Today is one of those rare and stellar days in New York City. The weather is cool and crisp, the sun is shining and the sky is blue.
When I woke up this morning and saw what a glorious day it was, the thought of going to my new therapist was completely unappealing. As I thought about cancelling, I realized that I cancel on her all the time. Why? I really don’t like therapy that much (unless I’m dealing with a crisis), and I really don’t like my new therapist.
I texted her, cancelling. My dog is sick, I wrote. I have to take him to the vet. This was not a lie, as my dog is sick, and I do have to take him to the vet today, but his appointment is at 4 and my therapy was scheduled for 1:15.
I texted again. Actually, I admitted, I really don’t want to continue therapy with you anymore. I don’t feel that we have really connected and I am going to try and see my old therapist again if she has time.
She texted back. Sorry, but you will have to pay if you don’t come, she wrote. So why don’t you just come and we can discuss it.
So I went.
But, I did something smart. I rode my bicycle. I live way downtown, and she is way up on the Upper West Side. I will ride my bicycle on this glorious day, I told myself. That will make this whole thing more palatable.
As I rode my bicycle, I did a very unscientific helmet check. I own a helmet, but I never wear it. Who was wearing a helmet today, I wondered? Was I alone in my personal negligence?
The answer? Not at all!
Almost nobody was wearing a helmet on the bike path up the West Side Highway (a beautiful place to bike or run by the way, if you haven’t done it — you can go all the way from Battery Park to the George Washington Bridge). In fact, I would say that less than twenty percent of the people I saw were wearing helmets, including parents with young children (I did always insist that my children wear their helmets when they were young — at least I cared about them not getting brain damage).
I should know better. I worked with head trauma victims when I was in college. Many of them were paraplegics or quadraplegics too, But I digress…
Who was wearing a helmet? Primarily high tech riders wearing their fancy biking gear and their clip-on shoes. Not the riders like me — on a clunker, wearing my regular clothing, handbag in the front basket, riding to therapy.
The outcome, by the way, was that I will see her once a month for now. I have a reprieve. Yay! I will probably go back to my old therapist before the month elapses (at least I hope so). Who wants to go to therapy anyway? I’m bored enough by myself without having to regurgitate every boring detail after I have already lived through (or barely lived through) it.
Anyway, I have to run because I am now running late to take my sick dog to the vet. I will tell you more about the therapist I love another time. She is a kind soul, an earth mother, so different from me and yet so the same. I love her. I have written about her before, singing of her accolades.
Be smart. Wear your bike helmet. And go to therapy if you like it or if you need it. Do as I say, not as I do.