It is 1985, and I am standing in a playroom facing the door to the waiting room. I am nervous. On the other side of the door there is silence. A 6-yearold boy waits there with his mother. They’ve come for his first therapy session. For me, this is the first session of my very first case in the process of training to become a psychoanalytic child therapist-new territory. Until now, I have been a drama teacher. I know that the only thing I can be sure of right now is that I don’t know what’s going to happen for the next hour. Then, I remember a time not so long ago when, as an actor, I was about to do an improvisational exercise with another actor. I remember feeling held by the certain knowledge that, whatever happened between us in the improvisation, we would be guided by the authenticity of simply being and staying in the moment. This memory calms me. I feel much better. This is familiar ground, after all. “Just think of this as another improvisation,” I tell myself, as I open the door.