Smelling the Daisies

The therapist my mother sends me to told me I should take time to reflect upon myself. He said that I should take some time to be completely alone at least once a week, so I can just sit and think. I told him this sounded rather foolish, that I often try to sit alone and away from my mother. But my therapist said this was somehow different.

The therapist my mother sends me to said that at least once a week, I should take advantage of the house being empty, a time when mother is out on an errand or at a meeting. During this time, when the house is completely empty, I should sit quietly in my room, or in the garden if I prefer, and think about myself.

I told my therapist that this seemed a rather egotistical way to be spending my free time and that my mother hired him to help me become a better husband someday. I told him that I only wanted him to help me to find a friend. In either case, I told him, sitting around and thinking of only myself seemed a poor way to begin any sort of relationship.

But my therapist told me that it was actually the best way to begin any sort of relationship. He told me that it would be important for me to be comfortable with myself before I could become comfortable with any other person.

I am, generally speaking, comfortable. I wear fitting shoes and clean socks every day. My pants are sturdy and clean. My shirts are always suitable to the weather. I am only ever uncomfortable when we have dinner parties and mother asks me to wear my suit. It is my father's suit from before the war. She says I look like him when I wear the suit, but I feel that I look like a child wearing his father's suit.

My therapist says that I need to be a different sort of comfortable with myself during these times alone in my house. He said I should sit calmly and think about my life.

This afternoon, mother went out to a luncheon. She asked if I would come, and I told her that I would be staying at home. Mother was actually quite upset about my decision. She said that she had RSVP'd for the two of us, that she had had father's suit pressed for the occassion. But I reminded her that the therapist that she sent me to had recommened this time alone. She pursed her lips so much that her lipstick began to leak into the creases about her mouth. Whenever mother gets to that point, she usually gives up and reapplies foundation.

I realize now how little time I have to simply sit and think about my life. Having those moments utterly alone this afternoon made me realize it. I had no responsibilities to anyone, not even myself. The only sounds were mine. The only thoughts were mine. The only choices were mine. I could be depressed if I wanted to. I could be hopeful. I found I could sit and daydream about all the things I want to be someday. For instance, I think it might be nice to pick apples for a day or two. Not for pleasure, but as a job. You'd get up early in the morning and put on a pair of heavy gloves. You'd go out to the orchard and climb up a ladder. Then, you'd pick. You'd pick apples all day long. Your back would ache. Your gloves would get sticky with apple juice. The smell would start to nauseate you, especially when the acidic apple juice began to mix with the acrid stink of your sweat. At lunch, you would sit beneath the tree and breathe the air, just glad to have your arms at your sides for an hour.

I told my therapist about my realization about being an apple picker. He told me that wasn't really the sort of thing he had wanted me to reflect upon during my solitary period. I told him that he should have been specific about what he wanted me to reflect upon if he had had something in mind all along. I don't think he liked that either.

I am supposed to try to have more solitary periods in the future, at least once a week he said. Next time, I am supposed to find out whether or not I am truly satisified with my life. Am I happy? Am I depressed? I told him that these seemed like questions he was supposed to answer, his being a therapist and all. My therapist told me that I have to put in the effort if I want to move forward.

I just wanted to try my hand at something new.