Remember kaleidoscopes? I hadn't thought about them since, oh, 1994 until that is, this evening. Perks to working with kids: you get to re-experience all the kid things. We were playing with these kaleidoscopes at a local museum here in town which has, of late, expressed great interest in working with our agency. I immediately remembered these friendly scopes once I saw them shelved in the optical illusion room. They look a bit like party favors from far away, wrapped up in that bright glossy paper that says, "Pick me!" So, I did. The kaleidoscopes were the first thing I noticed, and the kids followed. I selected a pink one, and the nine year old next to me stared inquisitively. I think she thought I was inspecting an artifact. "Miss Sarah, what is that? Are you allowed to touch it?" I looked at her just as funny as she was looking at me. "Yes, it's a kaleidoscope!" Again, but more emphatically, "What is thaaaat?" Really? They don't know what a kaleidoscope is? I did say, 1994 not 1904. And I am, Miss Sarah not Auntie Sarah or some other matronly title. Geesh. Besides, I always thought Kaleidescopes were cool-- if not for the toy, then just for the name. It sounds like the title of an Iron and Wine song and after the final, melodramatic chord you would say to yourself, kaleidoscope? How was that about a kaleidoscope? And then, for all its obscurity, you'd download it from Itunes. Or at least I would.
Anyways, completely tickled by my disbelief at their disbelief (sometimes I think I am way too transparent with these kids) they began to play too. Pretty soon we were all looking through these paper-towel like tubes, saying "Oooo...Aaaahh..." Every once in a while, my little friends would nudge my side, "Wait Miss Sarah, I have to show you THIS one." Love them for that. And I would look and enthusiastically approve, and life was good, looking through these kaleidoscopes, all five of us lined up in a row. But sometimes, someone would want to share, want to show, and they wouldn't be able to "get it back." The colors, the pattern, the pretty thing they just saw, it was fleeting. "Sad!" I would say to them, and it was sad because I like to see pretty things, especially when someone else is showing them to me.
So, herein lies the metaphor. Do you see it? Moments. We remember moments because it's usually the moments rather than the days that are so sweet. The light reflects, and the colors blend, and the patterns collide and...yes! That's it! We laugh! We cry! We hug! We jump up and down. The moment is perfect, the stars have aligned. And our little kaleidoscopes did this for us tonight: "Pretty! Perfect! Come, look!" But then it's over, and we had nothing to show for it like the best dreams that we have nothing to show for when we wake up in the morning. Nope. We just hit snooze, roll out of bed and stumble to the coffee maker, almost like we didn't dream at all. My mom used to tell me that dream catchers were new-agey, but you know what, I totally want one.
No matter how hard we might try, formulaic moments don't exist. We don't make them. I'll be the first to admit, as loosy-goosy as I can be, I can also be a mathematician when it comes to therapy (yes, this does cause great angst in my life). I don't know where I picked this up but I'll often say to my clients: "Tell me about a moment when you were so happy." Or, "Tell me about a moment when you felt so safe." Some of my clients could talk for hours because it was just that good. Instead of listening to them relay the emotion, the feeling, or perhaps, the cognitive processes they experienced (i.e. doing my job), I pull out my calculator. It's embarrassing how much my mind whirrs. Well, I think, how could we make a+b+c exist in such a way that they are divisible by z and then, the equation is balanced! Client can have her moment back!
I'm learning that this number crunching equals dumb and naive. No remainder.
I'm not trying to be a downer or too hard on myself. Really, I'm not. And sometimes, I like that I am moment-clinging even though the client is weeping because it exudes hope. And hope, even if wide-eyed and far-off feeling, is something to stand on at least. But sometimes, it is therapeutic to remember how it once was. "That sounds really wonderful," I might say, and "Sad!" Sad that you can't "get it back"like the nine year olds tonight. But maybe, just maybe remembering and sharing soaks up the memory. And soaked up memories? They might, with just a little mopping, turn into these drinkable dreams that run our cups over.
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