"Vitame Vas Na"

What's the only event in Central Texas in which you can run a 5K, eat kolaches and fried pickles, dance to polka, play horseshoes, and belt karaoke tunes for a host of Czech transplants in a single day? C'mon... I don't need to say it by now. Who knew months ago when I wrote about my home away from home there off I-35 that such a small dot on the world map would give birth to what will hopefully become a yearly tradition for this Colorado girl? Clearly not me.

So the 5K was, in a word: HOT! I did not

accomplish my goal of "running" its entirety (damn hill at mile 2!), but I posted a decent time all things considered. My running companions, as predicted, kicked my ass. I've unfortunately discovered, again as predicted, that Tejas can have a somewhat deleterious effect on one's nutrition, fitness, and general health. Case in point: run a 5K, eat some kolaches. Some things in life aren't worth adhering to strict rules for... new culinary experiences (fried pickles) among them. Again the principles of balance and moderation come to the forefront of my thinking, which is something I've been thinking a lot about lately. Not those concepts per se, but the art and sometimes perils of "thinking".

Perhaps its the effect of beginning my cognitive behavioral therapy class, or having my own irrational thoughts mirrored by my clients, or that I still wake up some mornings with the belief that I'm in my "old life." Thoughts are incredible agents of change, and so infrequently are we taught to examine their validity. I've been making a more conscious effort to really look at those fleeting ideas that pass between my ears constantly throughout the day, and I'm shocked to find how often they're based in old school insecurities and riff raff from decades ago. It's true, those who pursue psychology in a professional capacity usually are quite curious about their own psychological underpinnings. That's certainly true of myself and my class compadres, and frankly, I'd be concerned by any mental health professional who didn't take a long hard look at him or herself.

So much of our lives are lived completely within our own heads. Even in those heart-to-heart moments we share with the people in our lives, there's volumes that goes unsaid, unrecognized, undone. There's a profound sadness in that isolation, but also a profound joy. No one will ever know me better than myself, and likewise I will never truly "know" anyone in that sense. But somehow it works, and somehow people converge in the same location and connect over those little shared joys despite the mental disconnect. Like the joy of Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time", done karaoke-style with Shehzad and Kara, in a glorified barn, in the Heart of Texas, under a Czech flag, in this weird and wonderful concept of living despite all "thinking."

"No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head."

-Terry Josephson

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!

"This shirt may not be clean, but I am!"

Bert: Hey there Baylor student.
Me: Hi, how are you? I love that shirt!
Bert's Shirt: "This shirt may not be clean, but I am!"
Bert: You know, we got a trophy for this shirt.
Me: A trophy for shirt design?
Bert: There was this volleyball tournament, our team was awful, but they gave us a trophy for our style. A little hispanic lady from the women and children's house played, she was tiny but ferocious. We named her MVP and gave her a trophy too. Another woman had to go in an ambulance when she broke her ankle. If we get a team together this year, I think we'd be pretty damn good.
Me: I'll play if I get a shirt.
Bert: [laughs] Sorry, no staff allowed.

Lake Waco at sunset... beauty in madness.

And another day in Waco draws to a close, as good a day as any and a bolster to the idea that someday I'll feel competent at delivering therapeutic services. I saw my first individual client today... a boisterous young woman with kind eyes that seem to tell the truth even when she won't or can't. She regaled me with a tale of persecution over an offense she'd been accused of over the weekend, "I'm so angry, I got in trouble and I didn't even do it!" The eyes gave it away and out of nowhere, "Okay, I did it. It's been eating at me all weekend. I haven't been able to eat or sleep. Why do I always lie?"

An important aspect of helping people is trusting that people actually know how to help themselves, or sometimes need only to have another person give them permission to help themselves. This has taken me a long time to realize, and even longer to begin to implement in my interactions with people. I had a choice: give her the answer, or give her the ability to choose. As much as I wanted to deliver the righteous message of honesty, I forced myself to take a "free will" approach.

"What kind of person do you want to be?"

Trustworthy, respectful, a leader.

"The decision is yours..."

Of course there was more to it than that, a careful mapping of the pros and cons of confession, a pros and cons of keeping the transgression secret. But ultimately, it was her choice to make. Choose to grow, or choose to run. When the door clicked shut and I was alone again I was absolutely convinced she'd keep the secret. Those eyes, still kind, rolled back as I insisted she take the pros and cons lists and "think it over." Nope, she's not ready.

Working in behavior change, and addictions in particular, counselors love to assume the role of the psychic. Turns out, we're usually incorrect. That's the difficulty in working with people... we only know what they share, but never truly share in what they know.

Group rolled around, a fairly lively exchange of ideas. What makes a person supportive? What does it feel like to ask for help? Does anyone need help right now? She raised her hand, then buried her face in it... "This is really, really hard for me."

Confession.
Feedback.
Growth.

A reminder that we're (most of us) motivated to make our lives better, even in the face of pain and embarrassment. A reminder that even when life has beaten a person down, there's usually a kernel of hope buried deep inside that, when given permission to "pop", can result in something delicious and unexpected.

People frustrate the hell out of me, but boy do I love 'em. Clean shirt or otherwise.

Ready, Set, Busy!

Good news: I'm employed! Since leaving detox I've been haunted by the feeling that I'm not really contributing to society, though I'm confident that I've been contributing to fun-iety. That is to say that a good chunk of my time has been spent getting to know my new surroundings and the people I'll be spending the next chunk of time with. This has included a variety of activities intended to build relationships (at least that's how I'm justifying my downtime), including:

• Rupong... it's running ping pong, and it's no less than pure awesomeness.
• Racquetball... well, Crystal and I smacking a blue ball in a small white room.
• Buying fireworks in a warehouse in the middle of a field (Did you know it's against Texas state law to buy fireworks without using a shopping cart? Neither did I.)
• Watching the Waco city fireworks with the largest group of inappropriately dressed locals ever. Really. Ever.
  
• Watching UFC with Alexis and her Iraqi war veteran friends.
• Wild western dancing.
• Starting the "Bucket List" with Kara of Texas adventures we must have in the next 4 years.
  
• Losing at Rummy, Apples to Apples, and Taboo.
• Learning to sidearm a frisbee... then subsequently making Shehzad run for the frisbee for an hour.
• Accepting membership in the "Turtles"... I'm Raphael and I have the coolest weapon ever- the sai.
• Accepting another new nickname: Munchkin.
• Pool... lots of pool. And I'm still not good.
• Biking the "guns and pawns" route that is my neighborhood while pondering joining the Waco Bicycle Club.
  
• Establishing a new epicurean adventure plan: Every Wednesday "Gyna the GPS" will lead Shehzad and I to a new Waco dining experience. Today was Pei Wei Day! Hooray!

Waco Works!

But in all honesty, I'm thrilled to be back in the world of substance abuse counseling. Sitting in on groups today my mind began swirling with ideas, plans to bring new concepts to my work setting, and a renewed passion and respect for all that I've learned and am yet to learn from my peers and clients.

Today, in an effort to non-threateningly discuss adaptation in a group of 20 addicts and alcoholics, I decided to solicit advice about my own transition. So I told them: "I just moved here from Colorado, and I've gotta say... Texas is a lot different." Laughter and nodding, and then wonderful feedback. It was directed at me, but really it was directed by and to the group. "Put yourself out there and get involved." "Don't pre-judge and be open minded." "Let go of your pride about how things were done where you come from." "Be patient." Words about moving between Colorado and Texas, words about moving, words about being confronted with new situations, words about being confronted with new feelings- their wisdom was all of these things. It reminded me how much I can learn from any person, and also why I've pursued this transition to really participate in the learning process.

I've been thinking about running. Are my clients running away from using or toward recovery? Am I running away or toward? For a long time it seemed all I knew how to do was run away. Run away from life, from problems, from new things, from bad feelings. I still catch myself running away, but more and more I want to be the kind of person who runs toward life, toward growth, toward new situations, toward the things that terrify me. I've been running almost every day. I don't know if it's the altitude, or the sweltering heat, or the abundance of downtime, but it seems to get easier every day.

Tomorrow, I think I'll go for a run.

"Out of the silver heat mirage he ran. The sky burned, and under him the paving was a black mirror reflecting sun-fire. Sweat sprayed his skin with each foot strike so that he ran in a hot mist of his own creation. With each slap on the softened asphalt, his soles absorbed heat that rose through his arches and ankles and the stems of his shins. It was a carnival of pain, but he loved each stride because running distilled him to his essence and the heat hastened this distillation."

- James Tabor, from "The Runner"