December 29, 2013.

It was still dark as I was walking the unlit path to my friend’s house for our weekly meditation meeting. Suddenly, my feet went out from under me. For a moment, I was horizontal in the air. Then I crashed down onto the pavement, landing on my back. Thank god, I had the reflex to clench my neck tight and hold my head forward. I could’ve landed on the back of my head and cracked it open like an egg. I looked down at the sidewalk. I’d stepped on a patch of glassy black ice. For the next couple of days, my body was sore from head to toe, but at least I didn’t seem to have the symptoms of concussion.

January 2, 2014.

“Talking about my anger now doesn’t seem right to me,” Sheila said angrily. The session was going poorly. Slowly but surely I was being dragged into battling with her about our therapeutic plan, which I was actually having difficulty remembering clearly. I thought she was supposed to be opening up to her husband Bob about her accumulation of angry feelings. She was resisting, and I was pushing despite feeling a little lost about why it mattered so much.

Why aren’t I adjusting? Why am I forcing this? I wondered.

“I understand, Sheila,” I said to her, “but I think there are always reasons to postpone, and I’m wondering if perhaps we should move ahead anyway. What do you think, Bob?”

“Actually, I’m with Sheila on this,” he responded. “I don’t think you’re really hearing her.”

Now he was annoyed…