I'm sitting in a large, noisy conference room with 425 people at a hotel near LAX. It's May 1996. I'm at a seminar led by a man named Jay Abraham, who's touted as the world's most brilliant—and expensive—small-business marketing guru. I've paid $3,500 to attend a three-day seminar called the Ultimate Live Marketing Laboratory, and I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone I've spent this much on it. I'm told Jay charges $5,000 an hour for private consultations, so this is supposed to be a bargain. But for someone who's used to weekend seminars costing one-tenth that amount, I feel like a sucker before the seminar even starts. I get up and walk around the room, scanning the fancy nametags we all got at the door, and to my horror, I quickly discover I may be the only mental health professional in the room. I see accountants, dentists, cell phone salesmen, weight loss clinic owners, a professional clown, a man who sells 200 varieties of fortune cookies, and a few vitamin-marketing hopefuls. I feel incredibly alone, as I look around at all the smug, smiling, yapping faces. They all look so . . . confident and smartly dressed in their upscale casual attire. It's all so L.A.—no neckties, but plenty of expensive sportcoats and chic hairstyles. In a flash, my worst stereotypes of businesspeople come to mind.

I remind myself that we therapists are the good people of the world, providing help and service to those in need. But these attendees? I'm fairly certain they're selfish,…