Creatures of a Day: And Other Tales of Psychotherapy (17 page)

How annoying. How very annoying. How typical of Jarod to attempt to involve me in an interesting but distracting discussion. He was still trying to embellish my image of him. But over my year of work with him I had learned that it was best not to challenge him at times like this but, instead, to address his question directly and then gently guide him back to the issue.

“As far as I know, the scholars have felt that Marcus Aurelius was repeating these phrases to himself primarily as a daily exercise to bolster his resolve and to exhort himself to live a good life.”

Jarod nodded. His body language signified satisfaction, and I continued, “But let’s return to the particular passages I cited. You said you were moved by the one that began: ‘All of us are creatures of a day; the rememberer and the remembered alike.’”

“Did I say I was moved? Perhaps I did, but for some reason it leaves me cold now. Honestly, right now, tell you the truth, I don’t know
how
it applies to me.”

“Maybe I can help by recalling the context for you. Let’s see, ten, fifteen minutes ago, when you described the importance of my having a certain image of you, it occurred to me that certain Marcus Aurelius statements might be illuminating for you.”

“But how?”

How irritating! Jarod seemed oddly obtuse today—ordinarily he had such a nimble mind. I considered commenting on his resistance but ruled that out because I had no doubt he would have a clever rebuttal and it would slow us down even more. I continued to plod along. “You place great importance on my image of you, so let me read the beginning of this one again: ‘All of us are creatures of a day: the rememberer and the remembered alike.’”

Jarod shook his head, “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but these stately pronouncements seem so off the mark. And so bleak and nihilistic. Yes,
of course
we are but creatures of a day.
Of course
everything passes in an instant.
Of course
we vanish without a trace. That’s all pretty obvious. Who can deny it? But where’s the help in that?”

“Try this, Jarod: keep in mind that phrase ‘The time is at hand when all will have forgotten you,’ and juxtapose that to the vast importance you place upon the persistence of your
im
age
in my mind, my very mortal, evanescent, eighty-one-year-old mind.”

“But Irv, with all respect, you’re not offering a coherent
ar
gument
. . . . ”

I could see Jarod’s eyes sparkling with the prospect of an intellectual debate. He was in his element as he continued, “Look, I’m not arguing with you: I accept all is ephemeral. I have no pretense of being special or immortal. I know, like Marcus Aurelius, that eons of time have passed before I existed and that eons will go on after I cease to be. But how does that possibly bear on my wish for someone I respect, in other words,
you
, to think well of me during my brief time in the sun?”

Yikes! What a blunder to have tried this. I could hear the minutes clicking by. This discussion was eating up the whole session, and I felt pressed to salvage some part of our hour together. I always teach my students that, when you’re in trouble in a session, you can always bail yourself out by calling on your ever-reliable tool, the “process check”—you halt the action and explore the relationship between you and the patient. I heeded my own advice.

“Jarod, can we stop for a moment and turn our attention to what’s going on between you and me? How do you feel about the last fifteen minutes?”

“I think we’re doing great. This is the most interesting session we’ve had for ages.”

“You and I do share a delight in intellectual debate, but I have grave doubts that I’m being helpful to you today. I had hoped that some of these meditations would shed light on the importance of your desire for me to have a positive image of you in my mind, but I now agree with you that this was a harebrained notion. I suggest we just drop it and use what little time remains today to address the crisis you’re facing with Marie and Alicia.”

“I don’t agree it was harebrained. I think you were right on. I’m just too rattled now to think straight.”

“Even so, let’s go back to how things stand right now with you and Marie.”

“I’m not sure
what
Marie is going to do. All this just happened this morning, and right after the session she had to get back to a research meeting in her lab. Or at least that’s what she claims. Sometimes I think she fabricates excuses not to talk.”

“But tell me this: What do you
want
to happen between the two of you?”

“I don’t think it’s up to me. After what’s just happened, it’s
her
call right now.”

“Perhaps you don’t
want
it to be your call. Here’s a thought experiment: Tell me, if it
were
up to you, what would
you
want
to happen?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

Jarod shook his head slowly, and we sat in silence for the last minutes of the hour.

As we prepared to end, I commented, “I want to underscore these last few moments. Keep them in mind. My question is:
What does it mean that you don’t know what you want for yourself?
Let’s start from that question next session. And, Jarod, here’s one more thought to ponder during the week: I’ve got a hunch there’s a connection, maybe a powerful connection, between your not knowing what you want and your powerful craving for your image to persist in my mind.”

As Jarod stood to leave, I added, “You have a lot going on now, Jarod, and I’m not sure I’ve been helpful. If you’re feeling pressed, call me, and we’ll find a time to meet again this week.”

I was not pleased with myself. In a sense, Jarod’s confusion was understandable. He came to see me in extremis, and I responded by becoming professorial and pompous and reading him arcane passages from a second-century philosopher. What an amateurish error! What was I expecting? That simply reading Marcus Aurelius’s words would, presto, magically enlighten and change him? That he would immediately realize that it was
his own
image of himself, his
own self-love
, that mattered, not
my
image of him? What was I thinking? I was embarrassed for myself and certain he left my office far more confused than when he had entered.

***

I
had an hour-and-a-half break before my meeting with Andrew and put aside my thoughts about Jarod in order to read as much Marcus Aurelius as I could before seeing Andrew. The more I read, the more uncomfortable I grew because I had yet to come upon even one single mention of Marcus Aurelius expressing disgruntlement about his job and his longing for another life as a philosopher. Yet the very reason I had suggested to Andrew that he read the
Meditations
was that he and Marcus Aurelius shared a life predicament of being locked into a job they did not want. I began to dread our meeting: the prospect of yet another Marcus Aurelius fiasco loomed. My only hope was that Andrew had been too busy to take my suggestion seriously and forgotten all about Marcus Aurelius.

But it was not to be. As Andrew jauntily entered my office, I spotted a well-bookmarked copy of Marcus Aurelius in his hand, and my heart sank. I braced myself as Andrew took his seat.

He began immediately: “Irv, this book,” waving
The Meditations
at me, “has changed my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I cannot find the words to express my gratitude.

“Let me tell you what’s happened since our last session. After I left your office, I stopped down the street at the City Lights bookstore and bought a copy of
The Meditations
, and the following morning I flew to New York to pitch our company for the account of a huge resort chain and gave, in my view, an excellent presentation in the evening. The next morning, just as I was boarding the plane to return home, I got an email
on my iPhone from our new young CEO who had been present
at my talk. He reminded me of a few additional important points I might have made in my pitch. Well, I totally lost it, and just before takeoff, I shot back an angry email telling him he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about and that he was free to search for someone who could do my job better.
Fuming, I settled into my seat, slowly calmed down, and then spent the entire flight reading Marcus Aurelius. Five and a half hours later, I got off the plane a changed man. When I reread the CEO’s email, I viewed it quite differently: it was basically a positive letter that politely made a couple of well-thought-out suggestions for my next talk. I phoned him, apologized, thanked him for his suggestions, and we’ve now started a great relationship.”

“Quite a wonderful story, Andrew. Take me back to Marcus Aurelius. How did the book make such a difference?”

Andrew riffled through the heavily underlined pages for a couple of minutes and said, “This whole book is pure gold, but the particular passage that grabbed me was in Part 4. Here it is: ‘Take away thy opinion, and then there is taken away the complaint, “I have been harmed.” Take away the complaint, “I have been harmed,” and the harm is taken away.’”

“Hmm, I don’t recall that passage. Could you go over it again for me and tell me how it’s been helpful?”

“He writes, ‘Take away thy opinion, and then there is taken away the complaint, “I have been harmed.” Take away the complaint, “I have been harmed,” and the harm is taken away.’ That’s a core concept for the Stoics. I’ve been studying the text closely, and he makes that exact point in different words a number of times. For example, in Part 12 he writes: ‘Jettison the judgment and you are saved. And who is there to prevent this jettison?’ Or, only a few lines away, here’s one I love: ‘All is as thinking makes it so—and you control your thinking. So remove your judgments whenever you wish and then there is calm—as the sailor rounding the cape finds smooth water and the welcome of a waveless bay.’

“So,” Andrew continued, “what he teaches me is that it is only your own perceptions that can harm you. Change your perceptions, and you eliminate the harm. Nothing from the outside can harm you because
you can only be harmed by your own vice
. The only way to respond to an enemy is not to be like him.

“Maybe this is simple, but it’s an earth-shaping insight for me! Let me give you an example. Yesterday my wife was extremely stressed and harassed me endlessly for having misplaced a book that she needed. I could feel myself veering toward an explosion of anger toward her until I brought the words of Marcus Aurelius to mind: ‘Remove the judgment “I have been harmed” and the harm is removed.’ I began thinking of all the stress my wife was under—from a crisis at her workplace, from a dying father, from conflicts with our children—and then, instantaneously, the harm vanished, and I was full of compassion for my wife and sailing in the ‘smooth water’ of a ‘waveless bay.’”

Oh what a pleasure it was to be with Andrew! As he taught himself, he taught me too. What a contrast to that vexing hour with Jarod. As Andrew spoke, I sat back and luxuriated in his words and those of Marcus Aurelius.

“Let me tell you something else I’ve learned,” Andrew continued. “I’ve read a lot of philosophy in the past, but I now realize that I’ve always read for the wrong reasons. I read because of vanity. I read for the sake of being able to demonstrate my knowledge to others. This,” Andrew held up his copy of
The Meditations
, “is the first authentic experience I’ve ever had with philosophy, my first realization that these wise old guys really had something important to say about life, about
my
life at this moment.”

I finished the session full of humility and wonder. That elusive “aha” experience I had so futilely stalked in my hour with Jarod had, mirabile dictu, effortlessly materialized in my work with Andrew.

***

I
didn’t hear from Jarod during the week and was uncertain what to expect at our next session. He arrived right on time, greeted me, and began speaking immediately. “I have a lot to tell you. I almost phoned you a couple of times but managed to survive on my own. A shitload of stuff has gone down. Marie has gone. She left a one-sentence note: ‘I need space to figure out my path and will be at my sister’s house.’ Remember you asked me last time how I would feel if she made the decision to leave? Well, that experiment has now been run, and I can tell you I don’t feel released or liberated.”

“What
do
you feel?”

“Mostly I feel sad. Sad for both of us. And restless and agitated. After I read her note, I didn’t know what to do. I knew only that I had to get out of our apartment. There was just too much Marie there. So I asked a friend if I could stay at his small cottage in Muir Beach, packed an overnight bag, and spent a three-day weekend there with your Marcus.”

“With
my
Marcus? That’s a surprise! And? How did the weekend go for you?”

“Good. Maybe even
very
good. Sorry about last week. Sorry I was so dismissive and closed.”

“You were in a state of shock last week, and, well, to put it mildly, my timing could’ve been better. So you say the weekend was ‘maybe even
very
good’?”

“More so now. At the time it was painfully dreary. Just being alone like that was an unusual event. I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much time alone just doing nothing except thinking about myself nonstop.”

“Tell me about it.”

“
I think I was searching for a bare-bones retreat,
something like Thoreau at Walden—though I read somewhere that Thoreau’s mother packed him lunches for his retreats and took care of his dirty laundry. But in search of a real retreat, I made the ultimate sacrifice. I went there naked—no cell phone and no computer. I downloaded and printed out
The
Meditations
before I left and made sure my partners would take all my patients’ phone calls—though, as you probably know, dermatologists get few emergencies, which was one of my reasons for choosing the field. I felt strange without the Internet. I mean, if I wanted to find out about the weather, I actually had to stick my head out the window. So no structure for three days, aside from reading
The Meditations
slowly. And, oh yes, I had one other task: pondering your assignment, your thought experiment asking me to consider the connection between not knowing what I want and my craving that my image persist in your mind. I spent a big hunk of time on that.”