Thinking About Your Therapist

I received this email today, and asked permission to post it with my response. I agreed to leave the email address off to protect the blog reader's identity.

The Question:

"I've been in therapy for 2 years, so it's kind of interesting to hear from "the other side of the couch!" I have a question. If it is inappropriate or illegal to answer it, that's okay. I don't want anyone to get into trouble. I think about my therapist a lot. (at least 2x an hour) Not in a sexual way, meaning in a friendship way, wishing she was more a part of my regular life. I think this is because I have so much trust in her. I am always thinking, "What would G say in this situation?". What if G was watching me?" Is this normal? If not, what should I do so that I don't ruminate as much."

My Response:

The feelings you are describing are very normal and are experienced by many people who embark on therapy. However, explaining the therapy relationship is a difficult task. How do you explain a relationship in which one person gets to know your innermost thoughts and feelings more so than nearly anybody else in your life, and yet you know little or nothing about them? How do you explain the process of walking in through the door, and sitting down for an hour and talking with somebody about whom you know nothing, and yet feeling as if you could trust them with nearly anything? There are very few places in our life where the times we spend with a person are totally and completely focused on what is happening in our individual lives, with the express purpose of helping us to solve our problems and make our lives go smoother. Therapy is one of them. For those people who had less than stellar parental relationships, the relationship that grows with a therapist can also be seen as an opportunity to “re-do” that original nurturing relationship over again, to master what was out of our control back then.

In order for your therapist to be able to help you, sometimes you have to feel complex and often uncomfortable feelings. Withholding information from your therapist is not going to help you deal with this discomfort – sometimes the only way out is through. In other words, be willing to tell your therapist things that you would not ordinarily tell another person. In this particular case, I would suggest taking the bull by the horns and sharing either your email, or telling your therapist what you are feeling. I understand any possible reluctance about doing so. There are many reasons to avoid experiencing uncomfortable feelings like embarrassment, fear of rejection, fear of feeling humiliated, exposed, vulnerable and even possibly hurt. Any therapist worth their salt will recognize the value in talking over your feelings with you, and using the avenue of your feelings towards them as a way of exploring your hopes and fears about intimacy in relationships, past, present and future. One point of building a strong, working alliance with a therapist is to have the opportunity for what are known as “corrective experiences.” Talking about this with your therapist should enable you to feel un-judged, accepted, respected and cared for. There’s even a name for what you are experiencing. It’s called “transference” and it’s arguably one of the most important parts of therapy. Transference is a little like entering a time machine. Feelings from the past, along with hopes and fears from the past are magically transported into the present day and attach themselves with longing to the therapist. I suggest taking the risk of telling her what’s really going on with you, and be willing to examine, with your therapist, the feelings that come up.

I’m a good believer in “talking about talking.” In other words, maybe the first conversation you have with your therapist about your feelings starts like this:

“There’s something I want to tell you, but I’m scared of the
feelings that I might have when I explain what I’ve been
feeling. I’m scared that you might laugh at me, or get
embarrassed and that will make it harder for me to talk. So
can we talk about those feelings first before I tell you what
I’ve been thinking about?”

I think you'll find that talking about your "ruminating" with your therapist will help the feelings to find their rightful place in your life.

Many thanks and good luck to the person who emailed me this question,
and I hope that this post helps.

How Are Therapists Seen By Their Clients?

What Does a Client See When They Look At Their Therapist?

My friend, Kathy, is a great believer in people "living their life out loud." By this she means being as fully and truly yourself at any given moment as you can possibly be, neither trying to live up to somebody else's expectations of who or what you should do or be, nor dumbing down your own expectations of what is possible for you to achieve. Kathy is very good at living out loud, and I pride myself on doing a passable job most days. However, like most people, I have days when it's just hard to be a human being, unaffected by the opinions of others. But living out loud and being a therapist sometimes means that there's a conflict. One of the struggles, and paradoxes, I have is that since being a therapist in private practice I have lived less time in my life out loud than ever before, while I spend more time exhorting my clients to do just that - i.e. live in a way that is authentic and present, in a way that is true to themselves, and as honest as they can possibly be. I’m mindful that if too much of me, the therapist, and my life and history is in the room, there's no room for therapy to take place. It's a balancing act, as I've talked about elsewhere on this blog.

I guess the challenge for me in being a therapist lies partly in the ability to be myself, without being fully myself. This, believe me, is a kicker. It's not that my personality changes, it doesn't. That's a constant. But some of the things that I feel partially define me stay hidden. I'm aware that there are qualities that other folks (maybe even clients?) think I am defined by, and they don't define me at all. To start with I'm a zaftig, full-figured woman. I've ricocheted up and down the scales in my lifetime, trying to deny the biology of my hearty, Welsh peasant roots, but I'm 5'3" tall and have been told that I'm a dead ringer for a meatier Kathy Bates (although I've been known to quip that my driver's license photograph looks like an undercover Linda Tripp). I’m aware of the bias against large size folks in this culture, and the prejudices and stereotypes that are heaped on our heads and I’m conscious that this probably affects how some of my clients view me. I often recognize that people don’t talk about their own struggles with food and body image, probably because they fear offending me. I frequently have to reassure clients that it’s fine to talk about concerns about their own bodies and their eating habits – that I won’t snap and break if they do.

So what exactly does a client see when they look at their therapist? What markers are they looking for? Having spent time on either side of the therapy couch, I know that I want my therapist to be trustworthy, dependable, honest, respectful and respectable. It’s preferable if he or she isn’t driven to flighty impulses that might provoke unsettling changes in my therapy relationship with them, so it’s helpful if they are stable and reliable. I assume that these qualities are important for my clients too. But how can we tell? What criteria do we use to make our judgments?

For most clients, contact with their therapist is limited to 1 hour a week. During this time a therapist can present an image of calm, unflustered competence – an image, by the way, that their immediate family and close friends would frequently find at odds with the non-therapist personality that they live with or are friends with. However, therapists are only required to be able to pull this off in fifty minute chunks. It would be easy for a client to look at this magic trick and find themselves lacking, given that their “job” is to find a way to fall apart in extremely un-calm, flustering ways. A client may feel depressed and have not bothered to iron their clothes that week, while you sit there in neat, professional attire. Little do they know that the ironing basket is full to overflowing, you wore this outfit three days in a row because nothing else was ironed or picked up from the dry-cleaners – evidence of how overwhelming tasks of life can be, even for therapists. Our offices are vacuumed, dusted, our papers (probably) neatly piled up on our desks, filing cabinets with file drawers neatly labeled, the trappings of organization and functionality. When our clients look at these trappings, what are they deducing about us, about me, as a person and what is important for them about this deduction? Would it make a difference to them to know that I hadn’t vacuumed my house in two weeks, and that cat hair flies around like tumbleweed when the fans are on? And what would they do with that information? Would it be helpful, or harmful to their therapy? As a therapist, it’s helpful to know how our clients see us because sometimes it’s the unspoken assumptions that build invisible barriers between therapist and client. In normal daily life, we don’t necessarily take the risk of saying to our friend, “Your desk is so clean, I feel intimidated by it, and assume that all your life is so organized. I see you as impossibly competent, and fear that you won’t care about me, or want to be friends with me, because I’m so much less than what you are.” But this is exactly what you need to hear as a therapist. We need to know places where who we appear to be gets in the way of a client’s clinical process

Most of my clients have only the bare bones information about my life, and little beyond what feels therapeutically useful to share in their sessions and what they read here, on my blog. Clients are often left to guess a great deal at what my life looks like, based on how I look, my very limited office environment and what is expedient for me to share with them. Sometimes they have been known to talk about what they imagine about my life, how they think my home looks and how they think I spend my time. The life that they construct for me has a lot to say about them and their specific hopes and dreams, and often doesn't bear much resemblance to my real life. But it is a very useful jumping off point for a conversation about their thoughts and feelings about their relationship with me.

Everything's Coming Up.....

.....well, not roses...but flowers that look similar to Sweet Williams, in fuschia, pink, lavender and white. There was a very wonderful man at the plant stand where I bought them in Cambridge and he did tell me what the plants are called, but I have forgotten. Maybe somebody will recognize them and post a comment? I chose something simple (and, yes I admit it, cheap) to test out my window boxes again. If this fails and they are untimely ripped from their window beds, I will give up and take the window boxes down. But in the meantime, I can look out my window and see something other than my red convertible and oceans of concrete. What more can a gal ask for? I'll drive over with my camera at the weekend and take a photograph.

While planting the flowers (which I've previously relied on the spousal unit to do for me) I've had confirmed what I had often suspected which is that I am much less scared of spiders if I have gloves on my hands, particularly thick rubber gloves. I think I'm going to use this as a strategy for removing spiders outside of gardening situations. In any case, I found myself dunking my hands into the dried out soil already in the boxes to pull out old roots and knew even as I was doing this that there was a possibility of eight legged things, but continued regardless.

As I tell my clients, taking action is often better than taking no action at all, and I always feel better when I achieve something, no matter how small, to make my life feel happier. If there's a small, incremental step you can action to take back control of your life, it's the first step on the road to success. The flowerboxes give me happiness, but if vandals decide that the flowers are too offensive to remain, I will fill the inside of the office with flowers instead. As my father used to say, "Don't let the bah-stards get you down, dear!"

YOU AND I

We all know how powerful and influential our life settings can be. These settings influence both ourselves and the people perceiving us. For people who are receiving inpatient mental health services, what follows highlights dramatically how language makes things appear different than they actually are. I've been thinking recently about the differences between patients and therapists, and how these differences are understood by each party. A blog on this topic will be forthcoming soon. In the meantime, I wanted to post this. I find it highly thought-provoking.

YOU AND I by Elaine Popovich

I am a resident. You reside.

I am admitted. You move in.

I am aggressive. You are assertive.

I have behavior problems. You are rude.

I am noncompliant. You don't like being told what to do.

When I ask you out for dinner, it is an outing. When you ask someone out, it is a date.

I made mistakes during my check-writing program. Some day I might get a bank account. You forgot to record some withdrawals from your account. The bank called to remind you.

I wanted to talk with the nice-looking person behind us at the grocery store. I was told that it is inappropriate to talk to strangers. You met your spouse in the produce department. Neither of you could find the bean sprouts.

I celebrated my birthday yesterday with five other residents and two staff members. I hope my family sends a card. Your family threw you a surprise party. Your brother couldn't make it from out of state. It sounded wonderful!

My case manager sends a report every month to my guardian. It says everything I did wrong and some things I did right. You are still mad at your sister for calling your Mom after you got that speeding ticket.

I am learning household skills. You hate housework.

I am learning leisure skills. Your shirt says you are a "Couch Potato."

After I do my budget program tonight, I might get to go to McDonald's if I have enough money. You were glad that the new French restaurant took your charge card.

My case manager, psychologist, R. N., occupational and physical therapist, nutritionist and house staff set goals for me for the next year. You haven't decided what you want out of life.

Someday I will be discharged . . . maybe. You will move onward and upward.

Big Penis Guy

Okay, now that I've grabbed your attention....

I got an email this morning asking me if I ever get prank calls from people about being a sex therapist, so I thought I'd post an (almost) verbatim reconstruction of a phone call I had with a man a few months ago. I'm going to call him "Big Penis Guy." Here's how the call went down:

Telephone: :::: brrring:::::brrring:::

Jassy: Good Morning, this is Jassy Timberlake.

BPG: Oh, good morning, Dr. Timberlake (Editor's note: I am not a doctor.)

Jassy: Actually, although I am a licensed psychotherapist, I'm not credentialed as a doctor. But I understand the confusion. How may I help you?

BPG: Um... yes, I hope so. You are a sex therapist, right?

Jassy: Yes, I am. Would you like to tell me what brings you to contact a psychotherapist at this time?

BPG: Well, if you have time...My fiancee and I are having some problems. We've been together for 5 years, and would like to get married, but our sexual life has been problematic. It's kinda embarrassing to talk about.

Jassy: I understand that. I don't know how comfortable I would be talking about my sex life to a complete stranger either. Would you like to give me an idea as to what appears to be the problem between you and your fiancee? Nine times out of ten I can be helpful to couples who are having sexual problems, but occasionally there are other professionals who can be more helpful.

BPG: Well, my fiancee is a very petite woman, and she really enjoys having sex with me, but says that my penis hurts her and is too big. I'm scared of injuring her.

Jassy: Hmm...do you feel that you and your fiancee are able to talk about this issue or are you having problems communicating your thoughts and feelings?

BPG: It seems to be that my penis is too big, and she just can't handle it.

Jassy: I understand that. Do you think she would be willing to come into therapy with you to talk about this issue? I frequently do an informational session with couples to see if I can be of help. There is no charge to you and spending time talking to both of you will help me to ascertain the best treatment plan and future course of action.

BPG: Do you hear of other couples where the man has an enormous penis that hurts his girlfriend?

Jassy: Well, it's not a frequent problem, but from time to time the issue arises and there are usually strategies that a couple can use to help. May I ask what strategies you have used so far?

BPG: It's kind of embarrassing to talk about having a gigantic penis, and I'm reluctant to talk about it with her.

Jassy: It's not uncommon for people to find it hard to talk about sex. Sometimes talking about it with a therapist can help in terms of facilitating the conversation.

BPG: Yes, but it's really huge and I don't know if there's a solution. It's probably one of the biggest penises on record.

Jassy: Hmm. You know what. I think you're probably right. I also think that your penis is probably too big for me too. I recommend that you call this number and see if they can help. Meanwhile, thanks for calling me.

(I gave him the Watertown Police Station Business Number.)

Watertown Window Boxes

For those of you not living and/or working in Watertown, Massachusetts, USA, my office is situated on Mount Auburn Street, a major thoroughfare for Watertown, running from Cambridge's famous Harvard Square all the way into the heart of Watertown Square. It's a quintessential American boulevard, meandering through wealthy Cambridge streets lined with mansions and fabulous, manicured gardens, past commercial zones littered with gas stations, supermarkets and local bars and VFW's, on into Watertown. Mount Auburn Street's Watertown beginnings are flavored with fabulous local grocery stores such as Kay's, friendly non-corporate coffee shops like Uncommon Grounds, wonderful local markets filled with fascinating foodstuffs and produce from all over the Mediterranean and beyond. Where else can you buy a set of tiny black and white polka dotted espresso cups hanging on their own delightful cast iron stand for under ten bucks!

Sometimes, when I am in between patients, I open the curtains and sit and watch the world walk by my window: Mothers with strollers and children chattering nineteen to the dozen; shambling men and women, talking to themselves and anybody who will listen to them, on day release from what I assume to be local assisted living facilities; groups of handsome, olive-skinned men talking animatedly in languages that I don't speak (I have rusty French and German, which have had years of dis-use) heading over to Starbucks for their morning/afternoon or evening coffee klatsches; gaggles of giggling schoolgirls, with low-slung jeans and high-strung belly shirts, proudly strutting their stuff; the whoosh of skateboards passing the window in a blur and Watertown seniors who appear to be in slow-motion alongside the hustle and bustle of the rest of the good citizens.

In the first year or so that I had this office, I proudly tended my window boxes. Beginning in early spring, I would plant them carefully. My name, phone number and credentials are on the window in Periwinkle Blue, so I chose flowers to complement the lettering: bright blue, lavender, fuschia and purple. Even with the curtains closed, I could see silhouettes of the dainty flowers waving in the breeze, splattering their fronds and shadows across the curtains. The flowers provoked constant comment from the other side of the window. Enthusiastic toddlers frequently tried to pick a flower, while their mothers, bracing for a tantrum, would try to entice them away from the window boxes: senior citizens on their slow stroll past my office, would often comment on the beautiful flowers; others, noticing the flowers, would then pass comment on the fact that there was a therapy office there that they'd never seen before and adolescent girls and boys alike would talk about my name ("Oooooooh! Do you think she's any relation to Justin?"). I could hear all this from the other side of the window.

Then the vandals struck.

I turned up at my office late last summer and somebody had ripped out all the flowers and left them, roots floundering, baking in the hot sun. Heart-sick, I tried to save some of them, but they could not be revived. I couldn't decide what to do. Plant more and risk them being vandalized also? Wait a while and then re-plant? I chose the latter. When October came, I planted Icicle Pansies, hoping that they would last through the early part of winter.

Vandals struck again, this time removing only half of the pansies from each window box.

So, this summer the window boxes are empty, just dried stalks of the Icicle Pansies remain and I haven't had the heart to put flowers in. I miss the attention and joy they attracted, and the color and beauty they provided for myself and others walking by my office. It's nearly the end of July, and I'm still trying to decide whether to risk planting flowers there. With my office situated in a commercially dense part of Mount Auburn Street, and therefore little landscaping, it was sweetly delightful to approach my office building in the morning, with the well-tended window boxes. The gay blossoms provided a colorful, optimistic counterpoint to the tarmac roads and concrete sidewalks. I may have to succumb and plant more.

Good Things Come From Writing a Blog!

Lots of cool things happen when you have a blog.

Here are just a couple of the things that happened this week.

1. Out of the blue, I got an email from a guy called Jorge who works for a company called M80IM. (You can check them out at www.M80IM.com. I'm sorry but I haven't' yet figured out how to make these links disappear - Dori, could you give me a lesson next time I'm in my office?) He said that he had found my blog on Transamerica and he wondered if I would be interested in writing a review of his company's DVD called "Create Your Own Adventure: The Abominable Snowman." It's an interactive children's animated cartoon adventure , so children can create a unique adventure as the story unfolds by selecting different options and plot twists. I wrote back and said as flattered as I was to be selected for a free DVD and the opportunity to write a review for them, that it didn't seem that relevant to psychotherapy and the practice thereof. However, if he wanted to send me a DVD I would happily show it to my granddaughter. I was telling my friend Kathy about Jorge's email and the DVD this weekend, and we realized that, in retrospect the concept of this DVD is VERY relevant to the practice of psychotherapy. So, while I don't think I will be writing a straight review of the DVD, the concept of "creating your own adventure" is quintessentially what therapy is all about.

2. Interesting, cool people read the stuff I write and send me emails telling me fascinating things about their lives. For example, Ben over at 3mote.com emailed me and shared something of his life. As I have now become a regular reader over at 3mote.com, I'm very honored to have heard from him, plus he's a Watertown resident.

3. I received another email from a therapist I've never met before, who works as a home-based clinician and is interested in starting a small private practice. She wrote to me asking if I would be willing to either email, talk on the phone or meet in the person so that I could share some of my ideas about how to go about starting up a private clinical practice. We have an appointment to meet for coffee next week so that I can share some of my ideas with her.

4. My blog about Starbucks got picked up by a Watertown "town" site, so I feel like a Watertown celebrity!

5. Interesting people, themselves bloggers, post comments and so I get to be introduced to other people and their lives via their blogs.

6. My friends read my blogs periodically, particularly if we haven't seen each other in a while, and can keep up with parts of my life that way.

7. Some of my clients read my blog and make comments when I see them during the week. I like that it gives people a place to go to feel connected to their experience of therapy, even when they don't see me more than once a week.

Humility

Cleaning my own office, waiting room and rest room keeps me humble. Dori in the office "suite" next door tells me that she hired a fabulous cleaning service and says she can pass their number on to me. Trust me. I'm tempted - I've toyed with the idea of hiring a cleaner from time to time since being in private practice. But, readers, you couldn't swing a cat in my office space (where on earth did that expression come from?) and despite being irritated by the fact that I not only have to clean my house, I also now have to clean my little office unit, I still can't bring myself to hire a cleaner. How lazy would a person have to be?

For a start, the actual therapy office is small - maybe 12' square - and the waiting room and restroom are almost one and the same, amounting to probably no more than 10 square feet . When there are patients waiting in the wait room and another patient wants to use the bathroom, they practically have to sit on each other's laps to get past each other. It's very, well, intimate to say the least. I have a sound machine in the waiting room which is turned up as high as possible, but keeping the space private is challenging at times, and having a cleaner here, despite the fact that my files are under lock and key, would exacerbate that challenge. For example, my phone has caller ID, so if the cleaner was in there alone, he/she would be able to see who was calling in. There's nothing that identifies client's names and addresses on my desk at night, but I imagine scenarios whereby the cleaner might forget to lock the door on their way out, leaving my files vulnerable to break-ins. So, thus far, no cleaner.

I am, however, no stranger to house and office cleaning. When I lived in London I put myself through business school (long story for another time) by working for a cleaning company. In fact, a little known fact is that I used to clean Elton John's press flat in Central London. (It was on North Audley Street, not far from my college which was on South Molton Street at the time - but has since closed down.) And yes, he was there once or twice, in bed. But we never formally met. (The "help" was kept away from the celebrity clients!)

When my daughter was first born, I was young and newly married and didn't want to put her in childcare, so took her with me to several cleaning jobs that I had. One was for a loud, raucous Italian family called the Manzi family, whose patriarch was a successful "punk rocker" and was one of the movers and shakers behind the record label, Stiff Little Fingers. The family was turbulent, tormented and miserable and I befriended their 14 year old daughter, Silvana, who would spend hours at our flat, playing with the baby, and complaining about how her parents didn't understand her! I often wonder what happened to Silvana.

The other cleaning job was for a woman in her late 40's (which seemed incredibly old to me at the time) who, along with her husband, performed cabaret acts at local nightclubs. She had white shag rugs throughout the whole house and my then 5 month old daughter would lie on a blanket in the middle of the floor while I literally raked patterns in the rug, according to specified designs by the cabaret singer. When she was particularly pleased with my "work" she would tip me in pot roast. Yep, you can't make this stuff up. Oh, and I was a vegan at the time, so you can imagine that this went down well! Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I would pass the pot roast onto my grateful friend, Dina, also a young newly married mother whose son, Christo, was born at the same time as my daughter and in the same hospital ward at the Whittington Hospital (named after Dick Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, immortalized by the nursery song of the same name) in Islington, London.

Since then, I have cleaned many apartments, many offices and swore that I would never hire a cleaner. "If you can't clean your own house," I was known to pontificate, "then your house is too big!" I've softened a little in my old age and often suggest hiring cleaners to over-worked, stressed-out parents who can afford it. And, when my daughter was trying to find a way to supplement her meager salary as a Preschool Teacher, we hired her to clean our house twice a month for twice the going rate.

So, back to the issue of my office. I guess I'll continue to clean it myself. There's something about being responsible for vacuuming, dusting and cleaning the restroom that is soothing. Besides which, for reasons that I cannot figure out, it really does keep me humble. And that's not such bad thing.

Starbucks Addict

My office is in a brick-fronted professional building perched in between two small parking lots. On one side is Starbucks, and on the other is Dunkin' Donuts. It's a veritable Java stand-off. I believe I've mentioned before that I'm a hard-core Starbucks frequenter, so much so that when I walk through the door, the manager calls out my coffee drink ("Double tall, non-fat, extra-hot latte for Jassy!") to the "Barista" working the espresso machines. There is a delightful young woman called Jessie who works at the Starbucks next to my office. She has sandy-red hair, and a very vampish, punky pair of red-rimmed spectacles. I don't know much about her other than the fact that she is very close to her mum and that both she and her mother see each other as often as they can given their geographical challenges (I believe Jessie's mother lives down south.) Jessie is sunny, welcoming and friendly and I always get a kick out of seeing her. On the days when Jessie isn't working, my latte doesn't taste quite as good, and the experience of visiting Starbucks isn't quite as satisfying. Sadly, I don’t think she has any idea what a difference her sunny personality, friendly demeanor and upbeat character make to each 60 second transaction that is made across the Starbucks counter.

By the end of each day, the waste paper basket in my office is full of used Kleenex and Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts paper coffee cups, and ditto clear plastic cups with straws poked through the lids. I hasten to say that only one of those Starbucks cups is mine - I'm strictly a one-cup-a-day gal. Each day I buy my latte, and drink it at around 11am (what we call "Elevenses" in the UK ) accompanied by a teeny, tiny sliver of cheese cake which I bring from home. As much as I detest the corporate conglomerates, I am absolutely hooked on my daily java fix, and Starbucks is infinitely preferable to me than the water-bewitched-and-coffee-begrudged liquid served up by Dunkin Donuts.

As much as I dislike intensely lining Starbucks' coffers, I equally intensely like my ritual of walking into the Starbucks before heading into my office, and I like to feel part of the "community" in and around my office, and see Jessie's cheerful self along with her other friendly associates. It can get a little isolating sitting day after day in my office, drapes closed to shield clients from inquisitive eyes, working intently with clients, so those visits to Starbucks play a part in my experience of working in Watertown.

Recently it hit me with a jolt (and this was without much caffeine in my system) that if I added up all those $3.36 lattes I imbibe throughout the year, I spend a whopping $1,226.40. I had been prepared to suck that up and just accept it as a fact of life. But I'm trying to think outside the box more in my life and it seems to me that my coffee purchases are a good place to start. So, I'm going to invest in an espresso machine. I think they cost about $200. This means that within one year, I will have an extra $1,000 in my savings account, which is nothing to be sniffed at. I'm always encouraging my clients to think in different ways about their lives, so the idea of saving money seems like a good one. But there are some things that not spending money on will not take care of. I would very much miss the regular contact I have with people like Jessie, as small as it is. I'm just another one in a long line of customers to Jessie and the other hard-working Starbucks folks, but I try to make a difference in every situation I'm in, whether it's an extra-friendly hello, or remembering their pet's name, the fact that somebody just came back from a vacation, or asking what else they do with their life when they're not working at Starbucks. Big changes often start with small gestures. For example, if you can stand up to the office bully in one small way, you can maybe start the process of standing up to a bossy, opinionated, bullying parent. If you can show interest in one person in a small way, maybe they feel more a part of the community around them. It’s a start. And yes, I know it’s not much but it is a very simple way of me maintaining a connection to the people in my small "community."