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The title of this essay derives from a very old folktale about “The Three Princes of Serendip” (ancient Ceylon), who set forth to save their father's kingdom from the menace of dragons. On their journey, each found treasures which he had neither sought nor anticipated. From this tale Horace Walpole (1717-1797) coined the word serendipity.
How does the analytic work shape the analyst? Let me begin as we all begin: “What comes to mind …?”
For me, analytic work is at once my liberal education, my magic carpet, and my version of time travel. It can indeed be tedious and frustrating, but it can also be exceedingly colorful. I become an intimate participant in lives very different from mine, in place of origin, cultural priorities and expectations, and styles of perception and of coping. I have trouble reading novels anymore unless they are essentially autobiographical or exquisitely written; they don't hold a candle to the vividness and authenticity of what I hear in my office.
The couch itself is my time machine. One of my patients once aptly described herself as a station wagon, with all her past selves rattling around in the back, and she, as driver, having both to steer and to keep order. Sometimes past selves emerge on my couch in all but palpable form, perhaps not exactly as they once were, but certainly not as any adult could ever consciously recreate them. Patients' voices, gestures, and entire demeanors change; one can