One of the pleasant memories of my childhood was, strangely enough, seeing a therapist. The psychology department at the university where I grew up offered counseling to the community as a way for their grad students to get practice. It was free, or almost free. There was supposed to be a sliding scale, but they made if free after, from what I remember, there was suspicion that the clinic receptionist was embezzling money.
I remember it was considered cool to see a therapist among certain groups during my schooling days; a part of rebellion against stogy conservatism during the Vietnam War. It was cool among some students to think deeply, see a therapist, be creative. Other groups would kind of laugh at this idea.
At first I resisted as I was attempting the macho, stiff upper lip style. I thought of therapy as some silly new fad. For a while I might have been trying to fit in with the more macho set.
Due to my own anxiety problems that short lived attempt at stoicism fell through and I went to the therapist. I found it was quite enjoyable. A time to know that I could share what was going on in my head. It was a pleasant time. I looked forward to the day of the appointment each week.
Since then, I haven't been to much therapy, but sometimes find friends, or even expressing myself on Facebook, to be therapeutic. I think the university, here in Bellingham, has a similar counseling program to the one I grew up with, but somehow, I feel a bit odd going these days now that I am much older than the grad students. It could still be useful, but it's a bit different now that I'm older than the students I thought of as mentors back then.