I'm not here to talk about feelings

me, the morning after a big emotional episode, scribbling down notes: oh hell yeah we've gathered so much data about our own mental health

I've been brainstorming gentler ways to ask people if they want to kill themselves.

You did your job. You didn't do it well, but that's not your fault.

How'd those ideas get inside of your dad?

As a therapist, your clients pick you up and take you with them all of the time.

Real men do XYZ. Men of God do XYZ. Then what the hell am I?

Don't blame your mother. It's more complicated than that.

We drink too much. We become too charming. We put ourselves into dangerous situations.

Dang. Getting got by the man every time.

If the conditions are right, people will continue to grow. Unfortunately the conditions aren't right.

Sometimes you can buy yourself some time with a word or two, but by the fourth word you'd better start making some sense.

Reading is fine. I much prefer buying books and putting them in my house.

New Orleans is a very catholic place. Even the rabbis are part-catholic.

They told me I wouldn't have to talk about religion and I wouldn't deal with schizophrenia-- then my first therapy client was a schizophrenic who sat down and asked if I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

If you understand it, you can undermind it.

Dude, it's just Cheerios. Buy it. Or don't.

That's the thing about evolution, it doesn't always end well.