On Catching and Being Caught

I'm not putting the photo for this post at the top of the page, because I have some explaining to do first. Remember yearbooks? I'm not sure if schools even do yearbooks anymore in this digital age, but “at the turn of the century” as teenagers today describe life circa 2004, school yearbooks gave graduating seniors an extra large color photo in the front of the book and the distinct honor, responsibility really, of choosing a senior quote to live under it forever. The quote selection was rife with words of wisdom. "You'll have to speak up. I'm wearing a towel. By Homer J. Simpson." "Some say the glass is half empty, some say it is half full. I say, are you going to drink that?" "U r only young once, but u can b immature 4ever." These gems are as you might expect of a group of people with not a fully-developed prefrontal cortex among us.

My own message to the graduating class was less of the Homer Simpson persuasion and more of the existential ruminating type. I was trying to make sense of the world and I was also hurting in a lot of ways with no idea how to admit it or who to admit it to. I latched on to ideas that seemed to add meaning to the overwhelm and well.. I guess not everything changes as we get older.

Alright, you ready to see this?

There I am, 17 years old. Brief moment of silence for all that collagen. Family name removed because we all know the internet is a wild place. The most important thing I had to say, the senior quote that will live in yearbook infamy, now equal parts hilarious and heartfelt and on-brand, was some line about catchers and rye fields and there was even random Latin and it's a wonder to this day that all of my friends put up with me.

If you slept through 11th grade English, I'll give you a brief plot summary of what is still my favorite book, The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger. The main character Holden Caulfield is a teenager who tells his story from a mental hospital after losing his younger brother to leukemia, being expelled from boarding school, spending a few days spiraling in New York City to delay telling his parents, deciding to run away, and eventually descending into a breakdown. It's a coming-of-age tale gone wrong. Or maybe a coming-of-age tale gone honest.

What my own teenage self liked about the book is that Holden spends most of it railing against (and swearing about) the "phoniness" of the adult world. I knew then and I know now that he is absolutely right. There is a lot of "phoniness" in the adult world, although most of it is actually just well-intentioned effort at belonging to each other. Holden values authenticity and is bewildered by the repeat gut-punch of adults whose words and actions don't align. I can't say I blame the kid.

When Holden tells his sister Phoebe about how terrible everything has been, she tells him that he doesn't seem to like anything anywhere. She asks him what he plans to do with his life, expecting an answer like "scientist" or lawyer" but instead Holden vulnerably replies with a dream that is much more symbolic. He pictures a rye field at the top of a cliff, with children playing and laughing, blissfully unaware of the danger that represents impending adulthood. He imagines himself standing at the edge, catching any children who run too close before they fall.

He says, "I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff—I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."

The beauty of that line means as much to me today as it did to my 17 year old self. Maybe more. No other words have had a bigger impact on my life. Holden hasn't even made it to graduation and he has already been beaten up literally and figuratively by life. He sees the world for what it is, he sees the phoniness, he sees the pain behind him and the pain ahead of him and even though he is consumed by grief, he is softened by trauma, and his biggest dream is simply to catch others. To prevent their pain and protect their innocence. It's the only way he can imagine a life with meaning. It's the only way he can imagine a life at all.

Reading that story over 20 years ago, I knew that my own calling in life was to be a catcher. I don't know how or why I knew, but I was sure enough to bank on it in the senior yearbook and I'm just as sure of it today. Although, my understanding of what that means, how exactly one goes about catching, has aged much differently than I expected.

I used to think that all of the meaning in this whole analogy, or at least all of the dignity, lied in the open arms of the ones ready to catch. I imagined it possible to stand on the edge of that crazy cliff indefinitely, sacrificing your own turn to run around in the field for what was surely the more noble role of being on duty. I thought helping professionals were people who had this whole life thing a little more figured out, although don't ask me how, and if we didn't, we ought to at least pretend we do.

Back then I didn't know how to let myself be caught and I probably couldn't have admitted that I would ever have to be. I thought the simple act of needing to be caught precluded one from doing any of the catching, and that was a trade that I wasn't willing to make. Not with a sense of calling as strong as I felt.

That doesn't work for me anymore. The older I get, the more I realize that there is at least as much dignity in choosing to run through the field, maybe more. Sure there is danger that you might fall, you'll have to trust the catchers in your own life to stand guard, to take you by the shoulders and turn you around and see you back into the rye. When you find those people, the ones who are watching closely, it's not because they have life any more figured out, but it's because they have you figured out, and you won't be falling on their watch even if they have to tackle you at the very precipice.

Now I feel that what really helps people is admitting none of us have this whole life thing figured out at all, the most professional thing I can do is to say so and make sure no one feels alone in the overwhelm. Yes, of course it helps being willing to wait with our arms open for each other when it's our turn to catch. Yes, of course it helps to know and share tools that help us catch ourselves sometimes. But it also helps being willing to run too, to model by example that the only way to learn where the edges are in the first place is to get out there and explore the field.

The thing about living your whole life at the edge of the crazy cliff, turned inward toward the rye and waiting at attention, is that it will cost you ever getting to see the view. It will cost you the woosh of the grass and the sun on your face and the air in your lungs and the scent of the rye and the feeling of being alive that only comes when we are moving through life, not just standing still.

Really the only way to learn to catch is by being caught.

Anyway, that's the story of how my younger self managed to have everything and nothing figured out at exactly the same time.

At least I didn't pick Holden’s other famous quote, "Sleep tight, ya morons!"

Artwork posted with permission from the artist. The talented Dave White can be found at: https://davewhiteartist.com/