JASON

Chances are, you donʼt know this guy. I just learned his name about 20 minutes ago after leaving the gym, stopping at Starbucks and walking back to my office.

Jason sits outside a bank on 7th Avenue and 24th Street. I am sure I have passed him scores of times, but there was one day last week, when I heard him. “Spare some change?” Living and working in New York for over 20 years, I have probably heard it all and seen it all. I stopped, initially annoyed that I was being bothered, but then I turned and looked in his eyes. There was a story there.

I fumbled through the pockets in my jeans and jacket for some loose change, found nothing, and hurriedly grabbed my wallet to see if there was anything in there knowing full well that I rarely carry cash thanks to my HSBC debit card. But I had a dollar and I gave it to him.

He seemed a bit taken aback, which for some reason surprised me. “Oh, thank you, thank you--God bless you.”

Clumsily, but with genuine empathy, I said, “Youʼre welcome--

take care.” I walked away, but wanted to turn around around and look at him again, but I did not.

I did not give Jason a buck to make me feel better--I gave him a dollar because I wanted to show him that sometimes people care.

There is a woman who passes out The Metro, the free daily, outside of the PATH Station on 23rd Street. Again, I have passed her countless times, refused the paper because I know I will not read it since I have usually already read the Times on my IPhone.

But there was that day I looked in her eyes, and I saw the story. I took the paper, smiled at her and told her to have a good day. I now take the paper every day--I still do not read it, but my assumption is that her livelihood depends on how many papers she hands out--maybe Iʼm wrong. But now she always tells me to have a “good morning and have a great day!” I do not know her name, but I will find out tomorrow morning.

Itʼs all in their eyes. How often do you really take a look into someone? Jason and the Metro Lady have their story--Jason is outside of the bank because of circumstances of either his own doing, societyʼs or both. The same probably applies to the Metro Lady.

I am sitting in my office because of my own doing and societyʼs. But I still want to look outside of me. Maybe itʼs because as a social worker who teaches a class for first year graduate students, I do not want to forget that part of me. That part of me that volunteered in college as a Big Brother, that part of me who, at the height of the AIDS Crisis in the mid- to-late 80s, became a peer support worker for men and women afflicted with, at that time, the death sentence. And that part of me, while going through my own personal crises and challenges, was fortunate enough to have the support that enabled me to move out of the abyss and back into a place where I can go to the gym, stop at Starbucks, give Jason a buck and a handshake, go to my office, do my work, drive home at the end of a good day and look into my daughterʼs eyes and hug and kiss her goodnight.

Thank you, Jason.

THAT MOMENT

Think about the moments in your life that impacted you:

1. •Realizing you were in love.
   

2. •Bringing your child home from the hospital for the first time.
   

3. •Learning of the death of a parent or a grandparent.
   

4. •Getting that great job.
   

5. •Finally knowing that a relationship was over.
   

6. •Recognizing and understanding that it was now time to overcome an addictive behavior.
   

7. •Knowing that your life is what you make of it.
   

Whether your moment was an indescribable achievement or a devastating loss, we can learn, we can grow, we can heal. Both, yes both-- have merits.

In those times that I have achieved something wonderful or have attained a moment of divine clarity, I tell myself over and over, “Jeff--remember this feeling, remember this moment, remember this gift.” Thankfully, sometimes I do and sometimes I “forget.” But do I really forget, or do I just become lazy and revert to faulty thinking or behaviors? I think you know the answer. Yes, we are creatures of habit, and in our sometimes jumbled minds full of to-do lists, economic woes, friend and family conflicts, career challenges, it is so often possible to lose “our moment”. That is a shame.

Think about it. If we were diligent enough, strong enough and brave enough, that moment would have such a dramatic impact on the other noises in our head. Granted, it may not fix or cure the conflicts, but it would allow us to become less of a hostage to them. And by getting closer to our moment, our truth, we would be less apt to turn this annoying noise into something cataclysmic. We like to do that at times--gives us a weird kind of rush, I suppose.

Conversely, in those times of pain and unhappy realizations, I have probably done some

of my best growth. Whether through a death, a realization that a certain relationship

was proving toxic, or just feeling that I was in some dark abyss--I had to do the following:

1. •This is a temporary pain
   

2. •I am not alone--I do have people that I can reach out to
   

3. •I am still alive
   

4. •I still have my future to hold onto
   

There are 2 significant events I can relate: the first, in early 2001 and the latter in early 2006. My maternal grandmother, for all intents and purposes, was my best friend for as long as I can remember. She helped me through some pretty tough times, including my parentsʼ divorce. When she died on March 12, 2001, it was not a shock, but the belly punch that I felt was as painful as if it had come out of the blue. I remember breaking down as I had never done before, and cried for quite a while. But after a bit, I stopped and a calm spread throughout my body and I remembered all the good she had brought me, all the good that we had together and all the good that I would continue to feel because she had been such a critical piece of me--this very complicated puzzle. While this was a loss, I also learned that I had gained so much.

In 2006, I had come to the realization that a business organization that I had helped develop was no longer serving me. I was feeling beaten, defeated, unmotivated, misunderstood. I did not know what to do. I talked about this to some people, but still received no clarity. I mulled, pondered, prayed--all to no avail. I finally went to a counselor and I when I began to discuss what was going on with my company, she cut me off and said, “Youʼve got to get out of there. This is toxic.” You mean, I can leave? I thought to myself. Immediately, a wave of relief and peace rushed through me--I did

have a choice after all!

Both examples exhibit, by means of figuring out stuff on our own or with a professional, that there are choices to be made in the best and worst of times (who said that?). I could have held onto the death of my grandmother as this loss that I could never let go; I could have stayed with my company and suffered silently as it battered down my image of myself. But thankfully, I did neither.

Those moments--I look at all of them and I marvel.

THE DELICATE BALANCE

I read a book many years ago, entitled The Patient Who Cured His Therapist. In an opening passage, the author, Stanley Siegel, writes “ I see therapy as art, as an extremely subjective art, too, collaborative and communicative between the therapist

and his client--two human beings, one with tremendous experience with his own troubles, the other supposedly possessing vast knowledge of other peopleʼs troubles, not to mention their statistically recorded patterns and clinical names.”

It is this relationship that excites me. I can feel it, the client can feel it. Itʼs “that connection”, that exciting dynamic that occurs in the therapeutic environment--like a meadow full of butterflies on a good first date. That ability to have a constructive, productive back-and-forth that slowly chips away at the pain, the troubles and the woes until all we are left with is the clientʼs truth.

The clientʼs truth. Our truth. My truth.

I have had many, many clients over the years who have inspired me and transformed me. But they do not know that. My secret. My truth. I went through a large chunk of my life not knowing my truth. I can honestly say that I donʼt know if I fully know it as I type this today. And thatʼs okay--my truth is not fixed, it

can evolve and I think thatʼs a good thing.

When I graduated with my MSW in 2000, I think I believed that I had reached my truth. I thought that this piece of parchment guaranteed me entry into the “Truth Hall of Fame”. Silly, silly Jeff.

Little did I know, that this paper guaranteed me nothing. Yes, I could secure a better paying job, take a licensing exam and put out a shingle. But it did not prevent me from making mistakes, both personal and professional. Nor did it better prepare me to

experience heartbreak and loss. Paper is not that powerful.

And it could not protect me physically. I had discovered the love of running in the early 90s. What a rush. Being active in The New York Roadrunners, I quickly collected an array of tee shirts emblazoned with the races that I had taken part in. They were

carefully put in my special drawer--my own running hall of fame.

And then sometime in early 2003, the pain started. Thinking it was an issue with my muscles, I focused on deeper and more intense stretching. Nope. Finally, an xray and some asshole in a white coat commands: “It is arthritis in your hip--you wonʼt be able to run again.”

For anyone who has ever had a bad diagnosis offered to them, you know where I am coming from. It defies logic, it knocks the wind out of us, it is the ultimate sucker punch. And the delivery from the jerk in the white coat--well, fill in the blanks. This is not me--this cannot be me.

But it was. I was destructible. Emotionally, professionally and physically, 2006 was my darker (not my darkest) period. A psychotherapy practice in transition, a full hip replacement on my right side and feelings of “Who am I and what the hell am I going to do now?”

For those who have experienced disabilities--whether temporary of chronic--it takes great will, character and strength to not give in to it. To not give into the voices that say “Well, this is who you are--deal with it. It doesnʼt get any better than this.” I am not

saying that I had an abundance of those qualities in July 2006, but I did have a taste of them--thank goodness.

How was I cured during this rehab process? By my clients--by having phone sessions, by knowing that even though the body was temporarily down, the mind and the empathy were alive and well.

When I look at 2006, I do not look at it with disgust or sadness--no, that was the year of a sort of re-birth. And I look at 2007 and 2008 in the same way--personally and professionally great growth occurred.

And 2009? There, my friends, is the delicate balance. This is the year to integrate everything that I have learned from my patients who have sat on a few different couches over the years and focus on regaining my physical health. I had an “ah-hah” moment a few weeks ago as I realized that I was actually feeling incredibly angry at my body for failing me. I wish someone had told me that this would occur--that I would be feeling let down that this body of mine was human. Why did no one tell me this stuff?

But, as in all healing, we must try to release the anger, perceived and real, and learn to forgive. I am still the same guy, maybe X number of pounds heavier (I canʼt share everything!), but that can be addressed. Maybe I canʼt run a 7 and a half minute mile

anymore , but I can train and strengthen to run, maybe a 9 minute mile. Maybe I canʼt chow down like I did 10 years ago, but that, too, is not a death sentence.

No, my truth is being the best I can be professionally, personally and physically. My truth is knowing that I can be emotionally present for my family, especially my daughter, my clients and my friends. My truth is knowing that at the end of the day, I did my best. And when I have a day that I know I did not do my best, I will acknowledge that this was merely a blip on the screen--that this, too shall pass.

In the Epilogue of his book, Siegel concludes: “As a therapist, what do I do? I listen, see, perceive, sense, share, appreciate, respect, teach, escort, connect, risk, recommend, withdraw, watch, care, and learn. And then marvel.”

You know what? I am going to apply these same skills to me--and then marvel.