"Great, or maybe we could go somewhere and just eat a bunch of caramels."

by Amy Turn Sharp


My dear friend and I had dinner last night and the conversation drifted towards her study of Gestalt therapy as it often does lately.
It happens because she is surrounded by it and because I am seduced by it.
I like the word. Gestalt.
I like saying it and jutting my chin and placing hands on hips and being very German sexy.I just like it.
And like other fantastic foreign words it cannot be translated into a single equivalent English thought. It means many things like pattern and shape and figure and whole form. I like that. My friend talks to me about the holistic approach to therapy and life. I like that. I never want my whole to be necessarily the sum of my parts.
I like that I am special and you cannot carve me up and serve me crazy or sane.

I like that my friend is working on all of this and giving it to me in small slices over beers and nachos. I should be in therapy- I am an artist. But I never have been and I don't think I ever will be. Much like religion I tend to really do most of my work right there in my noble frontal lobes. I really am rarely without thoughts and work in my mind. I know it sounds stupid, but it is true. But if I did buy into some sort of mode I might like this Gestalt thing. I don't know much more than what she gives me, but I am sorta thinking that at the crux of this philosophy is this little bitch called awareness.
I think it flows throughout the whole shebang and means that one can try and realize what they are doing psychologically and change the path. Their path. Or something like that. But awareness is frightening. It is raw and transparent like onion skin. It is what can perhaps hold us back forever. Our paths get so worn and traveled down don't they? We know them by heart and we don't even have to walk anymore or open our eyes- we kinda fly. But I think if we go outside of our comfortable zone and harness our inner Ferdinand Magellan then we can plow new paths and even invite others to walk down them with us. Right?

So anyways my thing I am working on is me. And it is hard work.
I want to believe those older ladies about ten years ago at weddings or other social functions. They would look at me and my unlined perfect skin and tell me things like "yr thirties are the best!" "Yr thirties is where you really know yrself"
You know shit like that...
Well, I am smack dab in the middle of mine now and fairly certain that there is a whole bunch more about me to learn.
What do you think? When do we ever know ourselves all the way?
When do we stop working it all out?

title post- Good Will Hunting 1997