Day # 21 Closed

Therapists have a great term for the initial problem that leads a client to seek therapy.  They call it the "presenting problem".  The PP is the thing that gets one in the door:  "I can't sleep at night" or "My Sweetie-Kins left me and I cannot deal with the loss" or "I have to touch every light switch seven times before I turn it off".  After a few sessions or a few hundred one tries, with help, to get past the PP and move on to the "root cause" of the problem.  "My Sweetie-Kins left me..." might turn into an understanding of abandonment issues as a child or it might just be a serious case of bleak-assed and hopeless heartbreak.  With enough sessions and money one can hope to tell the difference and resume some semblance as a healthy and productive member of society.

When I started this attempt at going cold-turkey with regard to the news media, I had a presenting problem.  My presenting problem was misplaced anger.  I found myself getting angry with my boss whilst I was overhearing his conversation with another person, a conversation that was not meant for me.  The one side of the conversation that was audible to me was my boss espousing his right-wing political beliefs, beliefs which I strongly disagree with.  That was, as we can discern from the title caption of this entry, about 21 days ago.

Today, when I returned to my office after a lovely lunch of seafood udon, my boss and his son and another of my co-workers were gathered in one of the offices.  My boss is in his seventies, his son is almost fifty and the co-worker is a bit younger.  The divergence of my political views from theirs is a matter of common knowledge and some joking.  As I walked down the hall, I heard my boss was holding forth on the United States Senate and supporting tax cuts for the wealthy.  Passing their office doorway, they noted my presence and laughed appropriately, expecting full well that I would join the fray and rise to the defense of the opposite point of view from whichever inanity they were spewing.  And, believe me, regardless of I whether I am boycotting the news media or deep-fried okra, it was inane spewing, mostly along the lines of trickle down economics.

What took place, instead of my usual citing of facts for the purpose of refutation was, well, if not a miracle, a clear indicator of growth.  (Most of my former therapists were, at that moment, rubbing their chins thoughtfully and elbowing each other in a collegiate fashion) I stopped in the doorway, took them all in with a glance, said "Oh, trickle down economics again?" then left and walked down the hall to my office.  That was the first small victory.  The second was, as I went into my office, I smiled to myself and closed the door.