I made the mistake (or, perhaps, the happy coincidence) of not writing down much right after my sessions, so this entry will be more of a general recollection of them, and will contain fewer quotes as a result.
In any case, what we ended up talking about was the work: the work one must do to be an analyst, or to be anything, really. I remember Tom saying this to me: “Being an analyst isn’t a technique (although it certainly involves techniques) but it’s a mode of being, examining,” and I think he’s right about that. I have this long-standing fantasy of being someone who can just “rise through the ranks” without doing anything to do so. When I picked up guitar as a kid, I didn’t (always) want to do the work required to be a rock star — I wanted to already be one. And when that was snatched away from the table, I dropped it (for a while, anyway). This same fantasy is present for me now: I want to be a renowned analyst without doing anyof the things required to make that happen.
Of course, I do the things required of me (insofar as there are “requirements”), and I even enjoy them. I love reading psychoanalytic texts, talking about them with other people, undergoing supervision, coming to analysis, all of it. But underneath my pleasure in these activities lies a fantasy that I’ll just emerge on the other side unscathed, so to speak.
Tom reminded me of something poignant, here: Jacques Lacan, probably one of the most (in)famous analysts of the 20th century, didn’t begin his seminars until he was in his fifties. Prior to that he had done all of his school work, resided at a hospital, turned to psychoanalysis, and begun practicing analysis. He put in most of a lifetime of work before he really became “Lacan.” The point was clear: I can’t just put up a shingle and expect people to knock down my door looking for analysis. Lacan couldn’t do it when psychoanalysis was more prevalent, and I certainly can’t do it now. Who am I to think I can?