And Scott Makes, "The List."

It seems Scott and I have hit the proverbial wall, you know the point where the patient-therapist relationship has been maximized in terms of returns. While I am interminably grateful for Scott and all of his atypical intellectual insights into my psychic workings, things came to a head last week when he challenged me by asking, “if you don’t have the wherewithal to endure the EBT (food stamp) paperwork renewal gauntlet, what makes you think you’ll be prepared to endure grad school?” Though these weren’t his words verbatim, it was something to this effect.

His query caught me off guard as he has to date been an ardent supporter of my efforts to return to school, but as is typically the case when nonplussed some time is required for me to gather my thoughts and development an argument that’s to my pleasing.

While I’ll spare the details of the multi-fanged rebuttal, it’s crucial to understand that my energies are indeed limited, and I’m the first to admit that burnout (and it’s oppositional cousin boredom) is a peak of said expenditure that leaves me winded and ready to quit any climb at a moment’s notice. That said, I’m eating. While my diet on a day to day basis may not be a nutritionist’s dream, somehow or another Scott seemed to be under the impression that I woke up and walked around all day with my ribs touching. Not the case.

As this notion of energy conservation goes further, it feels as if I’m gearing up for the title fight, or the gauntlet that is graduate school, part trois. Not only will I have to hit the ground running in mid – August, I’ll have to hit it gunnin’ as well. 

Long ago this notion of kicking my feet up and having some degree to time to just chill regroup and recoup yielded to the reality and gravity of the situation: that it will take work, and a constant and at times strenuous clip to make it through graduate school in particular and adulthood in general. 

Sometimes I countertransfer (I believe that’s what the term is called in clinical settings) and find myself both empathizing with and feeling sorry for my therapist, for at times, I know I can be hard-headed, imprudent, and prideful to many a fault and foible, but trying to change such character traits, or flaws as they may be, in one session, or even one year, is made difficult by the realization that they have been developed over one lifetime of conditioning and compulsion.

On Suffering Fools.

My therapist, Scott, and I were talking about the trail of fissured, fractured, and some altogether broken relationships that have been left in my trail of relational glory. He essentially said that at this particular time, I lack the interpersonal skillset to repair them. While he may very well be right, he continued to point out that the aim of reconciliation is not to annihilate the other party with the cogency of your argument, but instead to express understanding, concern, and curiosity for their position.

After hearing him implore me to be more empathetic, I then countered by saying that the reason their positions are so easily dismantled summarily dismissed, is because I have, in fact, taken the time, to imagine their perspective and made every earnest effort to see things through their lens.

Though all or nothing thinking presents itself as one of my favorite cognitive missteps and rhetorical ferocity a latent passion of mine (given enough time to analyze the situation) assuming the blame, apologizing, and then asking for forgiveness when it can be all but proven that I’m that offended/defensive party, seems to be asking for a lot given this particular juncture in my interpersonal journey. In fact, it seems a bit absurd, so until further notice, I will heed Scott’s conciliatory admonishment, that some people and relationships are simply toxic and warrant distance over the disrespect and disregard that’s been heretofore offered with the utmost consistency.

In essence, arguing with fools, let alone apologizing to them for their intelligence deficit, ignorance surplus, if nothing else, reminds me, not to engage in battles of wit with the unarmed. It’s an exercise in futility and frustration, both of which I am best served without.