My therapeutic Thursdays with Lucia in two pages (Version 8) :: Riding the romantic wave
Here’s how it goes. My therapist, something like Lagertha -see the series Vikings- and Helena of Troy having a baby, with a phd in human machinations, and I meet up on the last Wednesday evening of every month. We part ways the next day in the late afternoon. We decide where to meet next at the end of each meeting. We always travel separately and only meet at our selected secret meet-up spot. The furthest we’ve traveled is South-Dakota. Where Lucia danced with wolves and raced William on horseback while Lakota warriors were performing a ghost dance. Lucia on horseback dashing across the prairie accompanied by friendly wolves. Doesn’t that come close to the meaning of life?
We redo the script of the movie Before Sunrise and wander through Vienna one whole summer’s night and take the first boat back to Bratislava in the morning and wake up in the breeze on top. We are not in contact between meetings. We do not ask where the other was or whom the other was with.
One day we walk through the offices of The Guardian and Lucia says: ‘Why be scared? They’re just as human as you are. There’s nothing sacred to what they are doing. This isn’t the Olympus, these are just people typing out unimaginative stories and using the attention-seeking of so-called opinon makers to fill their pages with cheap clickbait. Give me one serious reason why you can’t be part of that?’
We sneak into all boys schools and she tells me her fears when it comes to raising her boys. We take notes for a book on the current crisis of manhood. And maybe we set off the fire alarm when we sneak back out and run for cover as fast as we can.
If we could timetravel and be invisible it could get really interesting. See 22 year old Lucia walk along the Danube deeply immersed in thoughts, chewing on theories and self-reflection. We could float to 2006 and see me when I was still high on life. We could eavesdrop on therapy sessions 50, 70, a 100 years ago. Not ethical, not even for invisible time travel, but what a feast for analists. Ah and I suppose we could go and stroll through Paris with Hemingway. A moveable feast. And we could see the sun rise in Spain, and swim across a river, and climb trees, and toll a bell in an old catholic monastery to stir up the monks. I think we might want to make some noise to get the world to say farewell to arms, so we can retire as old people in a villa near the sea.
We would have the bond without the mildew that grows from every day familiarity. I guess that is how we relate to each other, we keep things pleasant and adventurous and don’t get into each other’s way. Shouldn’t there be blood, sweat and tears flowing when we meet on Thursday mornings? It’s a safe way for me to keep basking in her intoxicating qualities, and keep the messy side of intimacy that drains a Muse of her spark at bay.
It’s bewildering how much the therapeutic relationship reveals about all your relationships…