A Woody Allen moment at my shrink's office turned out better than a movie and deserved an Oscar, for sure!
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!
One would have to be a therapist to listen to some one's problems. But I have and not given any advice other than straightforward logic that those in a mental state probably can't understand, anyway. I guess that's why therapists turn to prescribing drugs.
It looks like you had your own problems to deal with, and were in no condition to help anyone else.
Democratic Dilemmas and Divine Inspiration examines the significance or relevance of the idea that the U.S. Constitution was, as many believe, divinely inspired. How much did that belief matter to founders of the nation and how much does it matter no
