One of the things that I stress to my clients is the need for self care. Taking the time to breathe, to pause, to be mindful, to eat right and regularly, to exercise, to laugh.

What is the point of sadness, anxiety, fear? Hope, joy, love?

Do you ever feel stuck in couch potato land? Like you’re in a laziness rut and just can’t seem to get moving? If you have, great - you’re human! (If you haven’t - I’m concerned. Please have that looked at.)

Shavuot. Shavuos. Chag Ha'atzeres. This holiday has many names. (One of my clients referred to it as “the holiday of many cheesecakes”.)

How well can you explain things?

As a therapist, I think this concept is particularly relevant. Many clients come in to my office without a basic emotional vocabulary. We can only understand things that we can describe.

I have become fascinated with the development of spirituality in the human being. Specifically: how do we learn about, understand, and integrate the concept of a Higher Being? How do we learn to relate to this Being? Why do some view this Being as benevolent, malevolent, punishing, promising? Indifferent?

However you go about choosing a therapist, don’t do it this way.

We psychotherapists are in a bit of a bind. We need to care, to care deeply and sincerely, about every person who bares their soul in our offices. On the other hand, we need to take care of ourselves and not let our work adversely affect us.

In my recent spring cleaning travels, I came across many things that I’ve been saving for just the right time. Orange hair spray, for example. And some really cool looking Ferrari totes and stickers. Waiting for just the right time.

‘Twas the night after Pesach, and I’m scratching my beard,
A regular post won’t do - let’s try something weird.
As a sigh of relief leaves the good Jewish cooks
and another Passover hits the history books.

Instead of sharing my half-baked (unleavened?) thoughts on the holiday, here are two quotes I came across over the past two days.

I believe in routines. My Sunday morning routine includes - among other things - going for a run, coffee with friends, and learning with my dad. My father and I have found a compromise between lightning fast (he has been a Daf Yomi magid shiur for over thirty years) and my plodding Chofetz Chaim pace (read: slow as molasses).

I find myself overwhelmed by tragedy today. My brain searches for an explanation, a reason. Something to say, something to do. Some way to make meaning out of the unfathomable.

Some time ago, a group of my friends put on a performance of improvised comedy. The performance itself went very well. There’s really nothing like the energy of hilarious improv created live on stage.

I fear, though, that the concept of freedom has been co-opted. What is true freedom?

One of the amazing things about the internet is the speed in which things can capture our collective attention. This week’s latest is an ambiguously colored dress. (If you haven’t seen it, I’ve put some reference links at the bottom of this post.) It’s white and gold, or maybe it’s blue and black.

When I first started working as a fee-for-service clinician, one of my pet peeves was not getting paid for missed sessions. I felt that the financial part of the issue clouded my ability to make a good clinical judgement of the situation. And, of course, I didn’t like not getting paid.

I like quotes; a good one can quickly deliver a powerful message. For example, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”

I had a conversation with a colleague, Yehuda Alcabes, earlier today about running into clients outside of the office. We had both had some clumsy encounters, and it was fun to talk about. The question we were left with is: as therapists, how concerned do we need to be about our clients seeing us differently than we would like to be seen?

Looking for a laugh? Check out the Letters to the Editor section of your local Jewish newspaper. These sections seem to be a place for anyone and everyone to share their grievances. We all have things that bother us; we would hardly be human if we didn’t. But not all us of are inclined to share our comments so publicly (and often anonymously).