The Power of Passion and Purpose
The Neal we met earlier was just coasting, unmotivated and unprepared for college. With the support and encouragement, Neal found what he was passionate about and along with it a sense of purpose. With that came the motivation to learn and grow. D.J. never lacked for passion or motivation to do well in school. But connecting with others served no useful purpose in his mind. It only led to disappointment, rejection, or expectations to be something he wasn’t. With the support of his father and caring adults, D.J. came to recognize the value of connecting with others, a process that could take place on his terms, in a world he felt passionate about.
Samantha is as far as you can get from disengaged and unmotivated. So what kind of roles do passion and purpose need to play in her life? As you will recall, the girl everyone thought was perfect was feeling perfectly awful as she drove herself all the way to Florida. As it turned out, Sam was passionate about coming through for others and exceeding their expectations. Her purpose in life was to not disappoint her parents, or anyone else for that matter. As you read these vignettes, notice how the passion and purpose that previously motivated Sam began to fade as she came to realize that those were external goals, in the service of others. What was missing was passion and purpose of her own making. Let’s see how that evolution develops and how important people in her life help her discover her own voice.
As you will recall, Sam drove all the way to Florida. The police officer that found her at the water’s edge finally concluded that the psych hospital was a more appropriate place for Sam to spend the night than the city jail.
Samantha’s Psych Hospital
“Your father is pretty upset that we want to keep you for a few more days,” Sam’s counselor said.
“Yeah, he’s used to getting his way,” Sam said.
“He’s a lawyer, right?” asked Dr. Annie.
“Yeah. And a good one too,” Sam said.
“Well, it is interesting that he hasn’t flexed his legal muscles to try to get you out of here,” Dr. A said. “Kind of like he wants to let you make the decision.”
“Can I?” Sam asked.
“You are eighteen. In this state, you are old enough to sign yourself out,” Dr. A said.
“What do you think?” Sam asked.
“Well, it is up to you. But since you drove 1,000 miles to get here, why don’t you stay a few days and see what you find,” Dr. A suggested.
“I didn’t drive down here to see you guys,” Sam said.
“No, but I think you drove here to get away from something. So, now that you are away, take advantage of it for a little while,” Dr. A explained. “Think of it as a vacation from your life.”
“A vacation locked up in a psych hospital? Are you listed on TripAdvisor?” Sam asked.
“Highly rated, but very few return visitors,” Dr. A laughed.
“So what will I do while I’m here?” Sam asked.
“Everyone who talks about you uses the word “perfect” to describe you,” Dr. A said. “Being “perfect” can be hard work. Perfect usually means you have met and exceeded the expectations of others. Your mother was quick to share your VITA with me.”
“Yeah. She likes to tell everyone what I’ve accomplished,” Sam said.
“So you’ve met her expectations?” Dr. A asked.
“Except for this trip to Florida,” Sam smiled.
“She won’t be telling her friends about your little trip?” Dr. A asked.
“Not in this lifetime,” Sam said.
“Well, it seems like some part of you decided you needed to get away. And here you are. You are locked up, but free to leave anytime. Think of it as temporarily locking out the outside world,” Dr. A suggested.
“That’s a creative take. Do you say that to all your … guests?” Sam asked.
“Not many. Most folks are here because they are not safe on the outside. They aren’t doing a good job of taking care of themselves,” she explained.
“And me?” Sam asked. “I can take care of myself.”
“I think you do a good job of taking care of other people,” Dr. A said.
“I take care of myself. I eat right. I workout. I don’t drink … except for two nights ago,” Sam explained.
“But can you eat a bag of Oreos in less than 30 minutes? Gift-wrap an oak in TP? Skinny dip in a tidal pool?
“What kind of doctor did you say you were?” Sam asked.
“Sorry, I started to share my own VITA,” Dr. A said.
“And where did you go to med school?” Sam asked.
“Duke … to the great disappointment of my father … a life long Tar Heel,” Dr. A answered.
“You sound more like a trouble maker than a psychiatrist,” Sam laughed.
“So I’ve been told. Which brings me back to you. I don’t think you have had the luxury of being a trouble maker,” Dr. A said.
“Our family doesn’t do trouble. We are more in the business of preventing it,” Sam said.
“What I am trying to say is this. You are temporarily away from everyone and everything. No one needs you or expects you to be anything. Just see how it feels to be free of all that temporarily,” Dr. A explained. “You are free to roam around the grounds. If you want to get down to the beach, I’ll get you a bus pass.”
“I don’t tan. I just burn.”
“I recommend the shade this time of year,” Dr. A said. “And here. I have a little gift for you.” She handed Sam a flat, brown paper package.
Sam opened it and asked, “What is this? A sketch book and a box of markers?”
“There is a pen, pencil, and set of markers, along with a book for you to keep,” explained Dr. A.
“A book with no words. No lines. Just empty,” said Sam, giving her a puzzled look.
“This is your homework while you are here. I want you to fill the book. I am not going to look at it. In fact, I don’t want you to show it to anyone. Just fill it with whatever bubbles up out of you.”
“Do you mean like a journal?” Sam asked.
“I know your group has you guys journaling,” Dr. A said. “This can be whatever you want. This isn’t the school Yearbook, or Facebook, or a college essay.”
“I work better when I know what the assignment is,” Sam said.
“I know. That’s why the pages are blank. It is a chance to look inside Samantha and see what you find. Listen to your own voice, instead of others for a few days,” Dr. A said. “
“Have you ever done this?” Sam asked.
“Sure. I call it my creative sandbox without the mess to clean up,” Dr. A said.
“So what is in yours?” Sam asked.
“Now you are getting personal. The past year, I’ve been filling mine with projects I want to create and recipes I want to refine,” Dr. A said.
“Recipes?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. I’ve moved on from just Oreos-everything,” Dr. A said.
“How is this going to help me?” Sam asked.
“It is the start of listening to your own voice,” Dr. A said. “Now, get out of here and get started.”
“So, I still have homework, even though I’m on vacation?” Sam observed.
“Homework? Let’s call it Self Work,” Dr. A said.
“I miss home already,” Sam said.
“Raspberry gelato with chocolate chips.”
“Huh?” Sam looked perplexed.
“My latest recipe idea,” Dr. A said, as she stared off into space.
“You’ll find it in the Schnucks’ frozen food section. I highly recommend it,” Sam laughed.
“I can see where you get the perfect label. Pick up that notebook and get out of here,” Dr. A scolded.
Sam was very good at the (you want) x (I can) ‘magic’ formula for pleasing everyone. Dr. A was calling attention to the missing (I want) piece. If you asked Sam, she would tell you that (I want) and (you want) were the same. She liked being the “go-to-girl” who could do anything or solve anything. Motivation was not a problem for Sam, like it was for Neal, Mitch and Sophie. She just never gave any thought to what she thought (or felt) beyond all the goals and expectations she was quick to recognize and pursue – goals that others had set for her.
If we asked Sam, she would say her life had purpose. She felt good about her accomplishments and knowing how much others appreciated what she did for them. Dr. A knew that Sam had never truly blended passion and purpose – the kind that comes from her own genuine interests or what she feels passionate about. She knew it would need to start with helping Sam find her own voice. Until now, Sam was exceptional at hearing the voice of others – often assuming those ideas were what she wanted.
A Writing Assignment
The next morning, Sam still hadn’t written a thing in her journal. She’d picked it up several times after her talk with Dr. A, but no words had come. Sleepily, she walked down to the morning group counseling session. Jim, the therapist running the group asked the eight teens there to grab some paper and a pencil.
“Your writing prompt,” said Jim, “is ‘I am…’ For the next half hour, write about who you are.”
The members of the group began to put pen to paper. “At last,” Sam thought. “An assignment. Now I have something to write in my journal.”
She quickly began her list. “President of school yearbook, first chair flute in band, straight-A student,” and on it went.
Occasionally Sam looked up. She saw one of the other teens quietly laughing at the thought that just came to mind. Another girl had a sly, rather devilish smile as she feverishly wrote, trying to keep up with her thoughts. Sam wondered what they’d found funny and how they could write so much.
After half an hour, Jim asked, “Would any of you care to share what you wrote today?”
Several of the teens looked down, trying to avoid eye contact with Jim. But some raised their hands, including Sam. When it was time for Sam to share, she began reading, fairly comfortable despite the fact that she didn’t know these other teens. Soon they’d know who she was.
But, when she was done reading, one boy spoke up. “This sounds more like a resume you would send with your college application.”
“Yeah,” said another girl, “You’ve told us what you are but not who you are.” Normally confident and articulate, Sam was speechless. She felt her cheeks flush – not quite sure how she felt. Noticing the color rising in Sam’s face, the girl who’d just challenged her said, “I’m sorry if I made you angry.”
Unable to look up, Sam stood and ran out of the room. She felt furious, she realized, as she looked at her balled up fists. But angry with whom? Other than the incident a few days ago with her best friend, usually only her sister, Angie, could get her this angry and that had taken years of practice. This time, though, she wasn’t angry with the people in the group. She wasn’t angry with anyone else. She was angry with herself. She went back to her room and curled up on her bed.
After the group was over, Jim knocked on her door. They sat down in the lounge, and Jim looked at her questioningly.
After a minute, Sam said, “Your prompt was, ‘I am.” “That other girl was right. I know what I am but not who I am.” Sam wrapped her arms around her head and quietly began to sob.
Jim waited for a moment and then gently asked, “So who are you?”
“I don’t know. After I got done feeling angry, I felt so empty. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“You’re being asked to step out of your comfort zone, away from everything that protected you and distracted you, before.”
“I feel so angry…and sad. And it’s me I’m mad at. It’s me I’m sad about. I don’t know who I am. President of the Yearbook. First chair flute. Straight-A student. That’s what I am, not who I am. Out here, away from all my roles, I’m nobody.”
“You are off to a good start as a writer,” Jim said.
“What do you mean?”
“You are expressing how you genuinely feel.”
“I’m not used to feeling angry or sad.”
“It’s hard to be a writer if you don’t feel those feelings.”
“I can tell this is going to be a great few days,” Sam said sarcastically.
“Sometimes it can be good to step outside of our normal lives.”
“I’m less than 24-hours from my normal life and I’m a mess.”
“You feel like a mess. But you’re also finding new parts of yourself,” Jim said.
“You make it sound like ‘Sam’s Great And Wonderful Adventure’.”
“It can be. Writing is kind of like therapy, only cheaper, and you aren’t stuck on a couch.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I’ve been in therapy and I love to write,” Jim said. “I find them both immensely valuable for understanding myself.”
“So where do I start?” Sam asked.
“Didn’t Dr. A give you a journal?” Jim said.
“You two are in cahoots?”
“Oh, we communicate.”
“Great. You’re all working against me.”
“No pain, no gain.”
“This isn’t boot camp.”
“I know. It’s harder. But insight and creativity don’t atrophy.”
“Talking is a good distraction. But tomorrow I am going to wake up to the same big hole in my life.”
“Maybe you will figure some things out. One does not become President of the Year Book, first chair flutist or straight-A student just because they are the best robot in school.”
“Funny you should use the word robot. That’s what my sister calls me.”
“Well, you must have some character strengths that help you accomplish those things. Those character traits are certainly part of who you are. You obviously have grit and determination. I’ll leave it to you to figure out what the rest of them are.”
Robbed of her roles and busy involvement, Sam is left feeling empty. However, this was necessary for Sam to begin listening to herself, instead of being constantly tuned into others and their expectations. Just like the avoidance needed to be blocked for Neal and D.J. to engage in necessary developmental work; Sam needed the suspension of her busy service of others to for her necessary engagement with her own thoughts and feelings. In the next vignette, Dr. A. tries to help Sam’s father appreciate that need for giving Sam permission to not continue in that old role of ‘perfect daughter’.
Dr. A talks with Dad
Two days later, Sam’s dad met Dr. A in her office.
“So this is our get-out-of-jail meeting for Sam?” Vic said, settling down in a chair. “I’m glad she’s coming home. I don’t quite understand why Sam chose to stay, but thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“For what?” Dr. A said. “What do you think we did for your daughter while she was here?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Vic admitted. “I guess you gave her a place to stabilize and cool down. She seemed to like it here. She chose to stay this extra couple of days.”
“Do you think she needed to stay?” Dr. A asked.
“Honestly, if you had asked me? No.” Vic said with a pleasant smile. “I think I’ve got a pretty together daughter. But she wanted to and we’ve got good insurance. I found a hotel overlooking the beach and got some work done. All’s well that ends well, hmm?”
“Are you so sure it’s all ending well?” Dr. A asked.
“Well, yeah. She looks fine to me. She looks great, actually. I think she’s ready to go home. In three months she’ll be a freshman at Stanford. I can hardly believe it.”
“I’ve heard the word perfect to describe your daughter more times than I can count.”
“Well nobody’s perfect, but Samantha is probably as close as they come for her age. I was a good student, but nothing like her.”
“Do you think the girl you are taking home is the same ‘perfect’ girl she was last week?”
“I sure hope so. I don’t want her to change. I like my daughter exactly the way she is. And I’m pretty sure she likes herself that way too.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Why are you so sure?” Dr. A asked, looking at him hard.
“She’s happy. She’s thriving!”
“That outburst she had last week and the drive she took to get here should be telling you something else,” Dr. A said.
“That was just temporary stress and no experience with drinking.”
“That episode should be telling you that inside, so deep down that she hadn’t even realized it, Sam is missing something. Do you have any idea what she’s missing?”
“Isn’t it your job to tell me that?”
“Actually it’s Sam’s job. I know something is missing, but I do not presume to know what it is or how she is feeling. While she has been with us, we’ve been helping her find her voice. To know what it is SHE needs instead of doing what she thinks others need.”
“I’ve always asked her what she needed and wanted,” Vic protested defensively.
“And I suspect she’s always told you exactly what she thought you needed to hear. She wanted to please you. And by all means, never disappoint you.”
“And she did please us,” Vic said thoughtfully. “And never disappointed us. But I thought all those things she accomplished, she wanted for herself.”
Dr. A slowly shook her head. “You’re going to take her home today. And she’s ready. She doesn’t need to be here anymore. But what you must realize is that she is NOT okay. There’s still a lot of work for her to do. She needs to try to discover her own voice, meet her own needs, figure out what SHE wants. And she’s going to need your help. She is so quick to tune into what others need, but doesn’t do that for herself.”
“How can I help her do that?” Vic asked.
“You’ve got a two-day car ride home, together, don’t you? Just listen and be genuinely curious about what she’s thinking. And take note of when she is saying things she knows you want to hear. Ask yourself, ‘what is she saying to please me or take care of me?’ Notice how she is tuned into what you need from her. Like reassurance she is okay or back on track or eager to get to Stanford. She doesn’t try to be perfect. But she does try to make you proud of her and never disappoint you. She would never want you to worry about her. She is a master at knowing what others need and meeting those needs so no one has to worry. That’s why so many people feel they can depend on her.”
“Like me,” Vic said thoughtfully.
“A good insight,” Dr. A answered. “I want you to look for what Sam says that expresses a genuine thought or feeling, one that’s really hers. That’s what you should be encouraging. They may be doubts, fears, or confusion. Let her know it’s okay to not have all the answers.”
“I don’t think Sam’s ever been confused a day in her life,” Vic said, as he got up.
“Well, then it’s about time,” said Dr. A. “This is a world with too much certainty and not enough confusion,” Dr. A said.
“Huh?”
“What I’m saying is, give her permission to not be perfect. Whether it’s confused or worried or mad. Oh, and if worse comes to worse, give her a bag of Oreos.”
Vic gave her a look. “Now I’m confused.”
“Don’t worry. Sam will understand.” Dr. A stood and shook Vic’s hand. “You have a wonderful daughter. She just needs your help and permission to figure out who she is.”
In Part I, Sam’s parents were very proud of their high achieving daughter and were not about to let one little ‘incident’ change that view or the trajectory she was on. But to his credit, the newer version of Vic is willing to look more deeply at his daughter and himself. In the process, he will give Sam permission to step back from her fast track to success long enough to ask herself what she really wants, for herself.
Car Ride
“I’m fine,” Sam told Vic for the fifth time since they’d left the hospital in Florida.
“But really?”
Sam looked away for a long time.
Vic, though tempted to say something, kept quiet.
“YES,” Sam finally said. “I feel fine. I’m ready to get back. When are we going to be home?”
“Tomorrow evening,” Vic said.
“I’ve been away a long time. I’ve got a bunch of things to plan. I need to meet with the Yearbook committee. I have to show the new editor what her responsibilities are and how to organize her staff. I need to start organizing the soccer team reunion. I told the band director I’d be a mentor at Camp in July. And then there’s the Stanford orientation in August. I have five books I need to read before then. I’m gonna have a busy summer. ”
“You’re always busy,” Vic said.
“Yeah. I like it that way,” Sam said. “Just like you.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” Vic said. “Dr. A pointed that out to me. You know, while you were in the hospital, I had two days to myself. I can’t remember the last time I had that. No, actually, I’ve never had that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was strange. But I kind of liked it. It gave me time to think about things I don’t usually have time to think about.”
Sam was silent, looking out the window at the fleeting view of a few remaining palm trees along the highway, as they drove north through Alabama.
“Did you do any thinking while you were at the hospital?” Vic asked.
“I guess,” Sam said hesitantly.
“Anything you want to share?” Vic asked.
“Not really. It just makes me feel bad,” Sam said. “I’d rather just get back home and have everything go back to normal. I liked it that way.”
“Yeah. I liked things the way they were, too. But …”
“But what?”
“Dr. A would be pretty upset if we just went back to the way things were.”
“We?”
“Yeah, both of us.”
“Why you? You’re a great dad. I’m the one who screwed up.”
“You didn’t screw up. The way Dr. A explained it, ‘If everything was okay, she wouldn’t have made the drive to Florida’,” Vic said. “And she’s right. Something wasn’t right and I wasn’t tuned into it. I was just riding the wave of being proud of you and not stopping to listen to how you were really feeling.”
“It’s not your fault Dad. I didn’t even know how I was feeling … until I got to Florida.”
“Dr. A said you’re always listening to other people’s needs and feelings instead of your own.”
“That’s not true.”
“Well, look what you have been doing. You’ve been reassuring me I’m a good dad.”
“But you are.”
“Thank you. But I think Dr. A was right. You deserve to spend a little more time on yourself. And I am going to do a better job of listening for your needs and feelings.”
“I’m meeting my needs,” Sam said. “Why does everyone keep telling me I’m not?”
Vic noted the irritation in Sam’s voice. These were the genuine feelings Dr. A had said to encourage. He realized how infrequently he’d seen them come out of Sam. When was the last time? He recognized his impulse to reassure her and remembered Dr. A’s suggestion to just remain curious.
“Want to tell me what happened that led you to drive to Florida?” he asked Sam.
Sam gave him a look of shock. She hadn’t expected the question. “I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Really?”
“It was just too many things at once. The school year ending, finding out about ____(boyfriend), being mad at MaryAnn. And drinking, … for the first time.”
Vic nodded.
“I won’t drink again, that’s for sure,” she said, as she looked over for her dad’s reaction.
“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea. But, sometimes it happens. I was about your age when I got drunk for the first time. And got into my first fight.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you lose your temper.”
“I guess I hide it well. How about you? Do you hide how you feel sometimes?”
“I didn’t think so … until I came to the group sessions at the hospital. There was a girl in our group that knew how I was feeling better than I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they asked me how I was feeling and I’d say, ‘Fine’ and this girl would look at me and say, “You don’t look fine. You look sad.”
“How did that feel?”
“Well, I was mad at her. But then I realized she was right. I was feeling sad.”
“Hmmm.”
“And that’s not the only time she did it and most of the time she was right. That’s pretty annoying when you have to have someone tell you how you are feeling,” Sam said.
“Especially if they are right,” her dad agreed.
“Yeah.”
“Are you good at knowing how other people are feeling?” Vic asked.
“I think I’m good at knowing what they need.”
“That’s true. You are really good at that.”
“You know, while I was in the hospital, I got criticized for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of the other kids started calling me ‘The Pleaser’. … I didn’t have any trouble knowing how I felt when they did that. I was pissed,” Sam said.
“A ‘pleaser’, like a ‘suck up’?” her dad asked.
“That’s what it felt like. Like they thought I was being ‘fake’. Do you think I’m fake, Dad?”
“No honey. That’s not a word I would ever think applied to you. I think you just tune into other people and respond to what they need. You are very kind to others and people appreciate it.”
“Thanks Dad.”
“What I never considered before this weekend was that you may have been putting us ahead of yourself.”
“Isn’t that the way people should be?”
“Well, it’s the way I was raised and I guess it’s what I must have taught you. But according to Dr. A, we go overboard sometimes.”
“Overboard?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but away from all my obligations this weekend, I started thinking about some of the things I wished I had more time for.”
“Like what?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What? I just asked you what you thought about?”
“I’d be happy to share that with you. And then I want to hear some of what you’ve been thinking about.”
“Fair enough,” Sam sighed.
“I was thinking I’d like to go rent a cabin somewhere for the weekend and just sit and think … just to see what popped out of my rigid lawyerly brain.”
“You’re not rigid, Dad. In fact, lot’s of times you’re pretty funny.”
“Thanks. So maybe some of the thinking that pops out will be funny. I think I need to learn to laugh more.”
“Learn to laugh? You mean, find more humor in your life?”
“Well said. What would you like more of in your life?”
“Time.”
“Time?”
“Time to get everything done.”
“If you were alone for the weekend, what would you want to do?”
“Not wash my hair. Not brush my teeth. Not make my bed. Not hang up my clothes. Not answer my phone. And not eat healthy.”
“Wow, Sam. I didn’t know you were such a rebel?”
“Hmmmph.”
“What just happened?”
“Well, when you called me a rebel, it just felt weird.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. It felt good and bad at the same time. I think it kind of scared me to be called that.”
“Hmmm.”
“I really don’t know who I am. I’m on the soccer team. I’m a drum major. I’m editor of the Yearbook. I play the (flute). But those are things I do. Those kids were right. That’s not who I am. But when you take away all those things, I don’t know who I am.”
“You are only seventeen. Give yourself a break.”
“I wrote an essay for Stanford that made me sound like I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted. I’m leaving for California in three months and I don’t have a clue what I really want.”
“You know, Sam. That’s a lot better than being certain … and wrong.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Didn’t think so … once I said it. But you know what I mean, don’t you?”
“I know you’re always trying to be helpful and that’s the way I heard it, Dad.”
“And?”
“And after this weekend. I don’t know what I believe. Most of the time, apparently, I don’t know what I feel. And most of the time, I don’t know what I don’t know!”
“Wow. Good thing I got you out of that place.”
“Yeah. My brain was starting to melt down.”
“Ha,” they both laughed.
This process of being the unconditional parent that Sam needs is difficult for Vic, because he and Sam are so much alike. In fact, Vic is the grown-up version of where Sam was headed – the person everyone turns to for solving problems. He is recognizing that success and respect are not what his daughter needs if it does not represent a path she has genuinely chosen for herself. We notice in the dialogue that Vic has even given himself permission to stop and ponder what he really wants, not just what he should do.
They drove on in silence for quite a while.
“They made me keep a journal,” Sam finally said. “And when the counselor there asked us to write about who we were, I wrote about all the things I do—you know, soccer and yearbook. And the other kids were all over me, saying that my journal sounded like I was trying to impress some college admission’s committee. That’s not why I do those things. You know that don’t you, Dad?”
“Yeah. I know that, honey. You did stuff like that before college ever entered the picture.”
“Thanks.”
“I want to know what you figured out with the journal stuff.”
“Well, they made me mad. But they were right. What you do is not who you are. But when they hit me with that, I just felt kind of empty.”
“I saw you packing up more than one journal. My guess is they weren’t empty by the end of your stay.”
“Well, they told me I should just write about how I felt. So I started out writing about how I felt about the rude girls in the group.”
“Ha. Good idea.”
“Yeah. It felt kind of good. I got to be mean and catty, but in secret.”
“Hmmm. I better watch what I say.”
“Don’t worry Dad. There are lots of folks ahead of you in line who ‘inspire me’,” Sam laughed.
“So, what do you think of journaling?” her dad asked.
“I think I’m going to keep doing it. You know how that girl knew what I was feeling? Well, as I wrote, I began to figure out how I was feeling. It was really weird. But good.”
“I’ve heard people say that keeping a journal is kind of like being your own therapist.”
“I’m not sure about that, but it does help me think more deeply about stuff and sometimes it helped me problem solve.”
“How so?”
“Well. When stuff is running ‘round ‘n ‘round in my head, it helps to write it down. Sort of organizes it. Also shows me when I’m not being very logical.”
“Wow. Maybe I should do that. Kind of like when I’m going to make an oral argument, I write it all out to see if it flows and makes logical sense.”
“Yeah. But the journaling also was a place to play with words and ideas and not worry about being correct or getting graded.”
“That sounds refreshing.”
“Yeah, I never would have guessed.”
“So, do you think it will help you figure out who you are?” her dad asked.
“That’s kind of a lame question, Dad,” Sam said, without thinking.
“Ouch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it was totally lame. Go on.”
“Well, I don’t know who I am, but I do know I like writing. And it feels very personal. So I guess that must mean I’m figuring out who I am. Whatever that means.”
“Cool,” her dad said, not knowing what else to say.
“And you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m smart. And I’m organized. And once I put my mind to something, I do it. And that may be what I do, but that’s also who I am and I’m proud of it. So those young ladies in the group can just go (indecipherable) themselves.”
“Ha. If Dr. A could hear you now?”
“Oh, I had a few fine things to say about her, early in the week … in writing of course.”
“How do you feel after writing in your journal?”
“Cleansed. I feel like I unload a lot of crap, Dad. And that feels good.”
“I’m pleased that you have found a form of expression that works for you.”
“We’ll see. It seems like most of what I write about is stuff that bothers me. That makes me angry.”
“Well, I suspect it is better than just stuffing it away and ignoring it.”
“Well sometimes I get pretty worked up.”
“That’s okay. Maybe that will lead you to figure out what to do about the stuff that’s upsetting you.”
“Maybe. But so far, it seems a little messy.”
“Yeah, well I’m beginning to think messy is better than numb and shut down.”
“Are you talking about me?”
“Actually, I was talking about myself. I had a long weekend too, you know.”
“Ha, and you weren’t even in the hospital. So are you going to start journaling too?”
“It’s beginning to sound like a good idea.”
“My advice, as your lawyer, Dad. Don’t put it in electronic form. It will only get you in trouble.”
“Wise, that one she is,” Vic said.
“Seriously, Dad. Do you talk like that in court?” Sam asked.
“Only if I am ‘forced’ to,” Vic laughed.
“So, what are you going to do when we get home?” Vic asked Sam after a while.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve talked a little about how you’ve changed, and I guess I’m wondering how that will change things at home.”
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “I mean I do have a lot to do when I get home. That hasn’t changed.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Vic reflected.
“I can’t let them down, Dad. I’ve already committed to these things,” Sam said, irritation growing in her voice. “I can’t go back and say I’m suddenly a different person and I can’t do these things anymore. You’re the one who taught me about following through on your commitments.”
“True,” Vic said.
“So what do you think I should do. You brought it up. Do you have the answer?”
“Well, as Dr. A told us, it’s okay not to have all the answers,” Vic said with a small grin. “No, I don’t have the answer. Let’s keep thinking. We’ve got a day and a half of driving ahead. Speaking of which, I need a rest stop.”
Vic pulled the car off the highway. When they got back into the car, Vic started up the motor and then stopped. “Oh, and Dr. A mentioned something about Oreos, too.”
Sam laughed. “Oh, the Oreos. Yeah, I remember that.”
“Shall we?” Vic asked.
“Why not,” said Sam.
Back at the rest stop, they found a bank of machines full of everything forbidden at home.
“You know. I feel like being a rebel. I’m going to have some Lorna Dunes instead of Oreos.”
“Watch out world!”
“You know, it feels kind of good to be a rebel,” Sam said, downing her Lorna Dunes. “Maybe it’s not as scary as it seemed?” Vic asked.
“At least when it comes to cookies,” Sam said. She thought for a moment. “Maybe I could ask someone else, like Becky or Lisa, to be in charge of the soccer team reunion. That would get one thing off my plate. Maybe I’d have a little more time to write in my journal, then?”
“I think that sounds like a plan,” Vic said. “A true rebel, you’re becoming,” Vic said. “I think it suits you well.”
After another few hours on the road, they stopped for the night. Despite their long day of driving, Sam stayed up journaling for several hours before going to sleep.
“I found you face down in your journal at 2 am, last night,” Vic said.
“You didn’t read my journal did you?”
“No. I would never do that. I just replaced your journal with a pillow.”
“Thanks Dad. I guess I still have a lot on my mind. I couldn’t stop writing.”
“Nothing wrong with that. You can nap in the car.”
“Do we have a long drive?”
“Depends on how often we stop. Probably about ten hours, at least.”
“Yesterday didn’t seem that long.”
“Yeah, the time just flew by.”
“I found out a whole bunch of stuff about you I never knew,” Sam said.
“Like what?”
“That you got drunk and got into a fight just like I did.”
“Ha. Does that make us fight club buddies?”
“It makes us not as perfect as people think we are.”
“That’s true. And I’m a perfectly awful fighter.”
“I’ll bet you do your best fighting with words.”
“I suppose I do. How do you fight?”
“Angie’s the only person I fight with. Well, until last week,” Sam said.
“How come we never fight?”
“What is there to fight about? You treat me with respect. You are a good listener. And I get everything I want,” Sam laughed.
“You do? You don’t ask for much; just stuff for school or band or soccer. Kind of necessities in my mind. Is there anything you wish you’d asked for but haven’t?” her dad asked.
“A better boyfriend?” Sam sighed.
“Every father wishes he can handpick his daughter’s boyfriend.”
“Well, you would have done a better job than I did.”
“What happened?”
“I guess (boyfriend) didn’t consider me the perfect girlfriend, because MaryAnn said he’s been fooling around with a couple of girls behind my back. Do you think I am naïve, Dad?”
“In what sense?”
“Well, I guess I tend to believe people and trust them. Obviously, that was a mistake with (boyfriend). That was kind of naïve.”
“I think you should be able to trust your boyfriend or …”
“Or he’s not boyfriend material?”
“Well said.”
“Did you ever get mad at (boyfriend) and tell him how you felt or what you needed?” her dad asked.
“No, we never fought. I thought everything was fine. He told me I was always too busy, but I tried hard to make time for him.”
“You never argued?”
“No.”
“Your mother and I have our share of arguments. Just like you and Angie. Why do you think Angie is the only one you argue with?”
“The word is ‘fight’, Dad. I don’t know. She can be really selfish. Besides, what do I have to lose? She won’t stop being my sister.”
“Well, maybe you need to give yourself that kind of permission with other people. I won’t stop being your father if you get mad at me.”
“Dad, are you trying to get me mad at you? I can see why you would be mad at me. Here you are missing two days of work because of me.”
“Do you think I’d rather be at work than hanging out with you?”
“Well, you’re only hanging out with me because I went and did my crazy thing.”
“Well, maybe you knew we both needed a father-daughter trip?”
“Like an extra long, ‘Take your daughter to work day’?” Sam laughed. “Thanks for driving me. I felt hurt when Mom said she was going home to her Church function instead of taking me home. She’s the one I should be mad at.”
“Oh, oh. Now I’m in trouble.”
“Don’t worry Dad. I’ve got plenty of people to be mad at first. That’s why I was up so late with my journal. I had a few scores to settle … at least on paper.”
“Good girl.”
“No more good girl, remember?”
“I didn’t say that. Did I?”
“Ha. Careful what you ask for.”
What did Vic mean when he said, “Now I’m in trouble”? It was a half in jest whole in earnest quip that revealed his recognition that the unconditional acceptance he was attempting to provide Sam for exploring her genuine thoughts and feelings, which might result in a radical change in direction for her, was not what his wife would want or even tolerate. He very likely will get in trouble with Suzanne for encouraging the “opening this can of worms”, but we’ll see how one attuned parent can buffer a child who needs this kind of permission to find herself.
Home with Mom and Angie
Back home again, Sam put off more of her meetings and obligations and spent much of the week in her room with her journal. Every so often, she’d head out to the park for a quiet walk. One day, returning from the park, she walked in on an argument between her sister Angie, and her mom.
“You’re always asking me to do things,” Angie screamed at Suzanne. “Why don’t you water the flowers yourself? I was busy with something.”
“You were just wasting time.”
“No I wasn’t. Lucy just sent me the coolest videos, and I was right in the middle of watching them. The best band I’ve ever heard!”
“It looks like nothing changed around here while I was in Florida,” Sam said.
“Why should it,” said Suzanne, exasperated.
“Do you want me to help?” Sam asked, the question sliding out of her as easily as a well-rehearsed line from a play.
“Oh, would you…?” Suzanne began to say, handing her the watering can.
“Yeah, nothing’s changed at all,” Angie interrupted. “Little Miss Perfect will save the day again.”
Sam shot her a look. And then she realized how irritated she felt.
“Actually,” Sam said, “It’s Angie’s job to water the plants. I’ve got stuff I need to do right now.” Sam glanced over at Suzanne’s questioning look. “Guess you guys will have to figure this one out yourselves.”
Now, Angie and Suzanne both stared at Sam in shock.
“What got into you?” Angie asked.
“Dad and I had a long talk in the car, when we were driving back from Florida. We were talking about a lot of things, and it got me thinking about my goals.”
“You have more goals than anyone I know, Ms. Yearbook President,” Angie said.
“Yeah, but those aren’t goals for me. Those goals are about doing things for other people,” Sam said.
“You love doing those things,” her Mom argued. “You love the work you do for the Yearbook.”
“I like getting stuff done but I don’t know if I’d say I love it, Mom,” Sam said. “I’m realizing I need some things that are just for me.”
“Those things aren’t for you? I don’t understand,” Suzanne shot back. “I thought you liked all those roles?”
“I get it,” said Angie. “I understand.” Both Suzanne and Sam stared at her in surprise.
“You do?” Sam said.
“Yeah, it’s the first thing you’ve said in, like ten years, that makes any sense.” Angie paused. “It’s like with me,” she continued. “I need my music and my You-Tube videos and if I don’t get that at least a couple hours a day, I feel…well, crappy. Like I’m just some robot doing things for school or for Mom and Dad, and not for ME.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I used to think you were just being selfish. But now I get it. I think my writing is like what music is for you.”
Sam went over to the table and sat down. “That’s what Dad and I were talking about,” she said. “Me, doing things for me. And Mom, I just decided on something today, and you’re not gonna like it…”
“What, honey?” Suzanne said, tension rising in her voice.
“I’ve decided to defer Stanford for a year. I need to figure out who I am before I go to college.”
Suzanne was standing over her now. “Defer Stanford? You can’t. I don’t understand,” she fought to keep the panic out of her voice. “We worked so hard to get there. You chose pre-law, just like your father. Everything is all set. You’ve got the perfect opportunity. I don’t understand. What do you need to figure out?” she shouted.
“I’m trying to do what I need, for me. That’s all,” Sam said in a whisper.
“They may not let you back in! What in the world would you do for a whole year? Watch You-Tube videos like your sister,” she said, as if Angie wasn’t even sitting there.
Angie glared at her mom. “I think it’s a good idea,” she said to Sam. “Not the videos, but postponing a year.”
“You are not part of this discussion,” Suzanne snapped. “Sam cannot go changing her plans like she’s changing some dinner reservation. Does your father know about this?”
“Not yet,” Sam said. “I just decided for sure today, after journaling about it. But Dad will understand, after what happened in Florida and our talk on the way back.”
“Florida, Florida. Can we just forget about Florida??” Suzanne yelled.
“I was told that forgetting about it wouldn’t be such a good idea,” Sam said. “And Dad agrees.”
“Well, nobody let me into that discussion!”
“You said you had to come back for your charity event,” Sam said quietly.
“Yes, I did,” said Suzanne. “At least one of us understands what it is to meet their obligations!”
“I’ve spent my whole life meeting obligations,” said Sam. “I think I just need some time for myself now.”
“Bravo!” Angie shouted, and then backed away from the death stare she was receiving from Suzanne. “I mean, I think that sounds like a pretty good idea,” she said.
“I’m going to meet with a lady this week,” Sam said. “One of Dad’s clients who runs a writing camp. She’s looking for someone to help her this summer. And I’m still thinking about what I’m going to do next year. I don’t have all the answers yet, but that’s okay.”
“You’ve always had the answers…” Suzanne muttered. “And deferring Stanford,” she said with more certainty. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me,” Sam said. “I hope you’ll come to respect my decision … in time.”
“Well, I for one totally get it,” Angie said. “And hey, I’m gonna go water those plants now,” she said, as she headed for the family room. “Sam, you should get back to your journal writing.” Angie gave Sam a wink as she filled the watering can.
Suzanne wasted no time contacting Vic. She was adamant that turning down an offer to go to Stanford was an impulsive decision that Sam would regret the rest of her life.
“Mom wants me to talk with you about your decision to defer Stanford,” Vic said, as he sat down on the couch next to Sam.
“She was pretty upset. It feels like it means more to her than it does to me,” Sam said, looking pretty sad.
“I will support whatever decision you make. But why don’t you talk out loud about what you are thinking. And feeling.”
“I’ve been talking to my therapist about it for a month. I just think I’m not ready to go to college. I’m still trying to figure things out.”
“So you think you can figure things out better at home than in college?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Well, very few kids really know what they want to do with their lives when they leave for college. Well … I should say, some think they do, but learn to think differently in college.”
“You mean college might be a good place to figure things out?”
“College is a place for experimenting with ideas and finding an identity. You don’t have to go, knowing what your major will be or what career path you’ll follow.”
“Are you saying I should go to Stanford?”
“I am saying, ‘What do you need right now?’ to help you figure things out.”
“I was so certain I wanted to postpone Stanford when I left my last therapy session. But when I saw how much it hurt Mom, I just don’t know anymore.”
“What made you so certain you wanted to postpone college?”
“I have been on a path leading to Stanford that I now seriously question. All the things I did that got me in, they don’t seem genuine any more?”
“Hmmm. Really? Do you enjoy playing the flute?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like being drum major. I just did that because I was the best person to lead the band.”
“Do you enjoy being Yearbook editor?”
“Sometimes. I like creating something. Making a book that captures important aspects of school that people will want to remember for years. But I don’t like telling people to do stuff they should just know to do. And I certainly don’t like doing things other people should have stepped up to do instead of me.”
“And do you enjoy playing soccer?”
“That’s a silly question, Dad. Of course I do.”
“So a lot of the stuff you do is because you want to do it. But there’s a lot of extra you do because you think it needs to get done – and done right?”
“Yeah.”
“I know the feeling.”
“So what do you do?”
“Go fly fishing.”
“Ha. So that’s what I need to do.”
“Na. Fly fishing is to me what writing is to you, I think.”
“Yeah. But I think I want to spend a year becoming a writer, not a Stanford pre-law, or whatever.”
“When do you have to tell Stanford that you want to defer?”
“Well, the sooner the better, but … I think I can do it as late as August? I’ll have to check.”
“Here’s what I suggest. It hasn’t been that long since our trip to Florida. Let the idea sit and percolate for the summer. And maybe you’ll have a clearer plan by then. Nobody gets harmed. And if you decide to defer, some kid on the waiting list will be more than willing to step in for you.”
“And Mom?”
“I’ll handle Mom. This is your decision and your life. You’ll do fine whether you go to Stanford or not.”
“Just fine?”
“Great would be a better word. And I truly believe that. You have the right stuff, kid. You don’t need to go to Stanford to find it.”
“Thanks Dad. I feel guilty sending you off to deal with Mom.”
“Ha. Mom will do fine. If you don’t go, she’ll just adjust her spiel to, ‘My daughter turned down Stanford’.”
Vic took the advice of Dr. A. to heart. Even though he did not necessarily know the particulars of the path Sam needed to take, he did recognize he needed to protect his daughter from the powerful pulls in her life to return to what she had done before – which he now recognized as ‘false’. Even if he could not always help her directly, he marshaled valuable resources for her in the background. With the aid of Dr. A. in Florida, he helped Sam find a good therapist. And as you will see in the next vignette, Vic was tuned into Sam’s passion for writing and he helped her make a valuable connection with someone from the community of local authors.
Meeting Gwen
As Sam drove to meet Gwen at the grounds of the writing camp, about 45 minutes out of town in a wooded, rural setting, she’d been nervous. Her Dad’s client, Gwen, the lady who ran the camp, was an author. Sam didn’t feel like she was qualified to help with the camp, but had agreed to go meet with Gwen. What did she know about writing, really?
But, turning off the road into the property, she immediately felt comfortable. Being among the trees, with all that green, felt like being in a park. Sam also felt comfortable when she met Gwen, a small, energetic woman in her 50’s, sitting outside near a babbling stream.
After they sat down by the stream together, Gwen said, “Your Dad told me that you’re doing some re-evaluating of your life.”
Sam laughed. “I guess you could say that, yeah. I’m not really sure what I want.”
“But you’re interested in writing,” Gwen prompted.
“I’ve been journaling a lot. It’s really helped me start to figure things out. And I’ve always liked other kinds of writing, too. Though I’ve been so busy, I haven’t put a lot of time into it.”
“There’s always time to start new things. Writing, especially. It fits in well with a lot of other interests.”
“I think I’d like to make it my main interest,” Sam said. “Though I don’t know how yet.”
“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Gwen said. “If you help with the girls’ camp this summer, you’ll be around a lot of people who are pretty passionate about writing. It rubs off.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said.
“There’s a writing workshop you may want to go to as well,” Gwen said. “Another author, a friend of mine, is running it. It’s for teens like you who like to write. I don’t think it conflicts with the dates of camp, and it’s not a far drive. You might want to attend. They’re exploring different genres of writing – mystery, fantasy, poetry—and giving away all sorts of tricks of the trade. I bet you’d love it.”
“That sounds great,” Sam said.
“I’ll give you a tour and tell you about camp in a few minutes,” Gwen said. “But in the meantime, do you have any questions for me?”
Sam paused a second. “Have you always known you wanted to write and be an author?”
“Nah,” Gwen smiled. “When I was your age, I thought all authors were either old or dead. I didn’t figure I qualified. But I’ve always loved to write, and eventually it kind of took over my life. Now I do it full time – and sometimes I even manage to squeeze a bit of writing in during camp,” she laughed.
“I bet it’s pretty busy at camp,” Sam said with a smile. “But do you ever get tired of writing?”
“Oh, I get frustrated with it, for sure. Someone once said that writing was easy, like staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” Gwen grinned. “But there are so many different kinds of writing, I can never get bored. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, journaling. They all have a place.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Sam said.
“I heard something at a conference this spring that made sense to me. Maybe it will ring true to you, too,” Gwen said. “An author was talking about a study she’d read about creative people. It said that creative people don’t have any more skill than anyone else. But what they do have is a greater tolerance for mental pain.”
“Mental pain?” Sam questioned. “I didn’t know writing was THAT hard.”
“Oh, it can be,” Gwen said. “Like when you just can’t think of what to write next. Or you can’t find that perfect word or phrase. Well, most people don’t like that feeling of uncertainty, that mental pain. So they’ll just pick the first thing that comes to mind to move their writing along or fill in that space. But a creative person is more willing to put up with the mental discomfort that comes with not knowing what to write, so they keep thinking of other ideas until the one that’s exactly right comes along.
“That sounds kind of like my life,” Sam said. “I’ve been having to get used to the idea of not having all the answers. That’s a kind of mental pain, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Gwen smiled. “Your Dad told me that you were smart and insightful, and I can see it’s true. You’re approaching your life like a true creative person, re-evaluating – and re-visioning, if you will – to figure out where you want to go. Even if it does come with some mental pain. I guess you could say it’s like not knowing the whole plotline to your story. Plot twists are everywhere.”
“You said it,” said Sam. “My mom is not a big fan of plot twists.”
Gwen laughed. “I’ve found that if you keep working through it, whether it’s writing or life, it’s going to be worth your efforts.”
Gwen took Sam on a tour of the camp, showing her the fire circle, the cabin where they’d run sessions, and the place where the tents would be set up. She went over the schedule they’d follow every day.
“It sounds like fun,” Sam said. “Like something I would have liked when I was younger.”
“I agree,” Gwen said. “I didn’t have anything like this when I was younger. I always felt like writing was just something I did by myself.”
“Exactly,” Sam said.
“The girls who come to camp really connect with each other. They’ll build a community based on creativity. It’s great to watch it happening. So, with that in mind, would you like to be part of camp this summer as an assistant? I can already tell you’d fit right in.”
“I’d love to,” Sam said. “It sounds like just the plot twist I need.”
“What will your mother think?” Gwen asked, knowing that Sam’s mom would not approve.
“It’s my job offer, not hers.”
“Yes it is.”
Camp
“Do you need any help?” Sam said to Katie, one of the campers during the second session of writing camp. “I noticed you’ve been staring into space for a while, and I thought you might need a hand.”
“Oh. Yeah,” said Katie. “I’m just not sure what comes next in my story. I don’t know where to go from here.”
“Ah, that happens a lot,” Sam said. “I’ve been working on a story too – a mystery – and I’ve gotten stuck several times. I know how frustrating that can be.”
“Yeah,” agreed Katie. “That’s for sure.”
Sam bent in to whisper to Katie conspiratorially. “Gwen says we creative people are better at tolerating frustration than other people are,” she said, “so in the end we can put up with it longer and come up with better ideas.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Katie whispered back. “I don’t even think I’m very creative. It takes me forever to get ideas.”
“I hear you,” Sam said. “But I think it takes most of us a long time to come up with creative ideas. If it were easy, everyone would be a writer. The fact is it’s not easy.”
“Yeah,” said Katie. “Don’t I know it? So, what did you do when you were stuck on your story?” she asked Sam.
“I learned something helpful at the writing workshop I went to,” Sam said. “Maybe this will work for you—it’s called a free write. Ask yourself a question, like “what does my main character do after she gets into the fight at school” or whatever it is you need to know to get your plot moving again. Then set a timer for, say ten minutes, get your pencil and paper ready, and start writing. The trick is, you have to keep your pencil moving the whole time. No stopping to think. If you can’t think of anything, you have to write, “I can’t think of anything,” until you do.”
“That sounds hard,” Katie said. “I think I’d have a whole paper filled with, “I can’t think of anything’s.”
“You’d be surprised,” Sam said. “It makes you write down the boring ideas, the ones that come to mind first. Those are usually blocking the good ideas from coming out. Once you get the boring ones out, the more creative ideas start to come.”
“Hmmm,” Katie said.
“Want to try it?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” said Katie, after a pause. “It’s better than just staring into space.”
“Okay,” said Sam. “Do you have a question to ask yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you ready for me to start the timer?”
Katie got her pencil and paper set up.
“And, GO,” said Sam.
After about eight minutes of writing, Katie got up to find Sam. “I found the perfect idea for my story!” she said. “I’m going to start writing the story again before I forget it all. Thanks!!!”
“Great,” Sam said. “Go to it!”
During critique time, Katie told the rest of the campers how helpful the free-write had been. After dinner, before they set up the campfire, Gwen had Sam share the free-write technique with all the campers.
“Let’s have them give it a try right now. What should they write about, Sam?” Gwen asked.
“How about…What could I write about in my journal,” said Sam. “I remember a time when someone gave me a journal, and I had no idea what to write in it. I just stared at the page and I didn’t know what to say. Do some of you feel that way sometimes?”
Many of the campers nodded.
“But I kept at it, kept trying to think of things to write in my journal,” Sam continued. “It helped to remind myself that no one else was going to see it. And now I think of my journal as kind of like a close friend. I can tell her or it anything. Doubts and fears. And thoughts – even if they’re angry or sad or even boring. Nobody’s judging me. It helps me calm down when I’m upset, and it gives me a way to express myself. For me, it helps me to figure out what I want and need, and to sort that out from what other people want or need from me.”
She saw some more nods from the campers.
“How about you take the next ten minutes,” Sam said, “and write about all of the kinds of things you could write about in your journal.”
“Great idea,” said Gwen. “I think I could write a whole book about that!”
After the girls had done their free-writing, sung around the campfire, and were finally off to bed, Sam and Gwen sat by the fire as it died down.
“I was journaling a little, while the girls were getting ready for bed,” Sam said. “And it led me to an idea.”
Gwen asked. “What did it lead you to?”
“It seems like so many of the campers are looking for ways to express themselves, things to write about.”
“True,” said Gwen. “There are a lot of opportunities here at camp, but not as many out in the real world.”
“They can write stories,” Sam said. “And I know a lot of them write fan fiction. But I’m talking about places for them to express their thoughts and feelings about events in their lives, or issues they’re interested in.”
“Uh huh,” Gwen said. “Keep going. I’m interested.”
“So, I was thinking about a blog. One that is open for them to contribute to. Maybe I—or one of them—comes up with an issue or a topic and the others could write in. It’d give them a chance to express themselves, to keep in touch, and keep writing.”
“Wow,” said Gwen with a grin. “That’s some idea!”
“Yeah?” said Sam.
“I think they’d love it,” Gwen said. “And knowing you, you’ve already thought of a name for it and you’ve got it designed too?”
Sam laughed. “I was thinking about The Voice, but that’s already taken. Maybe Teen Voice,” she said. “And no, I don’t have it all designed yet. But maybe I do have an idea or two.”
“Teen Voice sounds good to me,” Gwen said. “Why don’t you bring it up with the campers tomorrow and see what they think. I think they’ll have lots of enthusiasm!”
“I hope so,” Sam said. “It would be a great project for me to work on next year, along with my own writing.”
“Maybe we can integrate it into camp next summer, too,” Gwen said. “The kids can write entries for the blog. They can even brainstorm topics – maybe in a free-write.”
“Now you’re talking!” said Sam.
As the summer progressed, Sam’s passion for writing only increased. She now thought of herself as a writer first. Her passion was forming an identity – one of her choosing, rather than one of expectations. The more she worked with the middle school girls, the more she recognized that there were lots of girls like her who longed to find their own voice, through writing. Helping them along a path she wishes she had discovered at their age gave her great satisfaction. It was becoming clear that she now had a real purpose. Actually two. To become a writer and to help young girls learn to express themselves through writing. By the end of July, she had almost forgotten that she needed to contact Stanford … to tell them she was not coming.
“What do you mean you are not going?” Suzanne asked, her face flushing.
“That’s what I said, Mom. I’m going to call Stanford tomorrow to tell them I am not coming.”
“Samantha, you can’t do that. You’ll regret it. Mark my words. You’ve worked so hard for this and now you are going to throw it away?”
“Mom, I’m not running off to a KOA campground to live with a drug addict. I’m just telling Stanford, ‘not now’,” Sam explained.
“Don’t be sarcastic with me young lady. We worked hard to get you into Stanford. It is a chance of a lifetime. You can become a writer there for God’s sake.”
“I know you are disappointed. I know you don’t agree. But this is what is right for me.”
“Who’s been filling your head with these notions? Your therapist? That Gwen woman? What did your father say? I thought the two of you decided not to defer.”
“Dad and I decided I would wait until the end of summer to decide. And I have. I know I can’t convince you. I hope you’ll come to accept that this is a decision that feels right for me.”
“Well, what feels right isn’t always what is right. Use your head. You’re throwing away your future.”
“Mom. I’m going to defer, not turn them down. You’ll have all year to work on convincing me to return. I know you’ll do that, so have at it. But I hope you’ll find a way to listen to what I’m thinking and feeling and why.”
“Where is your father?”
“Fishing, I hope.”
Teen Voice
That fall, Sam got her blog, Teen Voice, up and running. The campers posted their thoughts about issues, ranging from school bullies to the best way to revise and edit stories. Sam enjoyed administering the blog and writing her comments in response to what the campers posted. Gwen checked in too, when invited. Hanging out with her laptop at her favorite café working on the blog, on her journaling, some poetry, and the mystery she was writing, took up Sam’s mornings. In the afternoons, she worked part-time for her father’s law firm. This kept her busy, but not too busy.
When Sam finally got to the end of a draft of her mystery, and had revised it several times, she nervously e-mailed Gwen to ask if she’d take a look at it.
After Gwen had read it, Sam and Gwen got together over a cup of tea on a chilly November day.
“I love, love, love the plot,” Gwen told Sam. “You’ve got really exciting stuff going on. All along, I thought it was Zoe’s agent who was sabotaging Maria’s modeling career. Who would ever have guessed that it was Maria’s own mother?? You’ve really got great red herrings there. You led me right along that path!”
“Thanks,” Sam said with a glow.
“I liked your characters, the setting with the modeling careers and the home life, and the way you wrote all those cliffhanger endings on your chapters,” Gwen said. “You’ve come a long way as a writer. There was one thing that concerned me, though,” Gwen went on. “As I read, I kept finding myself feeling that it all seemed too familiar in tone. Like I’d read it before, even though I’d never seen the characters and plot. Finally, I realized what it was. I went back and dusted off a couple of my favorite Agatha Christie books. The tone and the voice of your story is almost identical to hers.”
Sam smiled. “Yeah. You found me out. I love Agatha Christie. And I was trying to go for the same tone.”
“You know, it’s good to learn from the masters by imitating their voices,” Gwen said. “Just like the exercises we work on at camp when we practice voice. But…” she paused to give Sam a long look. “I think you’re ready to go beyond that now. To find your own voice as a writer.”
“Oh,” Sam said. She was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know if I can. I mean, it’s easy for me to imitate other voices. I’m good at that. But I don’t have a voice of my own. Not to write a story like that. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“But you do have your own voice,” Gwen said to Sam. “I see it peeking out here and there in your story, especially in the parts where Maria is by herself, or when she’s with her mother. And I catch those spots and say, “There’s the real Sam.” Here, let me show you. I marked a few spots.”
Gwen opened her computer and read a few passages to Sam. “See. That’s not Agatha Christie there. That’s Sam Foster, writer.”
Sam blushed.
“The trick is for you to recognize your voice when it comes out like that. Once you recognize it, you can allow it to flourish. You don’t need Agatha Christie’s voice. You have your own.”
“I know I have my own voice when I journal,” Sam said. “But that’s different. Nobody else sees that.”
“Finding your voice is a process of fits and starts,” Gwen said. “It doesn’t happen at once. It’s easier in some kinds of writing than others. When you’re just writing for yourself, you can be yourself. It’s harder when you’re working on a story, with other characters and with other things going on in the plot.”
Sam nodded.
“My suggestion is to try all sorts of writing. Are you still writing your poetry?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Though even there, I sometimes imitate other styles I like.”
“Go back to the poems you’ve written, and pick out the spots where you see your own voice peeking out. Follow it, write from that voice. See where it takes you.”
“Okay,” Sam said.
“And I know it’s a tall order, but I’d like you to try re-writing a few chapters of the mystery. Same plot, same characters. But tell it in Sam’s voice. Not Agatha’s. I think it’ll be a better story that way. Sam’s story.
“But I …..don’t think I can,” Sam said, frustration filling her voice. “I’m going to end up just staring at my computer the same way I stared at my blank journal when I first started this.”
“Yeah, it’s scary,” Gwen said. “What finally got you working on your journal?”
Sam thought back. “An assignment for group therapy. I was supposed to write something and share it. Didn’t turn out too well, but it did get me writing.”
“Ah, it helps when you know others will be reading your writing,” Gwen said. “So maybe you need something that other people will read, something that will allow other people to hear your voice? Your true voice.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I think you already have the wheel rolling with Teen Voice,” Gwen said. “The blog is there to give the campers their own voices. Can you add yours to it?”
“I already make comments and suggest topics,” Sam said.
“I know, but I mean writing in a more creative way, to really show who you are. Maybe by sharing a poem, or some thoughts written in a new way that’s uniquely you.”
“Hmm,” Sam thought.
“I can hear the gears turning,” Gwen said.
“I’m thinking about a new section. ‘A Poem a Day – Capture a moment in a poem’.”
“I like it,” said Gwen. “Or maybe, “A Moment a Day?” Since poems aren’t everyone’s cup of tea.”
“A Moment a Day – Capture It In Writing,” Sam said with a grin.
“That’s it!” agreed Gwen. “You write something as a model, and the campers will read and they’ll follow. You can show them different ways to express themselves, and their moments. So many creative voices, and yours leading the way. I love it!”
“Me too,” said Sam. “Thanks.”
“Thank YOU,” Gwen said. “I already know this is something the campers will love.”
Sam began to pack up her things.
“Hold on,” Gwen said. “You’re not leaving quite so fast. There’s one other thought I wanted to bring up with you, as long as we’re talking writing. Going back to your mystery, let’s talk about Maria and her mother for a minute.”
Sam responded with a questioning look.
“Any idea why the parts in your story with Maria and her mom were the parts where your writing sounded like the true Sam?”
“Ugh,” Sam sighed. “You sound like the doctor at the hospital in Florida.”
“If you mean that I’m insightful, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gwen smiled. “Or maybe you mean I’m pushing you to think?”
“Both,” Sam said.
“Just wondering if your characters are representing something you need to work on in your own life. Sometimes characters do what they do in a story for a reason. I know mine do. That’s why I pointed it out to you. You’ve told me you’re trying to work some things out. I wondered if you need to let those characters help you a bit?”
“How would they help me?” Sam asked.
“I just wonder if your mystery is penning them in a bit with its plot. What if you gave Maria and her mother an open page? Just write them for a while, let them talk to each other, and see what happens. In this case, write it like you’re never going to show it to anyone. Like your journal. Don’t show it to a soul. See how that affects the voice.
“Hmmm,” Sam said. “Sounds like something I’ll have to journal about first. To see how I feel about it.”
“Ah, the sign of a true writer,” Gwen said with a laugh. “Get to it. Journal away! And I’ll look forward to seeing the first Moment a Day captured in writing by the author, Sam Foster.”
Giving Sam permission to stop doing the ‘perfect girl’ routine did not mean that she instantly found her genuine self. In fact, it became a long, sometimes painful process. Even though she did the tangible act of deferring Stanford and focusing on writing, that did not translate into an instant transformation of who she was. Sam had become quite good at reading others’ expectations and coming through for them. Without noticing it she could easily resume that approach. Even in her writing, she had adopted Agatha Christie’s voice, instead of digging down deep to find her own. The former was easy, that latter was unchartered territory. Gwen was right, good writing required an ability to tolerate frustration – to self-soothe.
Like a good therapist, Gwen called attention to the easy route Sam had taken and challenged her to take the more difficult but genuine one. Just like the charismatic adults in the previous vignettes, Gwen is able to envision what Sam’s potential and gently hold her to those expectations. We will even find someone capable of doing that for Mitch. Just wait. As is the case with each of these kids, Sam’s passion for becoming a writer allows her to sustain the difficult engagement of mastering the craft.
Sam’s New Story
Maria thought her mom would never leave the room. She felt the stress of it in every scrutinizing glance. “Don’t wear the denim blazer with those slacks.” “You need higher heels. Those executives notice everything.”
It was just another modeling company, another runway audition. Maria didn’t care anymore. She’d had plenty of modeling jobs. Her agent was finding her more than she could take on with school in session. Why did this one matter so much? But they all mattered to her mother.
“Moooommm,” her younger sister Jacquie called from down the hall.
Relief! Maria thought as her mother, Lin, left the room. Maria took off the heels and sank back down onto her bed. So what if they ended up being a little late. She heard her mother cooing to Jacquie, helping her get dressed. Jacquie was 10 years old, but she had Down’s Syndrome, which meant she needed extra help. As far as Maria saw it, Down’s Syndrome meant freedom for Jacquie. No modeling jobs. No pressure. No expectations. She could just Be.
Not so with Maria. Her mom was positioning her to be a star. Maria felt the expectations hounding her like hungry tigers, always ready to pounce if she let down her guard.
Still, a minute later, when her mom called from down the hall, Maria sat up, put on her heels, and headed out of her room. As bad as all of it was, nothing was worse than Mom’s disappointment. The turned down lips, the sad eyes, the fallen face. Maria knew she could deal with the things she faced – the competitions, the catty eyes from some of the other models, the stress of not overeating, always watching her diet. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she could deal with it. She could take that on her shoulders. And that was easier than seeing the disappointment that weighed down her mother’s face. Maria didn’t know if her mother could handle it if she stopped modeling. And she didn’t want to find out.
Sam wrote for a while longer, following Maria and her mother to the audition and through a few more scenes where her mom argued with her agent. Then Sam stopped typing. Where was this going? She stepped away from the computer and realized how knotted up her insides felt. When had she felt this way before? At the hospital, that’s where. She took a deep breath, like she’d learned in the hospital, tried to relax, and tried to put a finger on exactly what she was feeling. She took out her journal and began to write. It came out as scattered thoughts.
Frustrated. Controlled. Why can’t I do what I want to do? I’m angry. Furious. Yeah, furious. Why can’t I be free?
Was she speaking for herself or for Maria? Sam wondered. Of course she knew, just like Gwen had known. It was both. Why did it suddenly seem so clear now? Maria represented Sam. And though Sam wasn’t a model, and she didn’t have a mom breathing down her neck to get modeling jobs, she did have a mom who pushed her. Hard. And like Maria, she’d always been afraid of disappointing her mother. Afraid of what would happen. The turned down lips. The sad eyes. The fallen face. Sam had always wondered –dreaded- what would follow if she didn’t please her mother. All those feelings she’d had, ones she’d been terrified to recognize, were flooding her now.
Sam wrote them down as fast as she could in her journal, before they could slip away. One after another after another. Dr. A would be proud, she thought. Genuine feelings. Lots of them. And though some of them were scary, Sam kept writing.
Gwen, like Vic, has been able to give Sam permission to opt out of the external expectations role and freely explore her own thoughts and feelings. That process does not necessarily require didactic instruction, but it does require attunement to Sam’s vulnerability to external expectations and a need to provide unconditional freedom to ignore those expectations temporarily.
Finishing
The next time Sam and Gwen got together, they talked about the blog and the Moment a Day addition, which the campers had enthusiastically embraced.
Then Gwen asked, “How’s the mystery coming? Did you rewrite a few chapters?”
Sam nodded no. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I kind of got sidetracked.”
“No need to apologize,” Gwen said. “Your writing is yours. You get to make the decisions.”
“You remember when you mentioned that I should just give Maria and her mother a blank page, and write?” Sam asked.
“I sure do,” said Gwen. “Are they taking on a life of their own?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “More than I bargained for.”
“It’s great when that happens,” Gwen said. “Don’t you think?”
“Well, yes and no,” Sam said.
“It’s kind of scary, seeing Maria go through that with her demanding mom. It’s sending me off to my journal a lot, I’ll tell you that.”
Gwen smiled.
“But, I think Maria needs my help,” Sam said. “Her mom’s so demanding, and Maria’s giving in to it. Trying not to disappoint, trying to please her mom.”
“Hmmm…. Sound like someone else you know?” Gwen asked with a grin.
“Used to know,” Sam said. “I know better now. That’s why I need to finish the story. I need to teach Maria a few things. She’s got to get better at speaking up for herself, like I’ve been trying to do. I need to get her out of this jam she’s in.”
“Or she may end up taking a long road trip down to Florida?” Gwen asked.
“Yeah,” said Sam. “You got it.”
“I think you’ll get Maria out of her jam and on the right track,” said Gwen. “That’s called writing what you know.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “And don’t I know it. So, I think maybe the mystery will have to wait.”
“It was a good mystery,” Gwen said.
“Thanks,” said Sam. “I’ll get back to it later.”
“Like Stanford?” Gwen asked.
“Yup,” Sam said. “Just like that.”
Wrap Up
Sam came equipped with many of the competencies that Neal, Sophie, D.J. and Mitch lacked. She was focused and self-disciplined. She communicated and problem-solved effectively, she recognized others needs and feelings, and showed compassion and understanding. She was organized, persuasive, and took responsibility even when others didn’t. But her curiosity did not extend to herself and her feelings. She took the notion of ‘don’t be selfish’ to an extreme; to the point of ignoring her own urges and creativity. She never developed a vision for herself other than the one of achievements in meeting external expectations.
Dr. A recognized a little piece of the real Sam during her flight to Florida. She took that kernel of real self and nurtured it and helped those around her do the same. She recognized that Sam’s flight to Florida was a sign that all was not right with the life Sam was living, despite all the external messages that everything was ‘perfect’. That kind of attunement is easier for a trained clinician, but to his credit, Sam’s father was quick to grasp the idea that his daughter was not listening to her own internal voice enough. Perhaps he recognized that in himself, perhaps he could intellectually understand it when it was explained. Fortunately, he provided Sam the safety to temporarily halt the course she was on, no matter what others said and gave her permission to explore areas that did not have well defined value. He quickly noted Sam’s tendency to slip into the ‘perfect girl’ role and helped her identify when it was occurring, giving her permission not to. He also found people who could help Sam find her sources of passion and purpose that were genuine and in so doing develop her own unique identity. That takes inner strength to recognize that his daughter may be better off living at home, writing a blog in the basement instead of living in Palo Alto, California and attending one of the world’s great institutions. Vic was a charismatic adult in Sam’s life because she drew strength from his belief in her and unconditional support.
Being an unconditionally loving parent will be put to the ultimate test when we look next at Sophie’s situation.