Chapter 47: Yaron

I picked up Vee the next day and drove to the place I had rented for my new practice. She was carrying several bags from clothing stores and seemed incredibly excited about them. When I asked her what she had bought, she just smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

I opened the door to my office, and Vee walked in. She looked around and twisted her mouth in disgust.

“This room isn’t you, Yaron,” she said.

“Do you think you know who I am now?” I retorted.

Vee gave me a look that could have meant either “you’re an idiot” or “I know you.”

“Try these clothes,” she said in a commanding tone, and handed me some of the bags.

A few minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom wearing a batik t-shirt, cream-colored cutoff shorts, and sandals.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Your new professional look,” she replied.

I stared at my reflection and laughed, feeling like I had stumbled into a beachside art fair, instead of preparing for a therapy session. “This is a joke, right? I can’t wear something like this.”

“Why not? Who is the fashion guru here?” Vee raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as if daring me to challenge her. “Your ponytail, and the fact that you’re meditating and doing Tai-chi inspired me.”

“It’s not professional. My patients will think I’m a joke. No one takes a therapist seriously when he looks like ... this.” I gestured to the ensemble, the bright colors almost mocking me.

Vee rolled her eyes. “You know what every person who comes to see a shrink expects? Some Freud-looking guy—old, stiff, wearing a suit, maybe with a beard—serious, formal, distant. They expect to feel analyzed before they even sit down. I know what I’m talking about, I’ve talked with some shrinks in Los Angeles.”

“Exactly! That’s the image people trust. It gives them confidence,” I argued, trying to make her understand.

She shook her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “No, Yaron. That image puts them on the defensive. They walk in thinking, ‘This guy is going to pick me apart, and I’m going to have to put on my best mask.’ That’s the last thing you want.”

I hesitated. “So what? I look like a—like a—”

“Like a hippie? Or a guru?” she finished for me, her grin widening. “Exactly. Your look will surprise them. When they see you, they won’t feel the need to perform. They’ll mentally laugh at you. They’ll relax because they think they’ve got you figured out. It disarms them.”

“And then,” she continued, eyes gleaming, “just when they think you’re some clueless guy who might ask them to meditate with crystals or do a drum circle, BAM! You hit them with your brilliance and expertise. They’ll be floored.”

I stared at her, processing. As much as I hated to admit it, she was making sense. I pictured my patients—people coming in, expecting the same old thing, only to be met by ... well, me, in all my batik glory. The initial disbelief, the inevitable lowering of their guard, and then—surprise!

The more Vee talked, the more I liked the idea. It was bold. Unconventional.

I sighed, turning to the mirror again. “Okay, but do I really have to wear sandals?”

Vee grinned mischievously. “Oh, definitely. They complete the look. Trust me, this is going to work. Don’t worry, I also picked some winter outfits, too.”

I glanced at my reflection one more time, adjusting the collar of my batik shirt. Maybe looking like a weird, guru-hippie psychologist was exactly what I needed to shake things up. I would definitely stand out from the crowd.

“Of course, my office needs to match my look. I’m thinking about painting a mural on each wall celebrating the four elements,” I went on, the idea flowing out of me before I even realized it. Vee’s eyes lit up, her grin spreading wider.

“Now you’re talking!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. “We could have fire on one wall, with bright reds and oranges—something that feels intense but also alive. And water, maybe something calm, blues and greens, almost like a beach at sunset.”

I nodded, starting to see it in my mind. “And for earth, I’m thinking deep browns and greens, like a forest floor. Something grounding. Air could be abstract, maybe wisps of white and gray that almost seem to float on the wall.

“Your office will feel like a journey. People will walk in and immediately feel like they’re stepping into something different—something more natural, less clinical.”

I couldn’t help but smile. The more I let myself entertain the idea, the more it appealed to me. “And instead of a desk, maybe I could sit on one of those giant meditation cushions. You know, just to really throw them off.”

“Exactly!” Vee laughed. “And you can get rid of those stiff leather chairs. Maybe go for something like wicker, with colorful cushions. Or even a few bean bags. Comfort is key.”

I chuckled, imagining my current patients walking into this totally revamped space. Some of them would probably love it—find it freeing. Others might think I’d lost my mind. But there was something liberating about that, too.