it's imperative that they get feedback around how that landed with the other members. Often the response we get is in direct opposition to what we feared it would be. In fact, most of the time the feedback is so far to the other side of what we expect that it can be hard to even take in.

We're taught not to think too highly of ourselves, to not be conceited, to hide the parts of us that make us feel different from the rest. When we let that go and really hear how we are coming across to others, it can be life-changing.

To do this in a therapeutic environment is important, and one could say that it's even the whole point.

To know the importance of this and to utilize this tool in a relevant and conscious manner with the people we love is not only brave, it's a true gift to our friends, our community and ourselves.

Loving us into Being

For about the past 9 months I've been an intern at the counseling center of our local state college, Fort Lewis. It's part of my graduate program in social work. It has been, in short, life changing. It's interesting to me that the length of my experience this year has been about the same as it takes to grow a human. I have grown. I have changed, I have been held and supported and loved in ways that have literally taken my breath away. The director of the training program retired this year. It was heart-wrenching for so many that have had the good fortune to learn from him. In short, to learn from Colin Smith is to be loved by him. Colin is a Jungian scholar. He looks like John Lennon, with long, wild hair and thick round glasses. He often speaks in metaphors, and he has no tolerance for small talk. We fell in love with each other immediately.

At our orientation retreat, we sat in a circle at one of the senior counselor's homes. 7 staff members, 7 first year practicum students, 2 second year interns. When the sage was burned and the circle was created, I felt at home. What followed though, felt new. Colin read from The Little Prince, he read from the Velveteen Rabbit. He talked about what it means to become real, to be human, to be heard, to be seen. I tend to pay attention to my body in times like these. I have a pretty good bullshit detector, but it works in reverse. It works by making me cry when something is real. As Colin spoke and my tears flowed, I knew it would be good year. I also knew that I would be heartbroken when it ended.

Recently we had our year-end retreat. "The take out". We live in a small western town with a big rafting community. That being the case, it's inevitable that river metaphors abound. The orientation was the "put in", everyone into the boat, here we go. We've been moving down the river, most of us ending up in the water more often than not. But the line gets thrown and we hold on, and sooner or later we get pulled to safety.

So here we were again, this time at the Take Out. We sat in a circle as each of us were honored and given feedback on how we had come across, how we had shifted, how we had grown since that orientation day. We were held, we were challenged and we were loved.

We talk a lot about "the container", the space we create that allows our clients to open, to explore their hard stuff, their dark parts, their pain. At that orientation Colin talked about the container, and how it needed to be strong enough to hold everything we pour into it. But that's not enough. In order for change to happen, that container needs to be heated up. The heat gets turned on and it gets hotter and hotter until the contents begin to change. It's alchemy, and it's uncomfortable. One of Colin's favorite sayings is "the shit turns to gold". It's our hard stuff, the stuff we're ashamed of, that we never speak of, the parts that are too painful, scary and sickening to look at that is our richest material. That container needs to hold all of that without breaking apart, and there's only one way to make it strong, and that's through love.

Carl Rogers, pioneer of person-centered psychotherapy talked a lot about "unconditional positive regard". The idea that we should see our clients without judgement, to think the best of them. I do believe Rogers was right on in his approach with that, but he was afraid to call it what it is.

Love.

We love our clients. When they open up and let us in, when they share their broken parts, we fall in love with them. How could we not? That's when we know we have the container we need.

There's another part to all this. When we fall in love with our clients, when we hold that unconditional space for them do their work, we heal ourselves too. It reminds us to be gentle with ourselves. Another saying in the counseling center is "we're all in the soup together". There's no "I'm OK, you're not", there's not a separation. We all hurt, we all have to deal with our stuff. The more of our own work we do, the more we can help others. Period.

I have never felt so scrutinized as I have these past 9 months. At the beginning it was uncomfortable. My body language, my dress, my humor (especially my humor) was all open to interpretation. I'm no stranger to being judged, but that wasn't what they were doing. It was more of an exploration, an invitation to see what was going on under all that. It was all for my benefit, and I felt that.

The goal of the training program is to make sure we do our work. Their work is to hold us accountable to ourselves.

The staff of the Counseling Center do this by modeling the highest level of personal accountability and integrity that I have ever witnessed.

They do this by making themselves available to us in countless ways, both professionally and personally.

They do this by loving us into Being.

Push Pull

Thirteen is hard. I remember it, and not fondly. My daughter will turn 14 in August, she graduates from 8th grade tonight. Over the past two years I've watched her move rapidly from a child to a young adult. It's a fierce transition, sometimes painful, sometimes sublime. Lydia and I had a profound first meeting, you can read about it here.

I often worry that she's cursed with being the kid that's "OK". She does well in school, she makes friends easily, she's pretty. It's easy to assume that she's just skipping along in her young life, without too many obstacles or challenges.

Sometimes I forget how intense these years are. She's negotiating the most complicated relationships that she has ever known. She's had to work harder on her schoolwork than ever before. Her body is taking off in a million different directions, with and without her permission, both inside and out.

In short, it's a crazy time.

I don't tell her enough how many times a day I think about her and smile.

I don't tell her how often I look at her and my breath just leaves my body because I am so proud of her, because she's so beautiful, because she's so smart, because she's so funny.

Sometimes she tells me she hates me. She doesn't yell it, she's not angry, she's just telling me about this powerful emotion welling up in her. I tell her she has permission to hate me as much as I love her.

She thinks I'm being sarcastic, but I'm truly not.

It's impossible to feel the special kind of loathing a teen can muster for their parents if we don't love them that much as well, but I know in that moment, she's not really feeling that side of it. It's complicated, like any intimate relationship.

These are tender years. She's trying to figure how to get away, I'm trying to figure out how to let go. We've just started this dance with each other, and I know it's going to get harder before it gets easier.

Sometimes I get so scared for her that I can't move, other times I'm so excited for her that I can't stand still.

I'm thinking it's going to be like this for a little while.

I'm OK with that.

The Edge

  In bodywork we often refer to "the edge". It's that place where you start to come up against resistance. We also refer to "the wall", which is the place where no further movement is possible. In massage the edge is where we do most of our work. I've been reflecting lately on what other places in our lives we find this place, and the short answer is...

Everywhere

In our workouts, in our relationships, in our work, in whatever we do for personal growth. It's the edges that we need to find to enact a change. Sometimes they're sharp and we come up on them abruptly, causing us to shrink back and wonder what just happened.  Others are more familiar and are worn smooth by repeated visits.

Sometimes it feels good to work with these places, challenging ourselves, pushing that boundary ever closer to the wall. (of course, the wall moves too, but that's another story)

At other times that edge is so sharp and so scary that we just can't work with it at that time. Sometimes just taking a seat a little ways off and acknowledging it's presence is enough for now. Sometimes the awareness is all it takes to begin the work.

No matter where you find yourself as you approach these places, be gentle. Knowing when to stretch just a little further and knowing when you've reached that place where enough is enough is important.

I tend to go through spurts in my life where I take on lots of edges at once (so many of them are connected), and then I take a break, I coast for awhile, and I let all that work settle in and integrate. Then I'm off again throwing myself at those places that scare me, challenge me, or confuse me.

Admittedly it may not be the best way to get things done, but It's what I do. From the outside I'm not sure how it looks. I guess it looks like a lot of different careers, a lot of moves geographically, lots of varied interests, a lack of financial stability.  I've found that this is impressive or disappointing in varied degrees depending on where someone is in their own life and what their relationship to me is.

I'm just starting grad school, I'm an intern at a college counseling center, everywhere I look I see edges, and more than a few walls. I like this place. It feels alive. I know some of those edges will cut me. I also have my eye on a few that have got me in the past, I still have the scars.

I'm ready for them this time.