Session 1
My secretary opened the door and let the next patient in. He sat down in front of me, looking as if he never expected to be here. His eyes darted around the room, as if it were a place out of time, unfamiliar and strange. I greeted him with a smile, trying to make him feel comfortable.
The secretary asked if I needed anything. I told her no, and she closed the door softly behind her. I picked up the file he had filled out when making the appointment. Taking a second look at the name at the top, I hesitated.
“Hello... er, I don’t think I’m reading this right. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say my name, but it’s Gus Mercia.”
I grinned, slightly caught off guard. “Uh huh. What do your friends call you? Mercia?”
He started to get up. “I knew I wouldn’t be taken seriously. I won’t waste your time.”
“No, no… It’s just surprising, is all. I’ve never seen a name like that before. Please, sit down.”
He hesitated, then sat. There was an awkward moment of silence. I glanced at the file again. “It says here you live alone. Your family is all gone, but you’re left with enough money to do as you please?”
“Yes, that’s correct. I have everything I could possibly need. I come from an amazing family, although they’re all gone now. I was successful in school, had many friends and scholarships. I was offered a full ride to Harvard, but I turned it down and walked away. That was ten years ago.”
“What do you do now?”
“Nothing.”
I shifted in my chair, buying time to consider his words. “Nothing? Are you sure nothing?”
“Yes, nothing. I can’t seem to get anything done. I’m gridlocked. I sabotage everything I do. It’s as if I hate myself.” He wrung his hands nervously.
I set the file down on my desk and looked at him. “Let’s come back to that. Tell me, what do you do for fun?”
He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “Well, I talk to people, both in person and online. I review products as a kind of hobby. I watch and play sports, I play video games, and I go out with my friends.”
“Sounds... entertaining. Some might even consider that successful in its own right.”
“Yes, it’s all fine, but I have these moments that ruin everything.”
“Well, I need more to go on. Can you give me an example?”
He sighed. “Just yesterday, I went out for breakfast with some friends after a late night of drinking. I ordered blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup. I was anticipating the kind my mother used to make for me. Instead, what I got was just ordinary pancakes with blue syrup. I flipped out on the waitress, told her to take it back, and refused to leave until I got real blueberry pancakes. She didn’t know what to do and stood there, belittled by my abuse, before trying to go about her work.”
He continued, “I went to the window and looked out. I was so angry and disappointed. I tried to calm myself down. The people I was with tried to eat their food, but they were embarrassed by my behavior.”
“Did you ever ask yourself why you acted that way?”
“No. I went home, slept all day, and forgot about it—until now.”
“Well, let’s break this down. You were upset because you couldn’t buy an experience. You couldn’t recreate the emotions and connections you were seeking. Instead of taking responsibility and putting in the work to create a new experience, you blamed the restaurant and the waitress for not delivering what you wanted.”
“My responsibility?”
“Did you ever learn how to make blueberry pancakes?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, it’s not the restaurant’s job to recreate the experiences you crave. The things you buy, they’re just empty shells. Is that how you felt at the restaurant? Like an empty shell?”
“Yes, that’s exactly how I felt.”
I exhaled and leaned back in my chair. “Everything is empty until you infuse it with meaning. Let’s redo your blueberry pancakes. Imagine you took the time to buy fresh ingredients, maybe even finding the blueberries at a farmers' market. Just by making that small change, you’ve begun to create a new story, a narrative those pancakes never had. Then, say you invited people over and made the pancakes for them. They tell you how good they are. Now, you’ve added to your mother’s story with one of your own. We feel the most emptiness and disappointment when we expect others—or other things—to fill our voids.”
He sat quietly, considering.
“Why don’t you go home and make blueberry pancakes, and we’ll talk more in our next session?”
He nodded, got up from the chair, and left.