HAIL-MARY SWISH

There’s a basketball rim behind the agency that stands several feet below regulation. It’s supported by a plastic base that tends to fill with water, broken glass, and cigarette butts. The court is smaller than your kitchen, unless your kitchen is a galley on a boat; it’s made of brick and weeds and bordered by abandoned patio furniture. Beyond that, the miracle of grass.

It’s good for little but playing H-O-R-S-E, which I’ve done in blazing sun, swarms of gnats, and even cold, though not lately—it’s probably been twelve months or more since I’ve taken clients there. Different clients, different interests. My basketball, bought four years ago for work, sits deflating under the desk where I sit typing copious notes, community mental health’s Sisyphean task.

I don’t miss those outside sessions, which always made me feel like I was in the wrong place, wishing I were in the right one. I’m still working out to this day where exactly that place will prove to be, ultimately. I do sometimes, though, think about a middle school boy I saw early in my employment. He was my first truly mandated client and engaged in selective mutism in protest of his mother’s insistence that he attend therapy. The substance of her concern was his childish behaviors at home. I would not be of help, it soon became clear.

Our therapeutic relationship didn’t start strong. The boy complied with an expressive activity straight from a textbook, to choose an animal figure from a jar to represent each member of his family and place them in a constellation of sorts on a labeled paper; but his reasons for choosing each, he kept to himself.

It didn’t finish strong, either; our last visits, as I recall, surpassed mere silence and exceeded recalcitrance to enter territory beyond. While now I might recommend more co-parenting work, at that point on my learning curve, I was advocating to end services, expressing privately to my client’s mom that I would rather he feel supported in his preference than be turned off to therapy for the rest of his life. By then, she and I had had a few one-on-one talks, and I believe the most difficult piece about closing, from her perspective, may have been the loss of someone to hear her own challenges and frustrations with the whole family.

Formal activities work for some kids, but it didn’t take long before my focus shifted, for the duration of the middle phase, to attempting rapport by joining my client in whatever fun could be had. We played War (for the record, the most tedious card game I know) and UNO. There may have been an occasion of popping matchbox cars in a wordless contest; that’s a bit foggy now. Sometimes we went out back to the sorry court described above, clouds passing overhead. I had the idea that if I could impress him with my hoop-shooting skills, the energy of our visits overall might shift. Well, you already know that didn’t happen. But there was one glorious afternoon that lives in my memory…

His younger brother had come along that day, and the decision was made to head for the grass with a small finned foam football that was meant to have good spin, though not when thrown by my hands. My client was animated with unusual verve, in the role of leader. He talked! Mostly to his brother, but still! In a spirit of inspiration and delight, I proposed rules. Instead of just passing and catching or fumbling, whoever dropped the ball would run prescribed laps and then throw the football through the basketball hoop. If a basket was made, play could resume. If not, more laps.

He wasn’t just game, he showed gusto, and the three of us ran around the broken picnic tables until I literally, if dramatically, fell down panting. I think of that day, and the neon-green torpedo catching net, as my Hail-Mary Swish. I gave it my all, and my all was both grounded and free. If my client remembers anything from our time together—ancient history now, in kid years—I hope that’s it. We salvaged something, I think, however small. Not in that case, but in the very best cases, salvage can be salvation.

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Out of respect for client privacy, names here are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. To subscribe and receive future posts, please look to the upper right on your computer screen, or scroll to the bottom of the page on your mobile device. I’m deeply grateful for my readers, and as always, I’d love to reach more. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too, by linking to it in whatever way works for you. I typically post once a month, so no barrage.

 

 

O FLOURISHING WORD

 

He was not my client, he was my next-door neighbor’s, but I often passed him sprawled in the hall on my way to and from the waiting room and photocopy machine. Sometimes he was with another boy, but mostly he was alone, turning his yearning face up at the sound of any steps.

From my first friendly hello, he wanted to claim my attention. If he had blocks, he wanted me to build something; if he was holding a board book, he wanted help reading. His sweet appeal stopped me in my tracks despite my need to get things done, but his needs ran deeper than a few minutes’ interaction. Because I always had other things to do, over time I weaned myself from crouching for a chat to whisking by or pausing above him like any other adult on the move.

Almost unfailingly I had to ask that he clear sundry diversions from the center of the floor so that people could navigate to offices beyond. My requests always seemed to take him by surprise, as though the bit of variation I tried to work in week by week succeeded in creating brand-new experiences.

“Hi, nice to see you again!” “You look like you’re having fun!” “Wow, did you build that?” I might compliment a racetrack for marbles, or a scene composed in a plastic box of sand. Those openings were my prelude to asking the same old question, after which I made sure to express thanks.

Poor little guy—bounced from home to home, never in his own. His exile to the hall was meant to allow my colleague time to educate current caregivers on his need for love, rather than the kind of respect-based rearing still thought to raise good citizens, wherein respect equals obedience.

During one of our last such encounters, I felt a little self-conscious about asking him to sideline himself yet again. So arms akimbo, I asked, for novelty’s sake, “Now, what do I always say to you when I see you?”

“‘Good job,’” he quoted in reply.

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Out of respect for client privacy, names here are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. To subscribe and receive future posts, please look to the upper right on your computer screen, or scroll to the bottom of the page on your mobile device. I’m deeply grateful for my readers, and as always, I’d love to reach more. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too, by linking to it in whatever way works for you. I typically post once a month, so no barrage.

 

IN PRAISE OF SUNLIGHT AND ESPRESSO

 

 

The conscious practice of gratitude sometimes needs a little help. Throughout the dark and rainy weeks of mid- and late Fall, it was the promise of an en-route espresso that motivated me out of bed when nothing else did. If I could make time to stop for that, I would have five minutes, maybe ten, that I knew I could savor. You see, I’ve come to dread my job. I hate typing this here, with such finality, in a space I’d consecrated for inspiration. I care as much as ever about my clients, and feel their faces and voices and stories intertwined with my own. But before, between, and after client visits, I’m in agony to leave and be done. A bureaucratic setting is not for me; I need to work for myself. And, importantly, I need to write. I dream the plots of stories—characters and predicaments that I want to see on the page. I hate typing this, too, in a way, because it gives me such a concrete challenge, one that others might hold me accountable to. What if I don’t have what it takes? To which I answer myself—and you, if you hold similar doubts—joy, heart-throbbing joy, is always worth the risk. I hope to keep reflecting on my tenure in community mental health; there is so much to say. I rely on 2019, however, to be a year of change.

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Out of respect for client privacy, names here are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. To subscribe and receive future posts, please look to the upper right on your computer screen, or scroll to the bottom of the page on your mobile device. I’m deeply grateful for my readers, and as always, I’d love to reach more. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too, by linking to it in whatever way works for you. I typically post once a month, so no barrage! Thank you for your visit—and all good things in 2019!

THE SYLPH AND THE SKY

 

When I accepted a job with a mental health agency, I had to give up the luxury, formerly afforded me, of a walking commute. I’m not someone who hates driving, but an hour a day, five days a week, is much more than I’m inclined to enjoy, especially considering environmental impacts.

Even so, I continue to feel grateful because, rather than strip malls and billboards, my route is lined with trees, a mountain view in one direction, big skies in the other. What a difference that has surely made, in the last three years, to my resilience.

I was sitting not long ago with a young teen girl. She was showing me art with a fantasy theme, scrolling through an album she had made on her phone. There were mermaids, griffins, fairies, elves, centaurs, etc, rendered in exquisite detail: manes and feathers and tails and wings.

Resting my arms on the kid-sized table in my office, I leaned in to admire each picture she shared and listen to her commentary. She was telling me in an offhand way that this was her art; she said she’d been busy all week with the drawing. “This is one of my favorites.” “This one was hard to get just right.” At one point, she swiped to a kneeling angel with double wings. “Hmm,” she said to me, with what I perceived as embarrassment, “I’m not sure why I made her naked—but you can’t see anything, so…”

She was showing me art she’d found online. I knew that, but I didn’t challenge her, just murmured admiration. And I didn’t question that choice, just noticed it, and noticed that it felt right, while wondering what various colleagues would do. When the slideshow came to an end, I said, “The world needs more magic, doesn’t it? Like the magic in you.” She fiddled with her phone. Without looking at me, she said, “Probably you say that to everyone.”

“Actually, I don’t,” I said—which is true. After a beat, I added, “Yes, I’m a counselor, and part of my job is seeing the best in people. But I don’t have to lie to do that.” She was quiet. Then she expressed interest in making art with me. As she drew, she sought to maintain her deception with remarks like, “I’m feeling too lazy to fix the nose.” “I guess I’ll leave the leg like that for now.”

My drawing, meanwhile, was abstract. I began with my non-dominant hand, a handy trick I was once taught, to quiet the critical voice, and delineated an oblong shape, with some internal contouring, vaguely resembling a seed, a flying saucer, or a cross-sectioned hard-boiled egg. Then I reached for the crayons and colored pencils.

“What are you making?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I’m just having fun.”

Soon her paper turned over, and she, too, began making a more abstract design, scallop upon scallop. She told me, when she had finished, that it was a mermaid’s tail. And a thing of beauty it was.

I thought about her on my drive home, and our time together. Her observations of the pictures she showed me were often poetic, which is a gift of hers. A sylph perching on a mountain ledge and gazing at the sky was “trying to understand the clouds.”

Lately I’ve been leaving the radio off for the day’s-end commute. I open the windows enough for fresh air, not so much that I’m buffeted. The air rushing past fills my ears in a pleasant way, and I feel any tension in my face relax.

This girl, my client, made a meaningful choice. Really, more fabrication than deception. I believe she wants to possess the skill that she admires, to have a direct connection to a world of possibilities much grander and more colorful than she perceives in her actual life. Given what I know of that life, why would I seek to take such a dream from her? Like an imaginary friend, it will fade when she has no further need of it.

Sometimes the clouds take strange shapes. That evening, it was as if an enormous, thick, soft anvil rose up from the horizon. I drove toward it, trying to understand it.

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How is it the end of August already? I’m deeply grateful for my readers, and in 2018, I’d love to reach more. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too, by linking to it in whatever way works for you. I typically post once a month, so no barrage.

Out of respect for client privacy, names here are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. To subscribe and receive future posts, please look to the upper right on your computer screen, or scroll to the bottom of the page on your mobile device. Thank you, and warm regards.

 

IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS

 

 

Thank you for being my client.

 

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The month has gotten away from me, so I’ll just slip this photo in under the wire and keep writing for next month. I’m deeply grateful for my readers, and in 2018, I’d love to reach more! If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too, by linking to it in whatever way works for you. I typically post once a month, so no barrage.

Out of respect for client privacy, names here are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. To subscribe and receive future posts, please look to the upper right on your computer screen, or scroll to the bottom of the page on your mobile device. Thank you, and best wishes.