Alone

I'm going to a funeral tomorrow. I've never been to one, so I'm not really sure what to expect. Like most schemas I have, I'm sure I'll compare my experiences to what movie funerals are like.

For my Cultural Counseling class, I have to write a two page paper reflecting my experiences these past two months in class.

3 months ago, I had a meeting with one of my professors. It was the last week of class, and the professor was to have a conversation with me about where I am in the program, and how I am as a future counselor. Walking in, I was greeted with a smile, a handshake, and a direction to have a seat. As she had me read my own paper, I felt her warm presence getting warmer. She looked at me in the eyes when I spoke, reflected what I said, and insisted on driving the conversation about my emotions. It was apparent that this meeting has turned into a therapy session. The professor explained to me that I can sometimes shy away from emotions when I'm with clients, and that this is something I need to work on. After my many attempts to agree and move on, I felt her hand on my ankle, dragging me lower and lower. She was insisted on learning why I wanted to avoid emotions. After several minutes of deflecting, she took a stab in the dark.

"Ryan, Do you think you avoid emotions with clients because you avoid your own?"

"...what?"

She explained to me that I try to avoid emotional interactions, and that I avoid it with clients because I avoid my own. I run away from my experiences in the fear that I would feel something I don't want to feel.

What a load of bullshit.

I think it's entirely possible for someone to recognize emotions, feel them, and prevent themselves from getting caught up in them. And you know what? I believe doing this will make you a better counselor. Do I want to be the client that cant get sleep because their client's daughter died? No. I want to be the client that can relate to their clients with warmness and compassion, and then go home and be myself.

But I refuse to believe that you need to outwardly show emotions to feel them.

Whatever.

Friend, Jerad

It's weird to think that Jerad isn't here anymore. It's not something that I realize every day, or think about every second. It's not something that's in my face. It's like my life is a jenga tower, and a middle piece towards the bottom was taken out. I feel the same. I'm still standing. But I just know there's a piece missing, and it's never going to go back to where it was.

I woke up this morning feeling the exact same as I always do. I had to stop and lay in my bed before I reminded myself of what happened the night before. I knew my phone had texts from people. I got up and made coffee before I found myself pressing the home button of my phone to look at the texts.

If Jerad is in heaven, I wonder what he's doing. I think he's looking down at us, smiling. Probably about to play a game of ultimate in like 20 minutes, and trying to drink as much water as possible to not get dehydrated. I hope he's happy.

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"This is my roommate, Jerad."

"Hi, I'm Ryan"

"Nice to meet you"

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Friend

Jerad was never really the type to lay back and let the world pass him. Everything was an adventure to him.

He climbed mountains.

The world lost a lot of light tonight.

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"Want some help with your flick?"

"Sure."

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RIP Jerad Bickford

Winter

I think winter reminds us how little the world cares for us. It draws us on a blank piece of white paper, looks at us, grabs another piece of paper, and starts over.

I think it's incredibly basic for someone to say they care about something, even if they don't. It would be easy for me to reflect on my childhood, and recall the moments in my life that fueled my passion for therapy.  I think the hard part is to convince yourself that you don't care about something.

I had a client that was a high school student. She was a senior in high school, and my job was to help her figure out what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
I knew when she saw me, her fears of not getting anything out of this were confirmed.
How could I help her? She doesn't know what she wants to do? No one does. No one is happy with what they want to do.
I've always thought religion existed because we're terrified of death. We don't want to think about the day that will come when we no longer exist. We push that thought away by convincing ourselves that we'll come back to life. Somehow. Besides from being the only common theme in every religion, it helps us to feel worth. Social Psychology calls it Terror Management Theory.
I think the same thing applies to our careers. We want there to be a job that we all are destined to have. Every person has a passion that will lead them to a job they will love forever.
And why would that be true? Why can we assume that every person has a job they will eventually have a passion for? Maybe we just want to believe that so that we feel some worth.

Pompous is the species that assumes every single one of it's animals has a special place on the earth.

This is the first post in my blog that will not be advertised on my facebook or twitter. I've realized I don't really feel satisfied knowing this blog is being read by others. I'm satisfied when I write in it.

-Ryan