I’ve written before about the ongoing saga of my therapist break up. This time, we’re finished for good. After much back-and-forth, I got to the root of why I was feeling less than groovy about things. Basically, I started therapy last fall when I was constantly feeling like the other shoe was gonna drop any minute. I never felt relaxed about work, the fiance’, friendships, breakfast, anything. I needed a place to vent out all that stress before I exploded and was glad to find someone who seemed willing to listen and was on my side.
But after a few months, something didn’t feel right. My therapist seemed pretty sure I needed to leave the fiance’- he was having a pretty tough time of it and I admittedly was having a hard time dealing with his tough time myself. Her suggestion? Tell him to move out and wait for him to get “well”. Which would be all well and good if I didn’t make it pretty clear all along that I am old fashioned when it comes to things like commitment. I know the fiance’ would never leave me just because I hit a rough patch, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to do the same if I could find a way to deal with it without losing my mind.
But then came the final straw. She actually said,”I’m sure there are plenty of lawyers out there looking for someone great like you.” Because I went to law school. Because the fiance’ is a chef and apparently doesn’t fit her idea of the kind of “educated” type someone who went to law school should marry. Because apparently in her mind lawyers date lawyers, forever and ever, amen.
And there it was. Class, in all its shiny glory. I have read the statistics and studies. I know that relationships are easier when both the participants come from similar backgrounds- religious, money, family, education, etc. But I’ve never been a big fan of easy. Nor have I ever been a big fan of deciding how intelligent someone is based on the string of academic letters after their name. And if she hadn’t figured that much out about me in four months of weekly appointments, she never would. I ended it- a short thank you note for her time and an explanation of our philosophical differences did the trick.
On our first real date, the fiance’ and I laid on a blanket in the park until almost five a.m. talking about great books we had read. I picked up two of his recommendations and read them immediately. And they were good. Really good. He had me hooked. Nothing is a better pick up line for a book nerd than, “have you read…?”. Then we went out to dinner, where he picked out the best wine and seafood based only on a very bad description of things I had liked before. Then I rode in his car on our next date and he introduced me to amazing obscure reggae artists and explained the meaning of every bit of lingo and the history behind it.
You see, what my therapist apparently couldn’t imagine is that there’s learning outside of school. That there’s art in food and music. Or that, maybe I was looking for a partner who could do more than draft my will and review my lease clauses. Because we already have one law school type in the family, thankyouverymuch.