Saturday, January 29, 2011
More or Less
I weaseled my way down to the Elysian fields of part-time as soon as I got my certification and haven't looked back. Part-time is rockin.' I have the space to grow and actually enjoy my music career, and I don't feel like throttling small children and/or stabbing myself repeatedly in the ear at the end of every week. I like my life better, which has the slightly perverse effect of making me me a better therapist.
I've been reflecting on this because I've been thinking about dosage. Morphine in small doses brings relief from pain; a large dose can kill you. One glass of wine protects your heart; three glasses poison it. A mystery novel is exciting; a murder is terrifying. Stroll vs. schlep. Treat vs. binge. One evening with the person you love vs. welding yourselves to the couch and watching 8 hours a day of reality TV programming.
A little is good; a lot is not. Only, in America, we seldom admit it. More ice cream. More headroom. More therapy. More!
I wonder if it's because more is easy. "More" is one of the first words I teach the very small and the very delayed. There's a sign to go with it, the gathered fingertips of each hand reaching out to kiss one another. And "more" is functional: kids are so easily motivated to ask for more. More bubbles! More crackers! Moremoremoremoremore!
If there's a sign for less, I don't know it.