Those pesky questions...

 

Those Pesky Questions…

A post or two ago I mentioned the iconic “prime questions” of psychotherapy, “Who am I?” and “What do I want?” I also mentioned that I thought it took me 60+ years to not only realize that, but to own it and actually try to make it all work.

So, then I figured that, since I am widely observed to be nuckinfutz (think about it...I believe I own that word) and, concurrently perhaps, obsessed with helping people (eg., the Universe). First, thank whomever for the Oxford Comma. I’ll keep this brief...my humor is directly proportional to my total energy level.

I am tired.

Very tired.

Who am I?

I recently had the honor/pleasure of serving on a four-person panel in a focus group put on by the LGBT support section at the VA, and televised nationwide. It was an eye-opener for me. This was two years ago; I will be 76 in August, and served in ‘Nam; none of the other participants was closer than 15 years to me, and none were Vietnam veterans.

I was also the only mental health professional on that panel. The moderator(s) were PhDs; for what it’s worth, I was not on the panel because of my creds. I participated as just another client; I filled their need for a “senior” person, and a transgender person. But then, if you think that’s weird, try being a candidate for PhD in psych, and also a client in the locked ward at the regional hospital for a month.

I know it seems flippant, but my position is that we are who we are. If we’re halfway intelligent and reasonably sober, we each have a pretty good idea of who we are. If we are in doubt, that’s a good reason for therapy...or a prompt to perhaps pay more attention to the folks who are yelling at you, when they normally don’t.

What do I want?

This actually was hardly even a question for me. From my earliest memories, my prime motivation was to help others. It didn’t matter what it was; if it was in my skill set to be able to help, I was there.

So...I think that probably explains my four (I think) professions (plus a couple of not-so-professional gigs). The money wasn’t an object for me; quality of whatever it was we were doing was my only real concern. The money had to be there to do the work, but wasn’t a motivator for me. If I was helping people, and able to pay my bills, I was a relatively happy camper.

OK...first leg complete…

And I’m still here! I think I also figured out what to write about first. My next post will be something along the line of, “How to disobey a direct order in front of fifty thousand people...and get away with it.”

Yup. Trust me, bunkies. It’ll be fun.

 E

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Turn right at the first star, then on ‘til morning...

Image
  Turn right at the first star, then on ‘til morning... Clinton, IA 1951 – Early August - Age 3 These were fairly stable times; the last world war had been over for some six years, but now we needed to cope with another “police action” that was rapidly becoming a full-out war that was called Korea. The economy, though, was strong. Not many troops were actually getting called to deploy to Korea at that time. Otherwise, money was stable, we had enough to eat, we kept our two vehicles in decent shape, and helped others when we could. I had a (mini) tank bicycle, and a white collie named Snowball. As I’ve mentioned earlier, I’d devoured the Britannica in less than six months. It was simply my idea of cool fun to read adult-level, post-grad science content. We had subscriptions to National Geographic and Life magazines, as well as the New York Times (in those days it was actually delivered either by hand by local carriers, or by USPS). I asked Mom if I c...
Read more

“It is a good day to die…” Or...how I got my call sign...

Image
  I can remember a time in the early 1960s when a purported quote from Chief Crazy Horse was making the rounds of the “coconut wireless” (today it’s the Internet). When faced with defeat, he supposedly said, “It is a good day to die!” with the implied meaning that he was being brave. Well, that’s not quite right. Yes, he was brave. No question. But, as explained to me by an Apache elder in ‘59, and later confirmed by an elder Lakota friend, the phrase is actually pronounced (more or less) “Ho-ka-hay.” The meaning is that, because we do not know the time of our going “end of watch,” we should live each day of our life as if it could be our last. Nothing for which to have to tender apology...no regrets. I sort of equate the concept to Camus’, “I live my life as if there was a God, and so if I find at the end that there really is a God, no worries.” The converse, of course, is that you live your life as if there is not a God, only to find at the end that there r...
Read more
Image
Crossing the Rubicon...Again. Why, you might say? That is, if you’re awake and understand the basic meaning of the phrase. I published a small essay a few months ago about crossing the Rubicon, as it was really appropriate to the situation at large at that time. Therefore (LOL), I should not be attempting to “go for broke” more than once. There’s an extensive philosophical meaning to that phrase as well, from the Korean War. After these few weeks of meditation, introspection, and hard work toward finding a level of relative peace for whatever time I have left, the decision (or, lack of choices…) is to write until I can’t write anymore. I really don’t know if what I’ve got to say is worth the read for any particular person, and unless the reader makes a comment, I won’t know if they’ve even visited the site. There is zero monetization in my work, and I don’t share any info about who may (or may not) be reading my high-level tripe. My blog site does not collect any ...
Read more