"What do you do if you don't use any techniques?" Tom sneered.
"What I do in my sessions these days is strictly dialogue," I replied softly. "Like I said, I'm not quite sure you'd believe me if I told you."
"Why wouldn't we believe what you're doing?" Janet wanted to know. "Is it that weird?" She nudged me gently to let me know she was teasing, but I could sense she was genuinely intrigued.
"No, it's not weird, Janet, but it has nothing to do with what we were taught in grad school. Apart from that, it was someone completely outside the field that put me onto it."
"What do you mean, it was someone outside our field?" Peter asked.
I hesitated for a few seconds, then thought to myself, here goes nothing. "Well, actually," I said, "the person who put me onto this totally new approach was the old gardener who takes care of these hotel grounds."
Tom exhaled sharply. "Are you expecting us to believe that an old gardener imparted some great wisdom that brought you success in your practice? Surely you must be joking!"
"No, I'm not joking at all. I'm entirely serious. The last major conference I attended was held in this very hotel, and that's when I talked with the gardener who worked here. What I learned from him not only helped me change my own life, but aided me in my practice."
"What's the big deal about talking to a gardener?" asked Janet. "And what on earth does that have to do with helping your patients get better?"
"Before you dismiss what I'm saying, Janet, let me assure you that this man is no ordinary gardener."
Smiling condescendingly, Tom immediately cut in. "Okay, so he's a great gardener. Now what exactly did this mysterious fellow tell you that was so inspiring?"
"Okay! But I know you'll think I'm crazy," I muttered as I stopped at one of the many garden benches.
"For goodness sake, Eric, we're all friends here," Peter said with a chuckle. "Get on with it— we'll believe you."
"Maybe," Janet giggled.
I sat on the bench and studied the expressions of my three friends—Peter's features appearing open and curious, Janet's gently teasing, Tom's set almost in a scowl—and knew it was now or never. "Okay," I began. "It was just over a year ago..."
Chapter 2
My Introduction to the Gardener
I had been sitting on this very bench, feeling quite despondent about the way my life was going. Apart from that, I'd been thinking seriously about having to retire in only 15 years and the thought of it honestly scared the hell out of me. To complete my mood, everything that day had gone wrong.
Then I noticed an old gray-haired fellow planting some flowers. He stood maybe 5'7" and wore an old but respectable sports jacket with work pants muddied at the knees. He appeared to be absolutely absorbed in his work, but suddenly seemed aware of my watching him. Glancing up, the gardener asked me in a friendly, curious tone if I was one of the doctors attending the conference.
"Yes I am," I replied, though not with much enthusiasm.
"How's it going? Are you learning much?"
"A little."
"What do you talk about in your meetings?" the gardener asked.
"Oh, we share our experiences and try to help each other by discussing various new approaches and techniques. Nothing terribly exciting, I'm afraid."
"Sounds interesting," the gardener replied sincerely. "Do you enjoy helping others?"
"Very much so. That's why I became a therapist in the first place. I must admit to having started out with great expectations about someday being able to truly help people who are suffering, but now I sometimes find myself wondering if the stress it creates for me is worth it." The gardener was looking at me with a quizzical expression. "Don't get me wrong," I explained. "I've helped many clients throughout my career, and such successes were very gratifying to me. Yet there are times when I have to wonder if the entire world is going crazy."
The gardener, sensing my dejected state, immediately put his work down and sat beside me.
Extending my hand, I introduced myself.
"Eric James."
The old man wiped his hand on his pant leg, then, as he shook my hand, he said, "Andy Miller.
Call me Andy."
"Pleased to meet you, Andy. You've done a beautiful job with the hotel gardens. Did you design the grounds?"
The gardener smiled. "Lad, these grounds were designed before your grandfather was born. I just have the honor of being their temporary caretaker."
"You must get a lot of satisfaction from your work," I commented.
With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "I love every day I spend here. There's something about helping plants grow that has always appealed to me. I take it you don't get much joy from what you do?"
"At the moment, I can't say I do," I admitted.
The old gardener looked me straight in the eye and said, "Why not think about some of the successes you've had in your work?" With an infectious smile he said, "That should help you feel good. After all, there's no sense being unhappy when you can be happy, now is there?"
Then, with a wink, the gardener left. His parting words made me think of the old saying my mother had often quoted: "Just as well to be happy as sad." No sooner had I thought those words than I found myself smiling. All the heavy negative feelings I had been experiencing suddenly started to diminish.
When I look back now, I realize that it felt like someone had lifted a 10-ton load off my shoulders. I remember thinking to myself, "What a nice man. He talks with such light-heartedness and common sense."
By happy coincidence, the gardener and I bumped into each other the following day. For the longest time we discussed the various species of flowers and shrubs on the hotel grounds. I remember his saying something to the effect that we had similar jobs, explaining that as a gardener his job was to rid the garden of unwanted weeds, while as a therapist it was my job to help my clients rid their minds of unwanted thoughts that were harmful to their mental well-being.
"That certainly is a unique way of putting it, but I must admit it makes perfect sense," I chuckled.
Then the old gardener suddenly changed the course of the conversation, asking me, "What are you hoping to find at this conference?"
His penetrating question took me by surprise and it was a little while before I responded. "To be truthful, I don't really know," I answered. "I certainly would like to find more understanding that would help me in my work. To date, I think I've read almost everything written—and traveled many miles—searching for some kind of answer. As a matter of fact, a friend and I once went on a six-month trek to India and Nepal, hoping to find someone who could share some wisdom. We had some wonderful adventures and thoroughly enjoyed our vacation, apart from the fact that we both suffered intermittently with dysentery. But as for wisdom, we found very little, if any at all. I think I can honestly say that we both arrived back in the States just as ignorant as when we left."
Andy smiled and said, "I guess ignorance must be one of the most common afflictions there is. I've often suffered from it myself."
I laughed at Andy's words, then started to tell him more about my travels throughout India and Asia. I mentioned that my friend and I had met and heard many very wise teachers on our travels, but unfortunately, for some reason, none of their wisdom rubbed off on us.
The gardener cleared his throat and said, "Have you ever considered that the answers you seek are not in India or Nepal but right where you stand?"
"What do you mean, right where I stand?"
"You know, Dr. James, one of the greatest misconceptions in this world is that wisdom is found outside oneself. Didn't anyone on your Asian journey ever tell you to look within for the wisdom you sought?"