It was a dark and stormy night. (Hey, I’ve always wanted to use this best of the worst lines available in writing. Although, it will probably be knocked off during the revision process, do you mind if we keep going with it for now? Thanks.)

It was a dark and stormy night. My anxiety about meeting my therapist for the first time wasn’t being helped by the raunchy weather. The wind whipped through the naked trees, howling like wild dogs on a hunt. The last dead leaves that had succumbed to the winter harshness blew chaotically in the parking lot – sounding like mice scurrying for shelter.

I had arrived at my destination – a building set back from street built hacienda style with its signature red tiles on roof, terracotta window trims, ochre walls. You’d think that the aesthetics of Spanish/Mexican architecture with its soft warm colors would evoke a welcoming vibe. Instead, it created an uneasy feeling like I must have made a mistake somewhere along the way.

I have to say it was quite weird – there was a neon light in the window that shouted ‘OPEN’ by flickering between blue and red color. I was confused. Had I arrived at a Mexican restaurant or did therapists invite people off the street for drop in sessions? My nervousness dug deeper into my innards.

Well, I couldn’t delay my entry much longer. It was time to leave the warmth and safety of my car and the comfort of listening to oldies tunes blaring from the radio. I turned off the key and the silence was startling – although there really wasn’t silence. How could there be silence during a storm? It’s just that the loud music somewhat helped me avoid my unpleasant feelings. And now, all I felt was storm- inside and out.

Opening the car door, I was slammed with a cold dose of winter. With the wind and rain causing havoc with my hair, my balance on slippery pavement being of paramount focus, I clumsily made my way across the lot. Approaching the entrance, I took a deep breath. It was time.

That’s right -it was time, that’s true.  But you’ve probably already surmised that the above account is completely fiction – not true. No hacienda, no neon light, no wintry night. At least it’s not an accurate description, by any small stretch of the imagination, of the exterior scene. But the feelings I did experience might have matched up with the feelings that a person might undergo if they had begun the adventure on a dark and stormy night.

More to come…