I wanted to get my life together. I read an article that said successful people have life coaches. I am not a successful person, but I figured maybe causation works backward and if I got a life coach, success would follow. This was my first mistake. I have made many mistakes. This article is about the mistakes.
His name was Bradley. He had a website with testimonials from people who had "transformed their lives" and "achieved their dreams." He charged $300 per session. He wore blazers with no tie and spoke exclusively in motivational poster language. I trusted him with my future. He lasted eleven days.
Session One: The Assessment
Bradley asked me to describe my goals. I told him I wanted to "have my life together." He asked me to be more specific. I said I wanted to wake up before noon on weekdays, stop eating cereal for dinner, and feel like a functioning adult for more than forty-five consecutive minutes.
He wrote this down. He nodded. He said, "We can work with this."
He asked about my current routine. I told him I wake up when my body decides to wake up, which is usually around 11 AM, then I scroll through my phone for an hour, then I feel guilty about scrolling, then I eat, then I stare at my to-do list without doing anything on it, then I watch YouTube videos about productivity, then I feel guilty about watching videos instead of being productive, then I eat again, and then suddenly it's 2 AM and I wonder where my life went.
Bradley stopped writing. He looked at me. He looked at his notes. He looked at me again. "Okay," he said, slowly. "We have some work to do."
Session Two: The Intervention
Bradley came prepared. He had a binder. The binder was color-coded. He had charts. He had a "Success Pyramid" diagram that he said had helped "hundreds of clients." He was optimistic. Poor, sweet, naive Bradley.
He asked me to walk him through my finances. I showed him my bank account. He asked if this was my savings account. I said no, this was my only account. He asked where my savings were. I laughed. He did not laugh. The silence lasted too long.
He asked about my five-year plan. I told him my five-year plan was to have a five-year plan. He asked about my one-year plan. I told him my one-year plan was to survive the year. He asked about my one-month plan. I told him my one-month plan was to remember to buy more cereal because I was running low.
"Do you see how you might be... setting your sights a bit low?" he asked, carefully, like he was defusing a bomb made of excuses and poor decisions.
"I'm a realist," I said.
"You're eating Frosted Flakes for dinner," he said.
"Tony the Tiger believes in me," I said.
Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed the binder. He said we would revisit the Success Pyramid next session.
Session Three: The Breaking Point
Bradley arrived looking tired. I later learned this was because he had spent the previous night researching "clients who resist all intervention" and "when to refer to mental health professionals."
He asked if I had completed my homework, which was to create a daily schedule and stick to it for one week. I had created the schedule. I had not stuck to it. I had, in fact, lost the schedule within twenty-four hours. I found it later, under a pizza box, with a coffee ring on it that I don't remember making.
"Tell me about your week," he said, with the resignation of a man who already knew.
I told him. On Monday, I woke up at 2 PM because I had stayed up until 5 AM reading Wikipedia articles about extinct animals. On Tuesday, I decided to reorganize my entire apartment instead of doing anything productive, but I only reorganized one drawer and then got distracted by an old photo album and spent four hours looking at pictures from 2014. On Wednesday, I meant to go to the gym but instead watched a documentary about gyms. On Thursday, I had a panic attack about my lack of progress and coped by ordering $47 worth of Thai food and watching six hours of competitive baking shows. On Friday, I wrote "BE BETTER" on a sticky note, put it on my laptop, and then immediately covered it with another sticky note that said "ORDER MORE STICKY NOTES."
Bradley was quiet for a very long time.
"Have you considered," he said, very gently, "that perhaps you are not... coachable?"
I told him that was hurtful. He apologized. He said he didn't mean it like that. He said what he meant was that perhaps life coaching wasn't the right modality for my particular... situation. He recommended therapy. He recommended medication. He recommended "a long vacation somewhere with no WiFi." He did not recommend a fourth session.
The Exit Interview
Bradley sent me a formal email the next day. The subject line was "Moving Forward (Separately)." The body of the email thanked me for "the opportunity to work together" and wished me "success in my future endeavors." It was the professional equivalent of "it's not you, it's me," except we both knew it was very much me.
He refunded my deposit for the remaining sessions. He said this was "standard practice" when a coaching relationship "reaches a natural conclusion." I didn't point out that three sessions was not a natural conclusion for a six-session package. He knew. I knew. We all knew.
I Googled him a few months later. He had pivoted to corporate consulting. His new website made no mention of individual life coaching. I like to think I'm the reason. I like to think somewhere in Bradley's memory, there's a small, traumatized corner reserved for the client who broke him. I hope he's doing okay. I hope his new corporate clients have five-year plans that don't involve cereal.
Where I Am Now
I still eat cereal for dinner. I still wake up at 11 AM. I still have a to-do list I don't complete. But now I do all of these things with self-awareness, which Bradley would probably say is the first step toward change.
I haven't taken the second step. I probably won't take the second step. But I've thought about it, and I think that counts for something.
Tony the Tiger still believes in me. And honestly? That's enough.
Total Cost: $900 in coaching fees, $47 in panic Thai food, and whatever remains of Bradley's faith in humanity.