Yesterday I was tired, tired, tired, and despite a full night’s sleep last night, I’ve been dragging ass all day today. Like, I haven’t quite been able to “turn on.” Not that I’m sick, I just feel “off.” Oh well, some days are like this, you walk around in a fog. What else can you do? Personally, my plan is to blog sooner (like, now), grab dinner with a friend, retire early, and try again tomorrow.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

This afternoon as I was on my way to lunch, a friend called who was having car trouble. Their engine had overheated. “I don’t know anything about this stuff,” they said. “Shit,” I replied, “I don’t either.” Nonetheless, I met them where they’d pulled over–at a gas station–and called a friend of mine who DOES know about cars. But before we could get very far, a man driving a tow truck came over. “What’s going on?” he said. “I was a mechanic for twenty-five years.”

As it turns out, my friend had a leak somewhere, and all we had to do was add water to their radiator in order to get them home, which wasn’t far from where we were. It was that easy, and this angel didn’t ask for anything in return. “I’m glad to help,” he said. Anyway, I know it wasn’t really my problem, but I was still struck by The Goodness of it all. And I don’t know–it’s just a hunch, but I imagined later that this gentleman, my friend, and I probably didn’t vote the same way yesterday. And yet none of that mattered in the moment. It was just one human helping another. One human being kind to another.

My lunch this afternoon was with my friend Ray, and it was like a catch-up power hour. Not only did we laugh, laugh, laugh, we also got serious, talked about our hearts, and even discussed business. I absolutely love this, bouncing around The Peaks and the Valleys with a dear friend. And it didn’t matter that I was feeling “off” or not at my best. The Goodness showed up anyway.

After lunch I saw my therapist, and we ended up talking about the blog. For background, I should say that my therapist is more than aware of this project (we discussed the idea before I started it) and fully supports it. Also, she’s read some of the entries–and I’ve read some of them to her–but she doesn’t read them regularly because “that’s your thing, and this is our thing.” Anyway, we were discussing how I describe the therapeutic process online, and she said, “You do tell people that I’m real fucking crazy, don’t you?”

I laughed for a solid minute before I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever said it quite like that.”

What my therapist was communicating was that she’s–apparently–not your typical therapist. I say “apparently” because I’ve never been to another therapist and therefore don’t have anyone to compare her to. Still, I have heard stories of other therapists and have read A FEW self-help books. (Whenever I say this, my therapist adds, “hundred thousand–a few hundred thousand self-help books.”) This being the case, I would have to agree, my therapist doesn’t seem “typical” by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m not textbook,” was how she put it this afternoon.

Again, not having anyone to compare her to, I’m not sure what else to say about what we do. Other than what’s already been said. Still, I’m willing to try, since people have told me that they’re curious about therapy and how it works. Well, for me, it’s pretty simple. I show up, say hello to the receptionist, and plop myself down on a couch after I’m called back. The couch is just where I like to sit, although I’ve been told some people lie down, sit in a chair (I used to do this before my therapist rearranged her office), or even on the floor. She sits directly across from me. (I once had a friend tell me their therapist actually sat on a platform ABOVE them. I would have been out of there so fast.) Anyway, we talk. Often she affirms; sometimes she confronts. Mostly, she offers different perspectives. Today I told her about the recent situation where I told someone who’d said, “Shame on you,” “Don’t talk to me like that,” and my therapist said, “Good for you, and they better be glad it wasn’t me. I would have stood up and shown them the door.”

So that’s how it works. Voila! Now I know that’s an option if I ever want to use it. Get the hell out, Samantha! I don’t know–I might try it if the situation ever happens again.

And I’m sure it’ll happen again; life always gives you more chances.

This is the hard part about therapy–actually USING the skills I learn there in the real world. Because it’s not THAT difficult to entertain a new perspective. This, I think, is why MEMEs, which I think stands for “Minimal Effort, Minimal Effect,” and “8 ways to change your life” blogs are so popular. It’s not that they don’t contain or express truth; they can and do. But truth doesn’t affect change when it’s READ; it affects change when it’s LIVED. So what’s difficult is INTEGRATING a new perspective, to bring a new perspective into every facet of your life. For example, if you get an ounce (just an once) of self-esteem, that means you suddenly have to hold both yourself and the world around you to a higher standard. Don’t talk to me like that. This is where the rubber hits the road, and–I’m not kidding–it’s hard as hell. (I don’t recommend it.)

But really–I do recommend it, and it’s worth it. It’s just hard as hell. That’s okay. It’s the way things work here on earth. Nothing comes for free, even a change in perspective. Everything comes with a price.

To summarize, therapy itself, at least in my experience, isn’t complicated. It’s simply a conversation, and we all have conversations every day. How many times have you called a friend or sat down over coffee with someone you trust because you were trying to work something out? That’s all therapy is, except the person sitting across from you is–hopefully–a professional, someone who’s–ideally–unbiased about your situation and an expert in human relationships and emotions. Granted, if you’ve been giving yourself a snow job about what’s actually happening in your life, an honest conversation with your therapist might be difficult. I’ve fallen apart a number of times over the years while finally admitting, I’m angry with this person. I’m miserable in this relationship. I’m afraid of what will happen if I end things. But I’ve always been fine–more than fine–with what happens INSIDE the office. Again, the hardest part is what happens OUTSIDE the office. Still, none of us goes through life alone, and with the right person in your corner–I’m confident–you can face, head on, whatever life brings you.