“Your reach should exceed your grasp,” was one of my dad’s favorite sayings.  Smile on his face, he would often add, “be prepared to end up empty handed” – which reminds me of a memory.

I was seated on the right side of the room, in the aisle seat, second row from the front.  As far as venues go, it was nothing special.  The workshop was another story.  I’d been looking forward to attending for several months.  I wasn’t alone.  Every seat was taken – many of the participants familiar to me, although older and much more experienced. 

I’m sure I was the only grad student in attendance.  It wasn’t for lack of interest.  The cost was simply too high.  I’d only managed to secure a spot by agreeing to help out the organizers.      

Day two began with a video featuring the second meeting with a couple.  We’d seen the first session the day before.   And while the details of the discussion between the couple and therapist are lost to time, I remember with absolute clarity how their visit concluded.   The therapist told the couple to shave their heads and bury the clippings in a hole in their back yard prior to the next visit. 

My reaction was instantaneous.  I started laughing.  I couldn’t control myself.  Neither could the other attendees.  The “intervention” – as the homework task was termed – was just so surprising.  At the same time, it fit the situation.  Like the answers to classic Zen koans, a perfect combination of absurdity, recognition and truth.  You know, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”  (The answer can be found in the parenthesis below) 

Anyway, when someone in the audience shouted, “Did they come back?” the presenter responded in true cliff-hanger fashion, “You will have to come back tomorrow to find out.”

And there we sat, the room strangely quiet for so early in the morning. 

I didn’t know what to expect.  As the video began playing, the audible gasps of those around me suggested my fellow attendees didn’t either.  But there the couple was, center screen, seated in adjoining chairs, both as bald as Winston Churchill.  According to their statements, engaging in the task had been transformative.  The problems that had proven so intractable to their own and prior professionals’ attempts to help had largely resolved.

Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it.  I listened ever more attentively the rest of the day, taking careful notes and mulling over the answers given to participants questions.  At the end, I bought the presenter’s latest book.  “To Scott,” the personal inscription read, “Use it or lose it.”

I still have the book on my shelf in my office. What I don’t have is a picture of my supervisor’s face when I related the story at our next meeting – not about the video of the couple, mind you, but rather what happened when I instructed my one practicum client to shave their head.  With a roll of their eyes, they’d stood and left the session.  My supervisor?  Kind of like the sound of one hand clapping, silence (in this instance, I believe, the stunned variety).

So, has your reach ever exceeded your grasp in this way? Left you empty handed or worse, with an empty seat in your office? What happened for you? Your client? What, if anything changed in your understanding of the work? Finally, what advise would you offer a person just entering the field given the abundance of therapeutic options and choices?

If you’re interested, more such stories are available on my Substack page.

OK, until next time, I wish you the best,

Scott

Scott D. Miller, Ph.D.
Director, International Center for Clinical Excellence

P.S.: Registration is open for the next, Feedback Informed Treatment Supervision/Consultation Intensive. Click here or the icon below for more information or to secure your spot.

(Shame on you.  Go back and finish the story)