Scott D. Reeder, Ph.D.

I have two daughters whom I love dearly. They are both married and out there doing their own thing—thank God. Their mother and my wife have been married for 31 years (if you knew me from back in the day, I know you’re a wee bit surprised). Even more surprising would be me trying to convince her that I’ve tried “acting” my age (acting being the operative word). I’ve tried to appreciate more sophisticated music, food, and events. I’ve found some comfort in knowing that my attempts were genuine and my responses were equally genuine; I don’t like any of it because it all feels so Orwellian and boring.  

While most people I meet who have made it to and past 30 seem OK, I cannot explain the point, reason, or need to change the person they were to become who they are now. I cannot understand how a person goes from Black Flag to soft and chill jazz music. I marvel at others' ability to engage in selective amnesia effortlessly; most have forgotten life as a 10-year-old. Adults create weird social rules and expectations that, to me, are designed to strip us of any sense of adventure or individuality. The etymology of the word “professional” is to say, swear allegiance to, teach, and lay claim to knowledge that other people do not possess. Please notice that the word “reason” is not used because it would prevent people from using it.

There exists a vast room of nothing (think of deep space) that empirically validates the behavioral retinue of adults. My clothes have no relationship to my excellence as a counselor, psychologist, professor, researcher, or rational thought that precedes rational behavior. My reticence to adhere to policies and procedures found in places adults work is solely based on objective analysis; the lack of any coherent reason to justify or support a policy means that it should not exist and cannot be followed by people with the good fortune of not having a severe and persistent mental illness.

If I’m not doing research or counseling, you’ll find me at the beach, either surfing or fishing. You may also find me at a tennis court or road cycling in shorts and a T-shirt and not in some compression suit as if Starbucks sponsored me to ride my bike around the island. You may also see me at punk shows. I’m the old guy who won’t go near the pit anymore and looks a little demented as he smiles and sings along with the band. 

I don’t have any prestigious awards or appointments, although my students enjoy my teaching style and learn enough to satisfy us both. The same goes for clinical work (counseling); despite my irreverent perspective about facilitating someone moving closer to the person they want to be, they keep coming back. Sometimes, I wish I could impress you with how big of a deal I am in psychology and counseling. And then I remember that you don’t (and shouldn’t) care.