Who wouldn’t want to work in beautiful Missoula, Montana along with fantastic colleagues? On most days, you can hike up Mount Sentinel and get this view (it’s better live) in less than 20 minutes.
I’m using my blog to help spread the news that we’re looking for a full-time, visiting assistant professor in our department at the University of Montana. Why visiting? That’s because we just got permission to search and thought it would be easier to hire a nine-month visiting (mid-August to mid-May) and then we’ll be searching for a tenure-track person in early fall. Of course, it’s possible that the visiting person will apply for an get the tenure-track position, but not necessarily. To check out the details of the position, please click here: http://bit.ly/umt1915.
FYI, the University of Montana (which happens to be the coolest place on the planet right now) is an ADA/EOE/AA/Veteran’s Preference Employer.
This is the transcript of the 2015 Graduation Speech for Counselor Education I didn’t give. I should note, I wasn’t really invited to deliver a speech, but since I’m in Absarokee and can’t attend graduation, I’m pretending this is the speech I would have given. In other words, I’m making all this up.
Graduation speeches are supposed to be lightly profound with a substantial dose of inspiration. Well . . . this one, not so much.
Seriously? Like you didn’t know this speech would be different?
After all, two years ago (or maybe three or four years ago for some of you who are extra special), you all enrolled in a graduate program in . . . COUNSELING. Basically, what I’m saying is that something in your rational brain snapped and you let an empathic, compassionate, impulse to help others for the rest of your life take over and start making your BIG life decisions for you. You know you did. And your family and friends know you did. I’m just naming the elephant in the room by saying it in public
I’m proud to say that I’m proud of you for that. And this is coming from someone who basically hates and avoids the word proud. That’s partly because pride is one of the seven deadly sins and it goeth before a fall and all that. I just thought you should know how hard it was for me to say that I’m proud of you . . . which makes me think in my head that I almost feel a little proud of myself, which I would never, of course, say out loud, which I’m not doing now because if there’s anything I certain of, I’m certain that you can’t hear my thoughts.
But what I am saying is that I’m glad you made the decision to forsake nearly all of the materialistic messages given to you, heretofore (I really like saying things like heretofore, especially during graduation speeches), by contemporary society. Just think, if everyone went down the evil road of materialism we wouldn’t even have graduate programs in counseling where people like you spend good money to learn how to listen well and help others, while not making very much bank. You know what I’m talking about.
My point is, you’re just DIFFERENT and unless your faculty forgot to tell you, you should know that by now. And my other point is: that’s why you should have known this would be YET ANOTHER LECTURE and not some sappy, emotionally inspiring speech. And the reason for this is that in the business you’ve chosen to practice . . . learning NEVER ENDS . . . and so I don’t want to give any of you the wrong impression that somehow graduating means you get to stop learning. You don’t. I’m here to tell you that.
This leads me to my lecture, the title of which is something like:
Everything I Should Have Taught You Over the Past Several Years,
But Because You All Talked Way Too Much In Class I Didn’t Have Time.
And I should mention that this lecture could take anywhere from a few minutes to several days. Please. There’s no need to thank me. You’ve earned this.
Let’s start with you taking notice of the imprecision I used in stating my lecture title. I said, “. . . something like.” This is our first and most important lesson for the day. When it comes to counseling humans, we shouldn’t fool ourselves into thinking we can be precise. This is why you chose to study with us touchy-feely-counseling types over here in the College of Education instead of running over with your calculators to psychology where you could be a scientist (at this point in the speech I’m making an enigmatic face that makes you wonder if I’m praising psychology as a science or making fun of psychology for just having lots of irrational cognitions about being a science). This is why you set collaborative goals in counseling and not unilateral goals.
As Salvadore Minuchin said a couple of decades ago at a workshop here in Missoula, “Don’t be too sure.” I like that message.
And now although I’m not too sure about whether what I’ve got planned next is a good idea, it’s something I feel compelled to teach you. After all, prior to this last year’s holiday party, when there was an opportunity for Karaoke and, in the humble way that you’ve come to know as characteristic of me, I sent you all an email explaining that I had co-invented Karaoke in 1973 in Mike Bevill’s basement and consequently was happy to provide everyone with Karaoke lessons, the response was COMPLETE EMAIL SILENCE. Consequently, how could I not conclude that either you (a) have debilitating Karaoke anxiety, or (b) have low Karaoke-esteem, or (c) are uninformed as to the benefits of Karaoke, or (d) all of the above, or (e) only a and b?
Hopefully you got the answer to that rhetorical question correct, because here comes the Karaoke lesson.
Of course, before I start, as I like to say in my classes and workshops, you can always pass on this experience and if you so choose, please do so by doing what many of my teenage clients do – ignoring me – which may or may not involve you placing your hands over your ears and humming or laying your head on your arm and snoring.
The first rule of Karaoke is, as the late Bill Glasser would have said—had he ever had the good sense to lecture on Karaoke—“Your goal should be within your personal control.”
This rule has several implications, but most importantly, it speaks to song and wardrobe selection. Specifically, you always want to select a Karaoke song that’s within your range and within your wardrobe. I cannot emphasize this enough. For example, although I very much like the song . . . “This Girl is on Fire” I tried singing it and it didn’t go well.
As you can infer from the photo below, choosing the wrong song can be embarrassing and beyond your control. Don’t do it . . . unless it’s part of your shame- attacking treatment plan.
So, obviously, pick a song that fits your voice and your gender stereotypes.
The second rule is all about song lyrics and so I’ve made up another rhyme to help you auditory learners remember. That is, “To function to the best of your ability, you should embrace your multicultural humility.”
What I’m saying here is that, as you know, many pop songs have lyrics that are racist, sexist, and sexually explicit. To maintain our multicultural sensitivity (and humility), it’s important to either (a) avoid songs with insensitive or sexualized lyrics (which is why I never sing Lady Gaga’s song that includes the line about her not bluffin’ with her muffin) or (b) change the lyrics on the spot (for “Say a Little Prayer for You” I like to substitute, “Do a little non-denominational mindfulness meditation for you.” It works fine, you just have to say the words very quickly) or (c) just mumble when the offending lyrics appear.
The third rule can also be captured with a nifty, easily memorized rhyme: “An alcoholic drink, will not help you think.” It also won’t improve your judgment or make you look more impressive to your audience. I hope what I’m saying here is clear. Just like when you’re providing professional counseling, when doing Karaoke, it’s best to be squeaky clean and sober. I should add, contrary to popular belief, drinking alcohol will NOT MAKE YOU A BETTER DANCER. Although the caveat to this is that if OTHERS are drinking alcohol during your performance, it might make them THINK you’re a better dancer.
The corollary to this rule is that evidence-based Karaoke-ers use dancing to optimize their performance. This probably goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, “Be solution-focused and go with your strengths!” If your voice is bad or the lyrics are bad or you’re so nervous you’ve lost your ability to read, DANCE BIG. I did this a few years ago when I planned a rap to the Simon and Garfunkle tune “Feeling Groovy” and it quickly became obvious that the audience mostly wanted to watch my radical rapping dance moves and so I just went with that. The fact that no one at that party will talk to me anymore is irrelevant. I think it’s mostly because I intimidated the heck out of them and so they’re afraid to approach me now. I should note that this is a particular cognition that my counselor and I decided I shouldn’t test . . . so I’m just going with it. Here’s a photo of that performance. Apparently all the video recordings were lost or burned.
The fourth and final Karaoke rule is this: “A pill is not a skill . . . but Karaoke is a thrill.” What this means is that if you want to grow up to be a bad-ass Karaoke singer like me, then you have to practice, practice, and then practice some more . . . because as they say about counseling and counselors, all we ever do is practice.
There is no final performance.
There is no end to your learning.
And this is not my final goodbye to you.
I will be thinking of you all and wishing and hoping you the best success in whatever you choose to practice, knowing that I’ve had the excellent fortune and gift of time with you and that I’ve come to believe deeply in your ability, skill, compassion, and character.
One time when I was working with a dad and his son in counseling, the dad got right in his son’s face and delivered him a message that he would never forget. And so I want to end by sharing that message with you in hopes that you will hear it over-and-over in your brain:
“I will always be proud of you.”
Thanks for listening. Thanks for reading. Thanks for watching.
And thanks for being different.
P.S. I’m available for Karaoke tutoring and supervision and I can show you some hand movements, that, in particular, will blow your mind and insure an unforgettable Karaoke experience.
I returned to graduate school in 2012 after living and working in the professional world for over a decade. In fact, 12 years ago I graduated from the University of Montana with an Ed.S in School Psychology. I had survived the onslaught of stress that graduate school threw at me the first time. While working towards my Ed.S, friends and family often asked “What are you going to do when you graduate?” I always responded—with confidence—that I would be working as a school psychologist. People often commented that the financial, mental, and emotional stress of graduate school would all be worth it, since I had a solid plan for the future. Their affirming responses reassured me that I was suffering for a good cause and that it would all be worth it in the end. I was nearly immune to the stress of everyday life, because I was already living in the future.
This time around, my rendezvous with graduate school is a completely different experience. I’m now in my second year in the Counselor Education and Supervision Department at the University of Montana, and I fumble over my words every time the question about my future plan gets asked. And it gets asked quite frequently. Initially I hoped that, over time, my answer would evolve and then flow smoothly from my mouth. I have come to realize, however, that there is and will be no flow. I simply don’t know the answer. Instead of receiving affirmation, I watch people’s faces scrunch up and a concerned smile cross their lips. Their heads tilt and although they utter words of encouragement, their body language shouts that I’m a pitiful soul locked in the dungeons of graduate school purgatory for what seems like no good reason. This mixed message makes me uncomfortable, so I try to minimize the stress of the situation by reassuring others that I’m okay and that I’ll figure out the answer eventually.
But underneath my reassurance to them, and to me, questions linger: Why do I even feel the need to have an answer to this question? Why does a confident answer assure others, and more importantly, why do I need it as reassurance for myself? It occurred to me while listening to a mortgage commercial on the radio, that modern society often focuses on looking to the future. Buying a house, long term care insurance, and retirement planning all promise us that if we make sacrifices today, then we can live a perfect life in the future. The planned future is always bright and full of potential. The future—although it obviously hasn’t happened yet, somehow compensates me for painful decisions in the present. If I don’t like my job, I just look at my retirement account and tell myself to keep on plugging away, because there will happiness at the end of this work rainbow. For me, in the past, the future was a pretty decent place to live, until I realized I was missing out on the present.
The present is jumping on the trampoline with my boys. That moment is filled with laughter and love. The present is going to Lolo for Sunday dinner with grandparents. It’s typing this blog at the computer with my cat purring on my lap. The present isn’t just hopes and dreams, it is reality. It’s not always as grand and fantastic as an imagined future, but it’s always real. I can touch, smell, and experience it. Now, I’ve decided I like the present, even though it’s still a struggle for me to remain here.
Intentionally deciding to remain in the present has implications for how I handle myself. It means I don’t need an answer to the question. It means I’m not failing when I don’t have an answer. It just means I don’t know yet.
Not knowing yet is different than never knowing. I trust the present to guide me to the future. I trust the present to bring me happiness and wisdom. Before, I was good at answering questions about the future because I was good at living in the future. I wasn’t able to enjoy the present moment. But now I’m living in the present and trusting myself that my future will evolve exactly as it needs to based on how I live each and every day.
When I realized that my discomfort and inability to answer the question was a reflection of an enhanced ability and comfort to stay in the present, my shoulders relaxed and I let out a deep sigh of relief. I don’t need to know what I’m going to do when I’m done with graduate school, again. I can enjoy this moment, this day, and this journey. Not having an answer to the question doesn’t mean, as I’d feared, that I’ve foolishly entered graduate school and will waste time and money since there’s no solid plan for the future. In fact, it has helped me understand that my plan for the future is to live in the present each day because this is a journey that’s worth savoring.
This past week I’ve been searching in vain for the origin of my favorite pithy advice to aspiring writers. It may have been Flannery O’Connor or George Orwell or another literary-type who noted or shouted or penned the phrase: “Writers write.”
This nice thing about this advice is that it’s simultaneously very general and very specific and very redundant all at the same time.
But there are also different breeds of writers who write.
While I was at the University of Portland, one of my noon-time basketball buddies was a Math professor. When he wasn’t making fun of his own stutter-step dribble or teaching classes or waxing his 1967 Mustang, he was writing a mathematics text. He told me his writing philosophy—which was really more of a strategy, but then he was a math guy. Every night he wrote one page of his textbook. Just one page . . . and he didn’t go to bed until he had completed this nightly homework. He never said, “Writers write.” He just wrote.
Another one of my Portland basketball buddies was an English professor, writer, and poet. He didn’t talk much about writing, probably because he was too busy reaching in and hacking my arms as I tried to shoot. When I asked him how he thought computers had affected writing and writers (this was the late 1980s), he said he thought there was too much cutting and pasting going on. Lines or stanzas or paragraphs would find their way to places where they didn’t belong. He was a real writer; a literary guy; a pen and paper type. He also wrote every day, but he was too interested in the muse to ever start or stop himself on a clock or a page.
This brings me to my point.
In the Department of Counselor Education at the University of Montana, we have a brand new doctoral-level course on advanced research and professional writing. As a caveat, I should note that we make no claim to be real (aka literary) writers. But that won’t stop us from doing what real writers do and following their advice.
We will write . . . every day . . . and not just because writers write, but also because of what the great science fiction writer Ray Bradbury suggested: “Just write every day of your life. Read intensely. Then see what happens. Most of my friends who are put on that diet have very pleasant careers.”
We will see what happens. We would like to have very pleasant careers.
There are many writing genres and styles and venues. It can be confusing. There are blogs and grant proposals and professional journal manuscripts and book chapters and emails and books and magazine articles and personal journals and the letter you should be writing to your mother. There are also many places to publish and many more places for not publishing. Right now I have at least 50 unfinished and unpublished blogs and commentaries and journal article manuscripts and books on my computer. This work is sitting and waiting for renewed inspiration or focus or time. I fear that I’m violating Annie Dillard’s advice on whether to hold ourselves back or break free. She wrote: “Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now.”
Speaking of hoarding, we don’t plan to keep this writing experience all to ourselves. And this brings me to my point (again). All who read these words may participate. Here are two examples of what you can do:
You can read these blogs and provide commentary or critique. For example, shortly after posting the blog, “The Long Road to Eagle Pass Texas” my wife and co-author informed me that I had made a glaring grammatical error. If you read that post and can identify a grammatical error, please offer up your feedback. You can email me directly at email@example.com or post on this blog.
You can write a guest blog. Everyone in our real (not virtual) class will have this assignment. As long as the blog focuses on writing or the helping profession or both and you’re open to feedback, please submit. I will assign it to a doctoral student for review and if it makes it into this blog, you can count on an incisive, but perhaps grammatically-challenged introductory comment from me.
In the meantime, just read . . . intensely . . . and write . . . even if only for yourself . . . and struggle with the muse like a wrestler or dancer or whatever metaphor fits best for you here.
Last week I had the privilege of doing a Wiley Faculty Network Webinar on Teaching Suicide Assessment to graduate students in counseling and psychology. It was a first webinar experience for me and I have a few reflections and a suicide myth quiz from the webinar.
Observation #1: When doing Webinars, keep your eyes on your content (and not the “news feed” with names of friends and colleagues making interesting comments). If you watch the comments you will sound dull and slow – sort of like people sound when they’re talking to you on the phone while watching an engaging television show or surfing the internet.
Observation #2: There are lots of faculty and graduate students out there who want to do their best to help others through suicidal crises. This is very cool. I am always a little verklempt (sp) about how many kind and helpful people there are out there in the world.
Now . . . here’s the suicide quiz. Let’s see how you do. Answer the following True or False. The answers are at the bottom.
Suicide rates are typically highest in rainy and cloudy climates, like Seattle, the Northeast, and the United Kingdom.
Suicide rates are typically highest in the Winter months, especially around the holidays.
Antidepressant medications (i.e., SSRIs like prozac and celexa) can REDUCE a client’s suicidal impulses.
Antidepressant medications (i.e., SSRIs like prozac and celexa) can INCREASE a client’s suicidal impulses.
Suicide rates in the U.S. are usually higher than homicide rates.
The most common means of suicide among females is firearms.
False. In the U.S., every year the highest rates are nearly always in Montana, Alaska, Wyoming, and Nevada – and the lowest rates are in the cloudy Northeast
False: U.S. Suicide rates are nearly always highest in the Spring (April and May, in particular; Mondays have highest rates and Saturdays lowest and, surprisingly, December has the lowest rates).
True: Yes, there is evidence that antidepressant medications can REDUCE a client’s suicidal impulses.
True: Yes, there is evidence that antidepressant medications can INCREASE and even CREATE suicidal impulses. [Increased akathisia and violent thoughts]
True: U.S. Suicide rates (about 30K per year) are typically higher than U.S. homicide rates (about 20K per year).
True: Firearms constitute the most common method for completed suicides for both females and males.