Hello readers...I am often asked to do speaking events, lectures or trainings related to psychology or mental health and although I enjoy them, sometimes being able to give a quick speech or share random thoughts can be so much more rewarding for me. For you readers who continue to visit the site...well...thank you...but since I have no recent original writings that I care to put up yet....I thought I would put up a speech that I gave earlier this year to perhaps motivate me...or at least let people know that I am alive. Plus...I know it's a speech I gave...but I think it has a place here. The students asked me to give a graduation speech for them and this is what I was able to put together.
To the Graduating Cohort of new Clinicians (2017)...
When I hit a key on my old typewriter, a series of tiny levers and hinges react, hurtling an arm into an ink-soaked ribbon to then smash a letter onto the page with a satisfying snap. If I type softly, uncertain of what I want to say, I’ll only get a faint impression, and be forced to backspace then type again with more authority.
As I’ve written through paper upon paper, or reflection upon reflection…I’ve tried to replicate the approach with a ballpoint and notebook, but it’s not easy. No Autocorrect. No Spellcheck. No way to move paragraphs instantly from here to there. No blinking cursor, waiting like a tapping foot for me to get on with it. It doesn’t work.
Enter my typewriter. A thunk and a snap gets me one letter. A few more and I have a spelling error, but I ignore it, embrace the imperfection, and pound on – thunk, snap, thunk, snap – and on and on. The slide clatters down to start a new paragraph. And now I’ve got handsome rectangular blocks of test, with ink that’d stain my fingers if I touched it. My lowercase j is firing slightly higher than the rest of the letters, and I see spelling errors and words cut by unintended spaces, but that’s how you write with this thing. Hemmingway wrote like this. Kerouac and Steinbeck wrote like this. My typewriter I use to this day, writes like this. I get the ideas out, some good and some bad, and then draft and draft again.
There’s an inherent value in things like this. The cast iron skillet. The film camera. The axe. The typewriter. They excel in their age by reframing our perspectives, offering a look through the keyhole of what came before us – and forcing us to be a little more mindful and tactile in our work. And when we take the time to slow down and allow ourselves to be knocked outside of our modern-day comfort zone, we add to the scope of our experience – and, with luck, create a stronger finished product. Because the fact is that it’s easy to press a button….whether to start a war…or mindlessly hit the “reply all” on a yoga chain email.
You all carry within you now, the perspectives, reframes and inherent value it takes to move the world. Your culture, your life comes with a satisfying snap. Make it snap. Walk strong. Practice Hard. Snap the key knowing that if you tread lightly, close to nothing will appear on the book page of your life. And for those who then touch your work let them be stained by what you’ve left behind.
Our work like my typewriter lets us write and move in the world of the betters who’ve come before us – ancestors, family, spirits and culture. Our work forces us to look more closely at the words on the page and the words we use, at their power and how much they weigh because when you write…when you do work….everything you say is composed of only 26 letters put into a certain order. Like this box full of levers, pins, and tiny casts of the same 26 letters, 26 letters is all we have to work with. it’s all we have.
You are here. Staring at the bridge of life with elders looking on, offering a handshake to history – a chance to find something new in your work by living and moving others. Welcome. We have been waiting for you.