Motley crew

We just sit on our wobbly seats and stare at her. Nervous, expectant, helpless. Like we depend on her. As if the meaning of our existence rests in her graceful hands. The woman stands in the middle of the room and speaks to us. She is beaning with joy, she expresses her opinions with conviction, she looks at us all intently.

“What I ask of you is actually very simple,” explains the Savior. “Think very carefully. Be honest with yourself. And then ask the question: who would I like to be deep down? And then assume for the sake of convenience that there are no obstacles. No such hurdles in the form of natural laws, money, or social constructions.”

The lady smiles like a Messiah who has just turned water into wine. The difference is that I just take a sip of a cup of coffee she has handed over to me. The woman may be convincing, she may sound smart and erudite, but there are still improvements to be made in her capacity to make good coffee. And cookies. Why didn't we get any cake, chocolate, or something else with it?

Seven people are in the room, besides the shrink and me. The walls of the rectangular place were painted light purple. Reproductions of Monet, Renoir and Van Gogh hang next to a couple of oak bookcases. Overall, the interior makes a messy impression. Has this been chosen on purpose? No clarity, no tight design? Because life is not concrete either, isn't it clear at all?

I had no intention of going to this meeting at all. For tonight I planned to play a new Video game with a good friend of mine. The bags of chips were on the table, the cans of beer in the refrigerator. I was really looking forward to it to spend the evening with one of my best mates. And yet here I am. Among all those nervous fellow human beings. Listening to a Welfare Worker urging us to be become someone else. Because it will make us happier? Because she believes it will change us into better persons who will lead a more meaningful and wholesome life?

It was my neighbor across the street who urged me to cancel my friend's call and go to the meeting with her. My neighbor is going through a rough time. Her husband left her six months ago with a YouTube influencer's wife. To make matters worse, her youngest son turns out to have become addicted to laughing gas. And it appears that I'm the only one she always can talk to.

The Social Worker is a world-famous psychologist. And she is very selective in inviting people to her sessions. With this she hopes to prevent that too much publicity is given to her methods, to her miraculous way of working. That is the reason my neighbor wanted to be present at all costs. Who would like to miss such a life-changing event, she explained to me in tears this afternoon.

My dormant skepticism is shattered by what is suddenly happening around me. It is actually my acquaintance who shows the first signs of transformation. Where she was a young but somewhat boring bank employee at the beginning of the get-together, now she is starting to look an awful lot like Beyoncé. She shrieks when she all of a sudden is realizing what is happening to her.

And she's not the only one. A true carnival of changes is taking place around me. Within no time I find myself in the company of Superman, Elon Musk, Madam Curie, Oprah Winfrey, Dalai Lama and Bruce Springsteen. They look at each other. They are screaming, crying, singing, jumping, dancing and laughing.

Then the Healer's steely gaze meets my puzzled silly look. She seems stern, disappointed. I can understand that. I look like a gangly teenager. Tousled hair, pimples, T-shirt from the band Motley Crue. To be honest, I was severely distracted when we started the assignment. I could not help thinking about the new video game. And the full bags of chips on the dining table.

For better or worse, I bid farewell to the foolish club. I dodge the Redeemers’ gaze this time. A cold hand serves as a casual goodbye. Once outside I call my friend. Fortunately, he is still available this evening. And he assures me. There is still plenty of time to play.