From the moment I heard Michael’s voice on my answering machine, I felt intrigued and intimidated.
“Hey, Doc,” he said, though I am neither a doctor nor a character in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Word on the street is that you’re a damn good therapist. I might want to set up a meeting, but I’ve got a question. So give me a call and let’s talk.”
I both bristled and chuckled at Michael’s moxie. When I called him back, he pointedly asked me if I was one of those silent “touchy-feely” therapists, or would I give him the practical tools he needed to solve a problem he was having. He neither explained the problem nor waited for an answer. “I’m willing to give this a shot,” he said, “but I don’t believe in therapy.”
I suggested he come in for a consultation so he could ask questions, see how I work and tell me about himself. He told me he was amenable, but warned me (or boasted) that his schedule was very busy. We set up an appointment for the following week.
[For more of this story, written by Eric Sherman, go to http://opinionator.blogs.nytim...-nyt-region&_r=1]
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