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A Woody Allen Moment, Oy Vey! 2/3/2024 10:15:55 AM
A Woody Allen moment turned out better than a movie and I deserve an Oscar in March. Isn't life a movie, after all? A Woody Allen Moment, Oy Vey!
Like any California girl (o boy), the moment I exited the birth canal, I was given a pair of sunglasses, running shoes, a gym membership and a lifetime shrink. I am happy to report that I welcomed all these gifts and, to date, don the sunglasses daily (even on cloudy days in Boston), have always belonged to a gym, ran eight marathons with my extensive collection of running shoes (some even custom made) and visit my shrink once a week.
I’ve always used the word “shrink” lovingly because I see the object of the process as “shrinking your stuff,” smoothing out the rough edges and, ultimately, growing as a person. At least, that is my own humble opinion and what I hope to get out of this immense privilege. These are professionally trained people, not your best friend or local columnist, both of whom might mean well, of course. But they are not qualified to deal with issues with which we mortals usually deal.
Having a shrink is a very healthy thing and, I have to admit, it does take courage – if one wants to grow as a person – to sit in front of a qualified, trained therapist or psychiatrist, emotionally naked. Keeping secrets from the shrink (or lying) serve no purpose and you only kid yourself, waste your money and keep from growing as a person. And, don’t forget: the therapist knows!
But a good one will hang in there with you and guide you to feel comfortable enough to finally trust and “let it all hang out!” And, it so wonderful to have those “Aha!” moments and move on to the next challenge.
Sharing with friends is a good thing, but there’s a limit: you don’t want to drain (drain being the operative word) and asking for friendly advice is a great; that’s what friends are for. But to think of them as therapists is not a good thing – much as they might care for you or want to help.
And this is where I made my mistake yesterday – in the waiting room while I was waiting for my therapist who was running unusually late: I played shrink to a total stranger – something I’ve never done before but it was one of those Woody Allen Moments and the rest is history…
As I was rather comfortable and, a Yogi, mindfully deep breathing and rather enjoying the moment for I was in no particular hurry, when a very distraught man walked in. He loudly apologized to the receptionist for being late and proceeded to give all kinds of reasons and excuses, apologizing over and over.
The receptionist tried to calm him down, offered him water and asked him to make himself comfortable while she announced him to his therapist. The man paced about the rather empty waiting room and finally stood in a corner by me, where I was happily enjoying my Zen mood.
I smiled kindly at the tall, thin, average looking agitated man in his early 60’s and simply bowed to acknowledge his humanity. That was a big mistake, for he considered it an invitation to begin his therapy right there and then, telling me he’d been dumped six months prior by a heartless Puerto Rican woman who turned out to be a narcissist.
I will never know what ever possessed me (other than boredom) and the moment suddenly became a Woody Allen moment: what a mistake! I listened for a few minutes to kill time, for he was an educated man (retired teacher), clean and just a human being in pain. And, since I had nothing pressing planned after my appointment, I suggested a cup of coffee in the downstairs cafeteria after out appointments. And, sure enough, by then, my mood had changed but I had a good plan to make it sweet and short – without the coffee business.
As we headed down the elevator, I told him I’d changed my mind about the coffee but we could sit in a quiet place an chat for a few minutes. He was fine with that. As we sat, he immediately proceeded to tell me he had had a session with not one, but two therapists, the medications he was given because of his depression and broken heart and politely excused myself telling him I’d made a mistake trying to be helpful, wished him well and had no desire to be his therapist - or, his friend, as he suggested, asking for my number.
As I stood up, putting on all my Boston winter gear to face the cold weather outside, I again told him I wished him well and congratulated him for his wisdom in seeking professional help to help him weather his emotional storm. He said he understood, although he seemed angry and disappointed, but we wished each other well and I got the hell out of there as soon as I could.
I have never done that before, anywhere – much less in a therapist’s waiting room (empty or not) - and will never do that again. Perhaps it was because I had been in that man’s shoes more than once and, without overthinking this to death, choose to think it was just a “Woody Allen” moment.
Life is, a movie, after all!
