From D-Town to San Antone

If you're going to move to Texas, might I recommend the creation of a Bucketlist? Sure, sure... the idea is a blatant rip-off of a movie I've never even seen, but it has given my presence here a kind of structured adventure that has actually ensured that I appreciate the eccentricities of my new locale, and my new companions for that matter.

My dear friend Jane wrote a blog about the way a life list can catapult its creator into new and interesting situations almost as if by magic. That Jane is a wise, wise lady... and though the Bucketlist that my "Turtles" and I are ever-creating seems to be more time-limited, it's taught me to two-step, led me to a Hare Krshna temple, let a death-row prison officer serve me real Texas barbeque, put me close to death on a horse called "Mama", and had me volunteering in order to sample the finest salsa and margaritas in all the land. I've historically stated that I engage in a lot of random adventures purely for their kitsch and storytelling value, but this is getting ridiculous. And when I say ridiculous, what I really mean is... ridiculously awesome.

So, I've been able to sneak away for a few short road trips... the first to Dallas, and then a longer stint in San Antonio. More and more I'm embracing the idea that any place is what you make of it. Sure, Waco isn't the epicenter of culture and excitement, but even in a place like New York City which is brimming with those qualities, you can make yourself miserable.

I'm a firm believer that you can turn the most mundane surroundings into something enjoyable, and it's time to start practicing what I preach. Which is why I will be participating in yet another random event this Labor Day weekend... oh yes my friends, it's WestFest. A veritable explosion of Czech culture in a podunk Texas town filled with kolache and polka and what promises to be another checked box on the Bucketlist. Shehzad and I will be undertaking the full experience by running the Kolache 5000 Fun Run (a thinly veiled 5K justification for eating apricot pastries for an afternoon). This is life in Waco.

I'm sad to say that with "real school" (i.e. fall semester) starting, these days of lame adventure have a very short shelf life. I was sitting in supervision today feeling completely overwhelmed, thinking of how to recruit children to practice IQ testing on, when things got really clear all of a sudden. Put it on the list, make it an adventure, think outside the box, and things get easier almost as if by magic. On that note, 8am Assessment looms and this Waco warrior is tired from 10 straight hours of substance abuse counseling. This is life in Waco too.

I'm starting to get used to this.

Starting.

"You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses."

- Ziggy (the man)

Lord Bean and Pops.

I hear that autumn is coming, and if the flash-flood extravaganza of the past few days is any indication, it may already be here. I don't know how to mark the seasons here... there's no snow, it only gets slightly less oppressively hot (or so I hear). I can't look to the mountains for golden aspen trees, or relish in crisp, cool hikes at Chautauqua. There's just flat, and grass, and a tree here and there. I am craving Colorado, and bad.

I got an e-mail from my Pops today, really an extension to a previous e-mail. In addition to laughing at how ridiculous my father can be, I had a twinge of homesick sadness for all of the people I've neglected to keep in better touch with since my move. Most of all my father.

I've always had a special connection with my Dad. I'm sitting here thinking of how to best describe such a connection but it's difficult to articulate. Is it the way we can talk for hours about everything from politics to Peruvian textiles, or that from my earliest memories he always treated me as though I had something valuable to say, or my childhood years when we'd sit in his chair together reading National Geographic, watching 1950s sci-fi movies, and listening to The Corries? I think it's that more than any person in the world, my Dad knows me. There are countless things he doesn't know about me, but he knows me all the same.

Me and Pops worship the great Lord Bean in Vienna, Austria.

Laura,

I looked at my email to you from last night and realized it was titled "geese and group therapy," but I didn't say a word about geese in the email. It was on my mind because the skies are thick with geese these days. The weather is signaling the coming of Fall and all the geese are flying back and forth along the Front Range, especially at sunset, finding their way to their wintering grounds. It's impossible to go outside and not hear the "honk"-ing of hundreds or thousands of geese overhead. Nobody has ever seen so many geese before. It's incredible. Also, there are two pairs of "Swainson's hawks" that have taken residence outside my office, the first time I've ever heard of the bird or seen a hawk in Longmont. They're huge and have an eerie cry that sounds like all the wilds of the mountains. The birds are huge and people are stopping on 17th Avenue to look at them and photograph them. I'll try to get a picture today and send you one. In the foggy wine-sodden hours of last night when I emailed you, there seemed to be a clear correlation between geese and group therapy, but in the bright, coffee-stimulated light of day, I don't remember exactly what the comparison was, but you have a good imagination. Bye again.

Love,

Dad

Thanks Pops. I'll do a better job of keeping in touch, I promise.

What I Learned in Rehab.

Ever wonder what your childhood self would say to see you now? I think back to my childhood self and think there's no way that young, innocent girl would ever believe who and where I am today... and then, I'm really not that different in many core, essential ways. Part of my fascination with psychology is this idea that we are products of a wobbly teeter-totter of genetics and environment. I get the opportunity to investigate this tenuous balance in-depth each day I sleepily stumble between the stately Southern mansions that house the residential drug and alcohol rehab facility where I work.

Today I saw a felon cry. A man so institutionalized by the prison system that his note requesting a meeting with me was signed with his inmate number. A crack addict so conditioned by the correctional culture of fear and violence that I could count the number of times he's looked me in the eye on a single hand. All of those behaviors are very clearly a product of environment... except the tears he labored to keep within, those were very clearly the product of a kind human being concerned about his love, the woman who supported his entering rehab and making a better life for himself.

I've been sitting across from this man, my client, for weeks now. As I've watched him tumble over his words and avert his eyes, I've been haunted by this nagging insecurity that there's nothing I can possibly say or do to help someone so very different from myself. But today I got it. I mean I got it again. For a while when I first started my new job it felt as though I'd lost my confidence in my ability to counsel, even though my years in detox had put me face to face with people from all walks of life. Despite our environmental influences, at the core most people are motivated and affected by the same things.

It took a teary felon to remind me that while I haven't spent years in prison, nor been addicted to crack, nor lost my family and children, nor lived on the streets, I have indeed been to rehab. More critically, I'm human. I suppose that's the only true requirement to be of assistance to an addicted person... though knowing the nitty gritty of drug culture (Who knows what a fry is? Hint: it involves embalming fluid!) sure comes in handy sometimes.

Moving to Waco has been such a roller coaster of emotion, I've allowed my focus to drift back to all that I'm missing and those things that aren't "just so." So there it is, the biggest and best lesson I've learned (multiple times) in rehab: gratitude. There will never be enough and things will never be "just so" and with that as my standard for happiness I'm assured to live a life of disappointment. Or, I could have more than enough and things are "just right because they just are" and suddenly, though nothing measurable has changed, life is easier. The world is full of possibilities again.

And they paid me to teach me that... how lucky am I?!

And... scene.

So much has happened, not the least of which is I've survived my first semester of graduate school. I've also discovered that professors give A pluses, which is nice for the ego but carries a "gold star, pizza party, spell-a-thon" element that makes me dream of 3rd grade. Actually, our final day did include eating pizza on the classroom floor and watching Hitchcock's take on psychotherapy (Spellbound, ripe for laughs with the right crowd!)

Last day of Frisch's class, in the words of Shehzad: "Merry Frischmas!"
(missing Alexis, she's taking the pic)

I've also managed to get relatively comfortable at my new job, and even more exciting is that I no longer actively dread leading group therapy. Matter of fact, I'm getting better at it (most) times. I decided to change my group philosophy, and sometimes I have to giggle to myself to see how much it's been able to impact the group dynamic. It's another example for me not to be afraid to try something new. My heart swells when I hear my clients believing in themselves... nauseatingly Pollyanna perhaps, but in some way I hope that my groups contribute to that.

Why do alcoholics and addicts always introduce themselves with that label? "Hi, I'm Laura and I'm an alcoholic." I won't lie, it bugs the hell out of me, and my group members are fully conditioned to this practice. Here's where my new approach creeps in... now my members introduce themselves with one of their identities, but it's not always their addict label. "Hi, I'm Laura and I'm a superstar" (one client has adopted this as her new identifier, much to the delight of her peers). It's incredible what a belief in your own worth will do, and that's become my primary goal in group: encouraging self-efficacy and self-worth. What's the point of learning new skills when you don't feel like you deserve any better?

I'll have to say the highlight, however, was a client who in our "final thoughts" round in group said, "I just want to thank you Miss Laura. You make me feel intelligent." Heart. Swell. So that's why I do this? Or maybe it's for the laughs... the house supervisor was shocked to learn that my "accent" is not Russian and that I am, in fact, a US citizen. I was laughing over that tidbit all morning.

So things are what they are. I'm learning, I'm growing, I'm challenged, I'm tired as all get out, I miss home and the people I love, I'm beginning to love the people in my new home: it's a mixed bag as per usual. I've got my little "family" of Turtles (derived from the Teenage Mutant Ninja variety, or the only famous foursome we could think of at the moment), and somehow I've picked up the nickname "Babunchkin." Maybe the house supervisor caught wind of that and thus the Communist comparison, who knows.

More on the adventures that were Dallas and San Antonio soon!