September 1973, Colorado state, age 23

HUBRIS
 

Life consists of two days.
One day is for you.
One day is against you.
Do not be proud or reckless when your best day comes.
Be patient when your day is against you.
Both days are meant to be a Test.

-- Arabic Proverb
 

This was my Darkest Day.  Colorado State was to serve as prelude to my fifth visit to Rock Bottom.  This upcoming visit would be the worst by far. 

I had a lot of fun during my interval year. My first-ever serious girlfriend, lots of basketball, plus several mind-provoking experiences at the mental hospital.  In fact, get this.  Since I had such a wonderful year in Houston, I jumped to the conclusion that I had finally grown up and put my darkness behind me.  As a result I arrived at CSU full of optimism.  Graduate School was my ticket to ride.  Arlene was wonderful, but there were plenty of girls in Colorado.  Thanks to Arlene, I had finally conquered my fear of women.  Feeling confident, I was ready to play the field for the first time in my life.

Colorado State is located in Fort Collins, an hour's drive due north of Denver.  Arriving at school in September 1973, I was on top of the world.  Unfortunately I was in for a surprise.  'Hubris' is a Greek word for excessive pride.  The Greeks saw Pride as defiance of the Gods, a dangerous attitude considering the Gods wielded the power.  Only a fool would antagonize the Gods.  Unfortunately, as I drove to begin graduate school, Hubris oozed out of every pore in my body. 

Throughout my life I had suffered from serious depression.  This included four previous heart-breaking visits to Rock Bottom.   Fortunately those days of darkness appeared to be over.  Over the past two years not once did I face the debilitating depressions that had plagued me in the past.  Even better, I had found a girlfriend and we had gotten along great.  Now that I had met Arlene, I concluded the weird curse with women that haunted me was a thing of the past.  Look at me, gosh, I have outgrown my emotional problems!  I am set, I have matured, I'm ready to become a therapist.  This is my chance to conquer the world.

Nonsense.  Little did I know that my year in Houston had been the calm before the storm.  In reality, my easy life had lulled me into a false sense of security.  By living a pressure-free life, my emotional problems had simply gone into hibernation.  Even my tendency towards depression went into remission, probably because I had Arlene for company.  But I didn't really need her that much.  I had a bright future, why worry?  I would find someone new, I was sure of it.

From the moment I set foot in the CSU Psychology Department, I was cock of the walk.  And why not?  I had every right!  Due to my elite prep school education and graduation with honors from an outstanding university , I assumed I was the most academically-credentialed member in my group of nine first-year graduate students.  Once I realized the other students came from, cough cough, 'state colleges', I was groomed to zoom.  I could not wait to show everyone how smart I was.

Oh well.  Time for me to eat that strawberry and over the cliff I go.  As they say, "Pride goeth before the fall."

Greek Mythology has many a tale about a fatal flaw which leads to one's downfall.  I had long been preoccupied with the story of Achilles, the mythical hero with the vulnerable heel.  In the case of Achilles, his weak spot was so miniscule, one would assume he was safe.  However, the funny thing about Greek Mythology is everyone's weak spot eventually gets exposed. 

Unfortunately, I too had an Achilles Heel.  My fatal flaw was arrogance.  I believed I was the sharpest knife in the drawer.  Little did I know there was a ticking time bomb hidden within my psyche.  During my time at Hopkins, I had my suspicions.  In fact, I had been drawn to Psychology specifically because I hoped to find answers to my lifelong tendency towards depression.  However, in Hindsight, I can see how my excellent year in Houston had lulled me into complacency.  Now that the depressions were gone as well as my problems with women, I figured the difficult years of my childhood were behind me. 

Full of confidence, I became outspoken in class.  Big mistake.  I should have kept my mouth shut.  Unbeknownst to me, I had what Dr. Fujimoto would term a 'Narcissistic personality disorder'.  The world revolved around me.  The characteristics are inflated sense of one's own importance, a deep need for admiration and a lack of empathy for others.  Underneath my mask of ultra-confidence lay a fragile self-esteem vulnerable to the slightest criticism. 

That was me all right.  Moody, sarcastic, defiant, arrogant.  Saddled with the world's thinnest skin, no one could tell me anything.  I reacted poorly to authority, I could not keep my mouth shut and I could not handle criticism.  My ticking time bomb had a name: Murphy's Curse. 

September 1973, Colorado state, age 23

dr. Fujimoto

Dr. Fujimoto was Head of the CSU Psychology Department.  There's an old saying that the Western doesn't begin until the villain shows up.  Feel free to hiss. 

Dr. Fujimoto, 45, was a short, slender man of Japanese heritage.  He was handsome with dark black hair and dark eyes.  He was lithe and moved with an economy of motion that suggested athletic ability.  Fujimoto was cold and impersonal in dealing with graduate students.  One graduate student disliked him so much that he left the program after just one month.  In addition to his air of superiority, Fujimoto was taciturn and guarded in public settings.  My professor watched what he said very carefully.  Intimidating, humorless, and critical, Fujimoto had my number from the start.  Since I did not have a clue how to behave around him, he quickly exposed my fatal flaws.  Subjecting me to withering criticism, I squirmed under his caustic put-downs.  It seemed like every time our class met, I was forced to defend myself in front of Fujimoto while the other graduate students cowered in silence.  God forbid they join the debate and risk getting caught in the crossfire.  Disgusted by their reluctance to get involved, I referred to them as the Seven Dwarfs.

My time at St. John's inadvertently contributed to my downfall.  The Socratic method is meant to sharpen minds through spirited debate on issues for which there is no easy answer.  My St. John's education made frequent use of this technique as did several of my smaller Hopkins classes.  The Socratic method encourages critical thinking through the use of competing arguments.  In high school and college, my instructors respected what I had to say.  Therefore, when I got to graduate school, I foolishly assumed I had similar permission to speak up like I had in the past. 

Each week in Fujimoto's Interviewing class, I asked all sort of questions.  Silly me.  I assumed the fastest way to learn something was to ask a question.  Wasn't this the foundation of the cherished Socratic Method?  It was not that I disrespected Dr. Fujimoto.  Far from it.  I knew Fujimoto was sharp, but then so was I.  Surely my professor would appreciate hearing my opinions and then offer his own.  Not this guy.  Everyone but me understood Dr. Fujimoto wanted us to shut up and listen. 

The Carkhuff Method can be summed up in this phrase: 

You feel (something) because (something). 

"You feel frustrated because... you lost at basketball."
"You feel worried because... your dog is sick."
"You feel angry because... your explanation was criticized."

I wasn't completely opposed to the Carkhuff Method.  I could see how these phrases encouraged a therapy client to talk.  My problem was overuse.  I was appalled to discover everyone in the Psych Department used these phrases in daily conversation.  Good grief, do these people ever listen to themselves?  Professors and graduate students alike frequently sprinkled conversations with these corny, formulaic responses. 

I am not even sure they realized how often they used The Method in social settings.  My comrades seemed totally unaware of their obvious behavior.  Any time I complained about something, I would be awash in Carkhuff comebacks. 

"Hey, guys, I am getting really sick and tired of Dr. Fujimoto picking on me in his Interviewing class!"  

"Gosh, Rick, you seem frustrated because you feel picked upon." 

This was known as 'Reflecting the client's words'.  I preferred to call it Parroting.  Since the formula was easy to spot, this made the listener sound phony.  I was fed up with fellow graduate students who constantly mirrored whatever I said.  I was dying to say, "How about a real conversation for a change??  Stop playing therapist and tell me what you really think.  I want your opinion, not some canned response.  If you need some Carkhuff practice, go find some undergraduate who won't know what you are doing."

It seemed to me the entire Department was way too infatuated with this blunt instrument.  Wherever I went, it was aggravating to see people use 'The Method' in everyday discourse.   Unfortunately I was not sophisticated enough to realize the universal adoption of Carkhuff-Speak was a disguised tribute to Fujimoto's dominance over the Department.  In other words, I suspect the wide-spread conformity was a covert form of hail to the chief.  I can say this now, but at the time I was too blind to catch on.  In fact, one day I decided to cut my own throat.  That was the day I decided to share my reservations during class.  

"Dr. Fujimoto, you assert that a major component of the Carkhuff Interviewing Technique is 'Being Genuine'.  The danger as I see it is that a patient will eventually sense we keep repeating the same thing over and over again.  What happens if the patient wants to know what we think, but all we do is send his words back?  Is there something wrong with having a dialogue?  If we continue to use a heavily-scripted technique, aren't we taking a risk the client might catch on?  Instead of being genuine, the repeated use of reflection might come across as an insincere gimmick.  Won't this repetition eventually backfire?"

How well do you suppose my brilliant insight was received??  Not very well.  

Dr. Fujimoto replied, "You are alarmed because you perceive this tool to be inadequate."

I was stunned.  Rather than answer my question, Fujimoto had gone 'Carkhuff' on me.  I paused to look at the Seven Dwarfs for support.  No such luck.  Each one had adopted a blank 'See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil' expression.  Clearly I was on my own.  Gee, thanks for the help, guys.

Undeterred, I rambled on.  "I think the Carkhuff Method should be accompanied by other Interviewing techniques.  Otherwise the patient might wonder if we are real or simply repeating a formula in robotic fashion.  In a therapeutic situation, how do you suggest we come across as 'genuine' if we are being taught to constantly react only one way?"

Dr. Fujimoto bristled noticeably.  "Thank you for sharing your opinion.  By chance, Mr. Archer, do you have a better idea?"

Even a dimwit like me could sense the hostility.  Due to his obvious sarcasm, I backed down.  "Uh, no sir, I guess I don't."

Fujimoto glared at me for a moment, then moved on to his next subject.  I was very upset when I realized  my mistake.  I have a pet phrase:  "Experience is a comb Life hands you after you have lost your hair."  In Hindsight, I can see what went wrong here.  Due to my lack of empathy, I not anticipated Fujimoto would take my statement as a direct insult.  I was wiser for the experience, but bald as well. 

From this point on, I was a marked man.  Over the next several months I became Fujimoto's whipping boy.  He criticized my outspokenness and my thin skin.  He criticized my constant need for attention.  He criticized my inability to sense how other people feel.  He berated me for weak listening skills.  Not a class went by when I was not singled out for some flaw.

Meanwhile the Seven Dwarfs crossed their arms and sealed their lips.  If there had been flak jackets nearby, they would have put those on.  Now that I had challenged the bedrock of Fujimoto's Interviewing program, they were keenly aware I had committed the graduate school equivalent of suicide.

Sad to say, the Curse of Murphy had finally come to pass.

"I predict you will one day regret that you failed to learn your lesson.  You will leave [St. John's] thinking you are too superior to follow the rules, but I have news for you.  Someday in college you will learn the hard way you are not nearly as clever as you think.  You will argue with the wrong person and it will cost you more dearly than you can ever imagine.  Mark my words.  At that time, you will remember what I said today."

In the distance I heard the echo of Mr. Murphy having the last laugh.

COLORADO STATE UNIVERSITY

Suspicious

One does not ordinarily associate a Curse with a beautiful woman.  Little did I suspect  I was dealing with a viper.  Vanessa was one of the most dangerous women to ever walk the earth.   By an odd coincidence, Vanessa was Fujimoto's secretary.  Together they formed a lethal team.  If the right hand doesn't get you, the left hand will. 

My birthday is October 24, first day of Scorpio.  One day after my 24th birthday, Vanessa, the Goddess herself, stopped me in the hallway. 

"Rick, there is a form in the office you need to fill out."

Vanessa stood so close to me that I stopped breathing.  We had never spoken, but I had worshipped the ground she walked on from afar over the past month and a half. 

Before I could respond, Vanessa said, "By the way, Happy Birthday."

Since I had barely given my birthday a second thought, her comment took me totally off guard.  How did she know?  I hadn't told anyone.  On impulse, I accused Vanessa of studying my file. 

"You know my name, you know my birthday.  You've been spying on me, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Vanessa grinned.

"Okay, you know my secret, what about your secret?  How old are you?"

"I'm 23.  I'm a Pisces, you're a Scorpio.  You're four months older than me."

"Is that a problem, Vanessa?  You seem old enough to take care of yourself."

My quip wasn't all that clever, but it got the job done.  When Vanessa grinned at me a second time, I found myself smiling back.  Mind you, I had wanted to talk to her for a long time, but I had been totally unable to make the first move.  However, now that the ice was broken, I was astonished to be talking to this Dream Girl. 

Vanessa replied, "I'm old enough to know not to let my guard down around you, that's for sure.  I am always on guard, especially around clever grad students who use their training to see right through me."

I had no idea Vanessa was this sassy.  Sarcasm was right up my alley.  Hers too.  I got a kick out of verbally sparring with her.  I had been very tense when she stopped me in the hall, but she seemed to like me.  Thank goodness Vanessa had made the first move.  Sensing her approval, I was pleased to notice I had no trouble hitting the ball back over the net.  As we spoke, I realized Vanessa was just as bright as she was beautiful.  Encouraged by her mysterious interest in me, I asked Vanessa about her job and whatnot. 

Vanessa told me that last year she had been a student at Colorado State.  Vanessa had dropped out of school the previous semester for a variety of reasons.  She was planning to go back to college in January, but not here at CSU.  Instead she was planning to move to Portland, Oregon, sometime after Thanksgiving.  The tuition was dramatically less in her home state than here in Colorado. 

I laughed.  "That's odd.  My favorite song is about meeting a girl in Portland."

Vanessa cocked her head and gave me a skeptical eye.  In a teasing voice, she replied, "Oh, geez, Rick, what a dumb line.  Don't give me that!  You would have said the same thing if I told you I was from Denver.  'Oh, gosh, Vanessa, guess what, John Denver is my favorite singer!'  Or if I said San Francisco, you would have gone Tony Bennett on me.  I'm sorry, mister, but you'll need to do better than that."

Do I accept the challenge?  Yes, I will.  "You're wrong, Vanessa."

"I doubt that, but okay, prove it."

Seeing Vanessa was intrigued, I quoted a line from the song.

 "There's a little girl who looks lost and lonely backstage at the show.  I need me a Portland Woman.  Portland Women treat you right!"

Then I hit her with a smug glance.  "What about you, babe?  Are you a Portland Woman?  Do you treat your men right?"

Laughing, Vanessa retorted she still didn't believe me. 

"Oh, come on, Rick, you're so bad.  I'll give you some credit, that was better than I expected, but I am sure you just made that up.  More likely you changed the city name.  I bet it's really a song called 'New York Woman'.  It's the oldest trick in the book.  You can try to flirt with me, but I'm onto guys like you.  My mother warned me about older men who prey on younger women."

I grew quiet.  Who said I was flirting?  Heck, I didn't know the first thing about flirting.  However, with a woman like Vanessa, I was willing to try.  Ordinarily I could talk to people just fine, but not around a pretty girl.  If there was one thing that could shut me up, that would be a pretty girl.  Vanessa wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful.  If Vanessa had not initiated the conversation, I doubt I would have ever approached her.  I wondered why she was showing interest.  Due to my confidence issues around women my age, I would have never had the guts to make the first move.  On the surface I suppose I had a lot going for me.  I was tall, athletic, intelligent, a graduate student.  I suppose I was also reasonably good-looking IF a girl was willing to see past my facial scars.  Keep in mind that was a big 'IF'.  Ordinarily I would have run for the hills if a woman with Vanessa's looks had approached me.  However, I had just spent a successful year with Arlene, a very pretty girl in her own right.  I credited Arlene for boosting my confidence considerably.  Thanks to Arlene, I had just barely enough courage to believe I could handle myself around a goddess like Vanessa. 

However, despite my recent success with Arlene, I still had serious doubts about my attractiveness.  My self-esteem alternated between confidence and doubt.  One day, I was a good catch, the next day I was abysmally insecure around any girl with Vanessa's kind of looks.  Due to my scarred face, what chance did I have with a woman so beautiful??  My scars were a serious hang-up.  I was still repulsed every time I saw those scars in the mirror, but Arlene told me they didn't bother her at all.  What did Vanessa think?  She had no way of knowing how little confidence I had in myself.  Since we had been talking for ten minutes and all she did was laugh and tease, I decided the scars must not bother her.  In fact, right now she was egging me on.  I was emboldened to turn on whatever charm I could muster.

"Vanessa, you are wrong about the Portland Woman song."

"Okay, hot shot, I'll bite.  Who sings it?"

"It's a group called New Riders of the Purple Sage.  They have a sound similar to the Eagles, you know, the band who sang 'Witchy Woman'.  Hey, now that I think of it, that song was about you, wasn't it?"

Vanessa laughed.  "Ha ha ha.  You really know how to compliment a girl!"

"Seriously, I listen to the New Riders album all the time and Portland Woman is my favorite song.  In fact, I know the song by heart."

"Well, listen to you talk.  It's pretty obvious you want to sing to me, so what's stopping you?"  

Hmm.  Like I said, who's flirting with whom?  I was beginning to think this chance meeting in the hall was no accident.  If I did not know better, this extraordinary woman had deliberately tracked me down.  I could not believe a woman this pretty was interested in me, but here she was smiling and offering encouragement.  Feeling the excitement, I took her challenge and hummed the words.

We pulled into Portland Town
We'd been on the road
Rock and Rollin' for the crowd
Three more nights to go

But if I don't find someone tonight
I just won't make it through
I'm going out in Portland town
and see what I can do.

You see, I need me a Portland Woman
I don't want to be alone tonight
I want to get me a Portland Woman
Portland Women treat you right
Portland's gonna be mine tonight...

Apparently Vanessa was a sucker for a serenade.  She was grinning from ear to ear after my rendition.  I was a little surprised myself.  I had never sung to a girl before.  Later that afternoon, Vanessa was gone when I dropped her office by to fill out that form.  I noticed she had left a poem in my In-Box. 

"Rick, this was going to be a day when nothing would change me or affect me.  But your smile has shined me out touching with a sky of blue and simple thoughts of life.  When the cloudy times get me down I'll smile right back at them and think of you, my friend, and think of you.

Belated Birthday Wishes and Friendship Thanks,
Your Portland Woman"

Vanessa walked back into her office as I was reading her note.  "This is a nice poem, Vanessa.  You are quite the gifted writer."

"Too bad you weren't here earlier.  You could have taken me to lunch."

"Is the offer still open?"

Vanessa said nothing.  She just smiled and took my arm.  In that instant I was overwhelmed with the possibility that this extraordinary woman was interested in me.  Vanessa was the most mysterious, most exotic woman I had ever met in my life.  And the most beautiful.

Here is what was curious about this moment.  For some reason, my Supernatural Alert had failed to operate.  Seriously, I was staring at the woman who was about to change the entire direction of my life, but I was so smitten the alarm bells did not ring.  Which makes no sense now that I think about it.  I only knew the complete words to two songs, 'Take it Easy' and 'Portland Woman', and I have just met a woman who is moving to Portland.  Uh, earth to Rick, "coincidence alert, pay attention!"  Nope, never got the message.  In fact, I think my common sense deserted me the moment I crossed the Colorado state line.  I suppose that's what happens when it is your Darkest Day.  Even when things go right, they go wrong.  First Fujimoto, now Vanessa.  Two Curses and I walked straight into both traps. 

Serious