underachieving here at Exeter, Scotty, but not so seriously that you
won’t be able to graduate. It would be preferable for you to graduate
from a superior school like Exeter with lesser grades than from a
lesser school with better grades. It would also look bad on your
record for you to switch horses in midstream. Besides, I’m sure your
parents would be quite upset, so why don’t you just go along and do
the best you can?”
Next I went to the crusty old dean. He let me speak for thirty
seconds. “Exeter is the best school in the world,” he
harrumphed. “Damn fool thing that you’re thinking of doing.
Now you just pull yourself up by the bootstraps, young man!”
Feeling worse and worse, I went to see Mr. Lynch. He let me talk
myself out. It took about five minutes. Then he said he didn’t yet
understand, and asked if I would just talk some more about Exeter,
about my family, about God (he actually gave me permission to talk
about God!)—about anything that came into my head. So I rambled
on for another ten minutes in all, which was pretty good for a
depressed, inarticulate fifteen-year-old. When I was done, he
inquired whether I would mind if he asked me some questions.
Thriving on this adult attention, I replied, “Of course not,” and he
queried me about many different things for the next half-hour.
Finally, after forty-five minutes in all, this supposedly cold fish
sat back in his chair with a pained expression on his face and
said, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t have any advice to give
you. You know,” he continued, “it’s impossible for one person to
ever completely put himself in another person’s shoes. But
insofar as I can put myself in your shoes—and I’m glad I’m not
there—I don’t know what I would do if I were you. So, you see,
I don’t know how to advise you. I’m sorry that I’ve been unable
to help.”
It is just possible that that man saved my life, and that I’m
able to be sitting here writing this today because of Mr Lynch.
For when I entered his office that morning over forty years ago,
I was close to suicidal, and when I left I felt as if a thousand
pounds had been taken off my back. Because if a “genius”
didn’t know what to do, then it was all right for me not to know
what to do. And if I was considering a move that seemed so
insane in the world’s terms and a genius couldn’t tell me that it
was clearly, obviously demented, well then maybe, just maybe,
it was something God was calling me to.348 NLP AT WORK