The Psychoanalyst's Apprentice

When I embarked on my first assignment teaching English in college, I was handed 16 texts and a roll book, and told to return the roll book with grades at the end of the semester. That was the whole of my teaching instruction. I left, staggering under the load, both physically and emotionally. After years of trial and error, I became a competent teacher—or so my student evaluations told me. Never did I have any advice, instruction, or supervision from my senior colleagues.

Five years ago, when I entered the fledgling nonclinical psychoanalytic program at ICP, Los Angeles, prompted by an interest in incorporating psychoanalytic ideas into my literary criticism, I had no intention of becoming a clinician. Shortly thereafter, I learned, to my chagrin, that I would have to take the same courses as clinical candidates, including a first-year Case Conference course. I had no interest, I thought, in hearing the particulars of clinical work; nor did I feel that, as an academic with no clinical experience, I had anything to contribute. Once in class, however, I was enthralled, as analytic candidates, each in turn, presented a

case to which a team of supervising analysts responded, followed by further comments from class members. I found myself fascinated with the material and with the challenges of clinical work. Even more, I was amazed at a professional field that is predicated on consultation and collaboration; which proceeds from the understanding that, in dealing with human problems, two (or more) heads are better than one.

Indeed, it was this consultative process at the core of the psychoanalytic profession that lured me from classroom to consulting room, from academic discourse to psychoanalytic practice. The knowledge that I could always consult with colleagues—especially with colleagues more seasoned than I—gave me the courage to move from the safely distanced intellectual discussion between professor and students to the affectively cha