Tuesday, July 28, 2009


Maggie and Chet on a hike in the Uintahs. Both are very interested in that sandwich.

I've been reading a book on psychotherapy and it's caused me a lot of retrospection, especially about my own sojourn in therapy, which I quit surreptitiously a month or so ago after six months of sessions. I both hated and loved therapy, and while it certainly didn't 'heal' me or erase any of the hurt I have gone through, at least it made me confront issues I would generally avoid, to my detriment.

Bob recommended that I see a therapist, though he has little faith in them. He noted that I felt better when I talked about what I was going through, and we both agreed that a professional could do no harm, that could perhaps help.

Did she help? Yeah, I think so. I still struggle though. I struggle with bitterness, with acceptance, with forgiveness, with faith, with hope. Somedays I feel so small in the face of all of my shortcomings. But somedays I feel the sun on my skin and smile just for the sake of being alive in the world. I don't remember having that for ages, before I began therapy.

So if it's been a while since you smiled to yourself over nothing at all, since you thought about how great your life was, since you did a kind deed for someone else; maybe it's time for you to think about talking to someone about your struggles.

It helped me, maybe it could help you too.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A Man and His Dogs

Last week, for his birthday, Bob and I went to a concert at the amphitheater on the mountain at Sundance. We sat and watched as three singer/songwriters discussed their lives and the years they had spent pouring their souls into their music. As I watched one women in particular tell us the story of her difficult years through the intensity, I found myself wishing that I had some outlet like songwriting that would enable me to internalize my feelings and express them in a healthy way.

It was then that I resolved to write more often. We'll see if I can follow through with it this time.

Monday, July 6, 2009


I love a good chick flick. I love the nascent flirtations, the beginnings of romance, the inklings that someone would be specifically designed for someone else. I love the concept of soulmates.

There's another reason that I love a good chick flick. It's the reason that I can watch ridiculous teen dramas (e.g. The O.C., Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl) back to back as un-ironically as possible; a chick flick is predictable, formulaic even. It's like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold winter's night. I'll give you an example:

A boy meets girl, but something comes in between their love. Perhaps they are business enemies (You've Got Mail), they are from different classes (Ever After), or perhaps it just takes them forever to figure out they love each other (Clueless, He's Just Not That Into You). Then comes some drama, maybe he professes his unrequited love (Pride and Prejudice), he decides to marry someone else (Made of Honor, My Best Friend's Wedding), or he tries to arrest you for murdering your sister's creepy boyfriend and then bringing him back to life and killing him again (Practical Magic). Despite it all, they will get together in the end (expect for the crappy chick flicks in which they won't get together) and we live happily ever after.

See what I'm saying, it's like an old comfortable pair of pants you've worn in perfectly and will never get rid of, even though they stopped looking cute years ago.

I love a good chick flick.