The Art of Practicing Safe Stress Series
The Stress Doc's Survival Guide

Book 1: Challenging the Erosive Spiral of Stress Safe Stress Strategies for Reversing Burnout and Depression

Preface

The Evolution of A Psychohumorist ™
A Case of Regression in the Service of an Ego

"Hey, Stress Doc, how did you become this stress and humor expert?" It's a favorite question of Internet readers. With some honest reflection and just enough self-disclosure, here are some thoughts on the psychohumorist life path. Enjoy the read and ride!

A Tender Absurdity

I can't say I was a natural born comedian. (However, a natural born neurotic...now that runs in the family.) Don't recall any particularly funny or witty family members growing up, other than a cousin by marriage who would excitedly yell "hold on to your hat" as you drove through a tunnel. (Years later, my younger brother did sell a few stand up jokes to comedian, Jimmy Walker. Could sibling rivalry have been one motivator? Does the sun rise? Do the birds sing?) However, life's absurdities were abundant, and I may have been blessed with star potential. For example, on a post-hospital recuperation/vacation for my father in Florida, when I was 1 1/2 years old, the family encountered a rich couple at our motel. The couple were not able to have children. They thought I was the most precious thing, and offered to buy me from my folks for $75,000. And this was in 1949 dollars. (Hey, to this day, my stock has never been so valuable. And to my parents' credit, they resisted selling high. So this is where their high expectations for their first son came from. Of course, we won't speculate whether there has been any parental remorse regarding their missed sales opportunity. And imagine if this baby buying scenario had unfolded today. With cloning, I'd be a done deal.)

And speaking of oddities, throughout my childhood and early teen years, there was my main competitor for family attention and my unconscious model for social deviancy, "Uncle Rusty." Rusty was wiry, pretty hyper, mischievous, a perennial child at heart and spirit. He always had sports and drinking buddies; never had much responsibility. Our redheaded "black sheep" grazed and roamed in and out of the household depending on the crises in his life. (Today, he'd probably garner a bunch of clinical diagnoses -- from ADHD to schizoid personality. Believe me, the writers of the American Psychiatric Associations Diagnostic Statistical Manual would tear up their categories trying to make sense of this impish character.)

In the household, my mother's Sunday Times Crossword Puzzle precocity reigned -- definitely a double-edged sword. I'm sure I have some of her uncommon fluency; I also have remnants of her literary laser beams. When I was up late with homework or an overdue book report, I had a mother who would zap me with a quote from the ancient Roman poet Horace: "To begin is to be half done. Dare to know -- start!" (And you wonder why I'm such an expert on stress, guilt and neurosis.)

Way Down Yonder/Out of the Creative Closet

To protect both the innocent and "not so," I will simply refer to these early times as my "Jewish Tennessee Williams Family" period and move on. (Discretion is the better part of...safeguarding my inheritance.) Actually, it's an appropriate segue to my prolonged "creative exile" in New Orleans, during the ''70s and '80s. These were my "American in Cajun Paris" years. Jazz Fest, Mardi Gras, crawfish etoufee, soft-shelled crab, oyster poboy...Yum. And those Creole women and Southern belles. New Orleans, itself, is a muse for the senses; siren, perhaps, is the better term. She invites you to explore your unconscious; the primal over the puritan, to plumb the depths of pain and passion, sensual enlightenment and laughter. I had definitely got off the Type A, New York track. The problem was my being in a serious doctoral program. Isn't reality sometimes a bummer?

I went down to Tulane University to work on a doctorate in Social Work. Got sidetracked in analysis; had a mystical-like experience, which I tried to turn into a dissertation topic. (I never claimed to be very practical.) Anyway, I'll elaborate upon my less than glorious days as a doctoral student in "The Four Stages of Burnout." For now, in hindsight, it's a good thing I did burn out because, with my ego and pride, I'd still be working on that damned dissertation. Actually, the mystical-like experience, doctoral pursuit and subsequent burnout and phoenix-like return, crystallized a life purpose: my need to pursue the unpredictably crisscrossing and rejuvenating paths of wholeness and creativity. I was determined to uncover and integrate, harness and express the wide, deep and contradictory range of beliefs, emotions and drives within me -- from sadness, rage and fears to gifts, passions and joy. (Okay, so I've tipped my APA DSM-IV diagnosis: Narcissistic Personality Disorder, with grandiose tendencies.)

With renewed vitality and focus, I started my own therapy practice and eventually became a multimedia social worker. I broke into radio and TV and became known as the "Stress Doc," wrote for a national magazine, did convention speaking and company workshops, along with part-time university teaching. (My great accomplishment as a professor was when my "Crisis Intervention and Brief Treatment" elective drew 75 graduate students, even more than the "Human Sexuality" elective. Now imagine if they had combined the courses. Preparation would have been a snap. All semester, I could have talked about my capacity for brief sexual performance and propensity for relationship crises. Just a little self-effacing humor, ladies.) I was discovering, evolving and communicating my own innovative recipe for a playfully serious gumbo.

The Birth of "Practicing Safe Stress"

Actually, the title of this series is due to my work as a stress consultant and proclivity for conceptual gumbo cooking. Here's the genesis. In the mid-80's, I received a call from an administrator of a Houston law firm. She wanted to know if I could lead a weekend stress retreat for thirty litigators, primarily male. She quickly issued a warning before I could respond. The previous year the firm had contracted with a facilitator who had a "just let it out" style of leadership. Big surprise...the retreat turned into a rout. When you're dealing with verbal swordsmen like attorneys, obviously if you let it all hang out...with the size of those legal egos, some of "it" is going to get cut off. (Ouch. I get anxiety just thinking about that!) And the administrator let me know that Executive Management had made it clear that her derriere was on the chopping block if they had another fiasco.

I tried to reassure her that I was a therapist, a conflict resolution consultant and a former Type A, originally from New York City. And now, "living in New Orleans has reformed me." I knew this uncommon mix of "Big Apple" and "Big Easy" made me ready for "Mission Impossible." She still was hesitant. At this point, let me parenthetically add, the AIDS crisis was just starting to grab hold of public consciousness. I suddenly had an inspiration. I said with conviction, "I know what you want. You want a retreat that will be so well structured and controlled, it will protect these ego-driven monsters from killing one another off. You want a workshop on 'Safe Stress!'" Well, she erupted. A guy that could make her laugh so, just couldn't be that fanatic. I knew right away I would be the man. However, she still had to confer with top management

A month or so had gone by, and no word from Ms. Administrator. I decided to call. As soon as I reintroduced myself, her bummed out tone made the results predictable. Top management decided not just to play it safe; they went for total abstinence. The topic of the weekend retreat: computers. (Of course, these days, with computers and private chat rooms, you virtually need to practice safe sex.)

Well, at least, I got a humorous story and a cool concept from the whole affair. And over a dozen years later a memorable book title. But back to the narrative.

DC or Deviancy

However, by the end of the '80s, there were "no more mountains to climb in the bayou." I had this urge to move to Washington, DC. I didn't understand it till I got here. Then I realized this psychic force was intuiting a geographical, mid-life synthesis: if New York City and New Orleans had a baby, it would look like Washington, DC. (Of course, I can't vouch for it's legitimacy.)

I arrived in DC with a visiting faculty transition position at Catholic University. I told the Dean my religious preference - Jewish Atheist...And that my biggest fear was people possibly accusing me of being redundant. When he laughed, I thought there was some hope. But academia and I just are not natural dance partners. In some ways, I'm not a traditional leader, nor a follower. I enjoy presenting my solo act or, perhaps, playing the role of "intimate outsider." Anyway, I began hustling to build a speaking, training and consulting business, with a little therapy on the side.

And as usual, it was the unexpected deviations, if not deviancy, in the path that made the difference. For example, writing lyrics for a PR lady promoting a black beauty contest helped give birth, in the early '90s, to my pioneering work in the field of psychologically humorous rap music, "Shrink Rap" (TM) Productions.

Joining an artists' support group helped me overcome some silly inhibition about rapping and making a fool of myself. (A totally groundless fear, of course. As a black lawyer friend said: "So, you're into aristocratic rap.") The group also gave me a forum for rehearsing. Eventually, I added a Blues Brothers hat, black sunglasses and a black tambourine. It was scary. I was really starting to enjoy this wackiness. After twenty years, off and on, trying all kinds of therapy, I had finally reached that state of narcissistic nirvana: absolutely no appropriate sense of shame!

And how can I leave out that other mind bending, DC experience: a three year stint as a stress and violence prevention consultant for the US Postal Service. Clearly, with my absurdist tendencies and "on the edge" pursuits, self-effacing humor becomes a survival mechanism.

>From Technophobia to Cybermania

But now for the mind blowing development. In a little over three years, I've gone from computer virgin to self-proclaimed "Virtual Dear Abby of AOL." Actually, hanging out with those artists shamed me into action. They were embracing computer graphics and I was still in a symbiotic relationship with a 15 year old -- my electric Smith Corona. (Hey, once a woman said my typewritten response to her offline personal ad was a refreshing change.)

Then I joined a social network for self-employed business folks called, "Home Alone." And now felt humiliated not having a website. So I approached a colleague at Howard University, School of Continuing Education, who was a web maven. I said, "John, you have all this arcane web knowledge, I have all this psychobabble...It's a perfect marriage: 'The Web Doc' and 'The Stress Doc.'" And within a year, 630 revisions later, along with the assist of a marketing consultant, www.stressdoc.com was featured as a USA Today Online "Hot Site." Go figure.

Not surprisingly, I've allowed all this virtual recognition to go to my head. Besides being AOL's "Online Psychohumorist" and running a weekly online group for AOL/Digital City, "Shrink Rap and Group Chat," there's my informal cyber syndication and Multimedia Coaching for Consultants Program. Of course, in a humble moment, let me not forget the support of the Jokemeistr, publisher of the classic cybernewsletter, Humor From the Edge, KellyB, site manager for AOL's Online Psych and Carolyn Hersman, Editor, Financial Services Journal Online for giving me license to practice enlightened and lighthearted lunacy.

Another good thing about this venture into virtual reality: I'm no longer defensive about not having a life. My latest mantra: "Go web young cyberite."

So this is some of my story...how I've evolved or, perhaps, regressed from a psychotherapist to a psychohumorist. (I'll let you decide whether the emphasis should lie on the first or second half of the new job title.) My final words of wisdom: Seek the higher power of humor: May the Farce Be with You!

And, of course...Practice Safe Stress!

Mark Gorkin, LICSW, known as "The Stress Doc," is the Internet's and America Online's "Online Psychohumorist" (TM). An experienced psychotherapist, The Doc is a nationally recognized speaker, and training and OD consultant specializing in Stress, Anger Management, Reorganizational Change, Team Building and HUMOR! His writings are syndicated by iSyndicate.com and appear in a wide variety of online and offline forums and publications, including AOL's Online Psych and Business Know How, Mental Health Net, Financial Services Journal Online, Paradigm Magazine and Counseling Today. Check out his USA Today Online "Hotsite" Website -- www.stressdoc.com . For info on his workshops or for his free newsletter, email stressdoc@aol.com or call 202 -232-8662. Spring 2000, look for The Art of Practicing Safe Stress: The Stress Doc's Survival Guide, published by AdviceZone.com.