Ray. 30’s. OUTLIER!
Ray was referred to me by my long-time associate, Officer Minkrit.
Minkrit called early yesterday to discuss a case for which he requires my particular expertise.
A woman named Caylee has gone missing.
Caylee is not presumed kidnapped or dead.
In fact, Caylee has vanished like this several times before, though this is her first disappearance in close to a decade.
Minkrit asked if I would meet with Ray because Ray and Caylee once took off together, 17 years ago.
Ray’s recent whereabouts are all accounted for; he is not a suspect (the case is not a crime).
My task is simply to uncover any useful information about Caylee’s whereabouts or reasons for leaving.
Ray cannot know why we are meeting.
According to Minkrit, Ray underwent some sort of breakdown late last week at work, even threatening his boss, so he was told our sessions together would be to discuss the incident.
It seems Ray took the bait; our first session just ended five minutes ago.
As always in these new notes, I will begin with more general impressions before combing through the recorded transcript to measure my predictions in detail.
I must say, I greatly enjoyed meeting with Ray today.
Most in my position would likely be irked by his constant second-guessing and sporadic bouts of stutters.
Yet unlike traditional therapists who push solely to pin labels, my Method allows me to step back and appreciate a particular anxiety apparently sparked by pressure to commit to one’s own words—words Ray seems terrified will be identified as representing his true thoughts (and self).
I hold that conventional methods could serve only to exacerbate such a fear, shutting down real communication at the outset.
No, it was not particularly easy to pry information from Ray today, at least not at first.
Yet here we come to a second cause for my enjoyment: I was already looking ahead to these notes and what valuable insight I should surely have to offer on drawing out quieter clients.
A third source of professional whimsy was how Ray’s words, whenever he did manage to string more than a few together, were such a refreshingly wide berth from the safe and templated responses I hear from all my Normals.
Normals seek the simplicity and certainty of the narrowest possible paradigms to set their lives to and forget.
Sure, a Normal might be forced to ask, “What if?” at times (only once their natural models show signs of nearly crumbling); yet such uncharacteristic ponderings are but single spikes destined to dull and fade out fast into the next overwhelming wash of whatever is most generally understood to be the way things ought to be.
I am no sociologist, though I would venture to guess a largely unquestioning majority could make for more stable, ordered populations.
Outliers cannot help but operate from an almost continuous, compounding, “What if?”
And I already see in Ray quite an odd balance of unlikely forces—an unprecedented balance, really—unlike anyone I have ever met.
How is Ray unusual even for an Outlier?
Outliers tend not to care (or be much aware of) how they come across.
Yet Ray seems petrified by just how strange his words might reveal him to be.
Today I witnessed at least two vastly divergent motivations crashing together and repelling beneath each careful, choppy utterance.
I will undoubtedly have my work cut out in digging deep enough for my Method to identify and reveal the true nature of those motivations (to Ray).
Yet that revelation, I am already sure, will be what brings him to his Sticking or Breaking Point.
Yes, I feel excited for the challenge, and for what treasures I shall have to impart here to you as my Method draws Ray’s uncertain polychotomy to the surface like pumping water from a well—somewhat automatically.
Next time, I plan to delve fully into his workplace breakdown; I suspect far more than a simple case of office politics, or whatever might cause someone to lose their temper at work . . . money-stress, perhaps?
Yet, again, I am getting ahead of myself.
I must endeavor to keep these new notes more linear and sequential, unlike my previous disconnected attempts.
Truly, I apologize.
So, Ray was my first appointment today after lunch.
I remember feeling surprised to check my schedule and see so full an afternoon.
He arrived early, giving me the opportunity to observe him for a few minutes on camera out in the waiting room.
I would describe my first impression of his appearance as being the opposite of anything formidable or charismatic: droopy posture; tacky clothes with no real style; his face, sullen and unremarkable.
Yet I became almost suspicious at how perfectly still he sat, not busying himself in the least with any of my planted magazines or pamphlets.
Nor did he look around the room at all or pull out his iun.
He just sat there, waiting.
First-time clients tend to be quite nervous and jittery; they usually do all they can to distract themselves in the moments before we meet.
Most expect our sessions to be the Freudian undertakings of TV and movie therapy—they picture themselves reclining on a couch as I deftly extract their deepest secrets.
Many new clients fear having nothing worthwhile to say, or saying the wrong things and being misanalysed.
I called Ray in on the intercom, still watching as he stood and stepped into my office in one fluid motion like liquid through a release valve.
Once seated across from me, his demeanor changed entirely.
Though his body remained placid, his eyes began to dart everywhere like crazy bats flittering haphazard through a cave.
I began with my usual round of general, ice-breaking questions—name, age, and brief reason for visit.
Ray fought for what many would have found agonizing minutes to force his first words out.
He mentioned having worked at a church until last Friday.
Minkrit had not told me where Ray had worked.
Ray’s ties to religion—his breakdown having occurred at a church—piqued my interest, adding colorful dimensions to the clear picture already forming in my mind.
Again, though, I had a specific aim for our session today, which I would not deviate from.
I had to find the best and fastest route to broach his experience with Caylee.
ME:
“How was your childhood?”
RAY:
“I guess I was pretty . . . angry . . . as a kid.”
ME:
“Tell me about a time you got mad.”
He stumbled through a long, overly complicated story of how he and a friend had once been roughhousing with an older male babysitter when, due to a sudden rage impulse, Ray kicked the babysitter hard in the groin several times.
Upon crumpling to the carpet, the older male had begun screaming threats to take Ray’s life.
Ray recounted having dropped to the floor then as well, sobbing and trembling in fear.
Yet here is where his story gets interesting, and where Ray reveals himself to be a true Outlier.
For as soon as the babysitter had left the room (presumably to confirm he had not just received a free vasectomy) Ray leapt to his feet and boasted to his friend something along the lines of: “I’m a true ninja, see? My greatest skill is my ability to make an opponent think I’m weak. I could have destroyed [babysitter] just now if I’d wanted to.”
I would have appreciated more time to work a smoother transition.
Yet Ray seemed to be opening up enough for my priority to take precedence.
ME:
“So, were you angry when you left with the girl when you were 15?”
RAY:
“How did you know?”
ME:
“I never heard the full story, just that you and someone might have disappeared from high school for a few days?
“Maybe it caused some worry?”
Notice the way I purposefully left my phrasing so unsure.
My aim was to immediately establish a secure distance between Ray’s actual history and any assumptions on his part about my opinion.
I wanted the raw account, unaffected by fear of judgment.
Most of all, I wanted Ray to feel safe.
As he began to share, I was careful to look for any programmed defenses or signs of deflection.
I don't know anything 