Recently, I kept forgetting a neighbor’s first name. I’ll call him Jack. Jack was someone I’d seen dozens of times; so it made no sense. I’m neither brain-damaged nor on the verge of Alzheimer’s.
One morning, while mulling over a cup of coffee at my favorite Starbucks, I started thinking about an old friend. Because of time and distance we drifted apart. It struck me how hurt and angry I felt that he hadn’t made more of an effort to stay close. On the other hand, neither had I.
That afternoon, I called him and we arranged a long overdue visit. When we finally got together, after a few awkward moments, it didn’t take long to remember how special the relation was to both of us. It felt like we’d never been apart. You guessed it, his name was Jack.
I don’t forget my neighbor’s name anymore.
Please share any disguised messages that your unconscious has sent you.
Don’t forget to subscribe to Inside the Mind of a Psychiatrist.
Inside The Mind of a Psychiatrist 