My introduction to The Landmark Forum was my friend Max flipping out over a poodle. “That dog is so puffy! Can you believe that’s a thing? I just want to sleep in it!”
Then there was the ketchup stain. “It looks like California! Don’t you think? Are you seeing this?”
I’d been friends with Max for eight years—long enough to know he had exactly zero feelings about poodles and ketchup stains. But the Max I met for lunch one day in November was a very different Max indeed. It was a Max that had been fully transformed by the Forum.
At first, I had a hard time understanding what the Forum was because, in the battle between Max’s irrepressible excitement and the laws of sentence construction, only a few adjectives emerged unscathed. Unbelievable! Inspiring! Magical! Life-changing! Eventually, he told me that the Forum “gave him back to himself,” allowing him to shed the negative stories he’d developed about his identity and remake himself into the person he wanted to be. Also, it made him see people differently. Like, in a physical sense. Ordinary people suddenly looked more attractive, which was a relief because the whole time he’d been talking, I was worried I had a booger climbing out of my nose.
That afternoon, I learned that the Forum was one of several courses offered by the Landmark Corporation, which has been selling self-improvement since 1991. As their signature, introductory seminar, the Forum costs $625 (in California) for forty-two hours of intense introspection. Its participants, which have included employees of Apple, ExxonMobil, the Pentagon, and the founder of Reebok, are said to emerge with greater courage, confidence, productivity, and peace of mind. Or, as Max put it, “high on life.”
I didn’t have to take Max at his word; just watching him marvel at the colors in his soup (so vibrant!) was proof enough that the Forum made good on its promise of returning life’s joy. A few months later when he invited me to one of his classes, I had no reason to decline. I, too, wanted to be fascinated by poodles and ketchup stains. I, too, wanted to see boogery people through rose-colored beer goggles without actually having to drink beer.
When the time came for me to drive halfway across town in Thursday-night traffic to attend the class, I was slightly less enthusiastic. Having spent the day battling a hangover and scraping at the cracked, dried bottom of my creative well, I wasn’t in the mood for transformation—even though I desperately needed it. I was certain that as soon as I walked into the class, everyone would know that my biggest accomplishment of the day had been making pop-tarts. Glancing into the mirror merely confirmed these suspicions. If I squinted, I could see FAILURE written in pink sugar crystals across my forehead.
But the Landmark Forum promised an escape from exactly this kind of negative thinking. I remembered how happy Max had been at the sight of a poodle. I thought about how great it would be to have just an ounce of his enthusiasm. At last, I swallowed my skepticism, got in my car, and drove.
After walking into a room of seventy smiling faces, I took a seat and listened to Shelby, the evening’s speaker, describe her own Landmark journey. Shelby attended her first session twenty years ago. Though somewhat skeptical, she was mostly intrigued to find out how a single program (the Forum) had produced such a profoundly positive change in her roommate. As she listened to participants share stories of transformation and success, Shelby found herself nodding along with increasing enthusiasm. She even found herself thinking she would like sign up.
But the real moment of truth arrived when she was invited to register. At that moment, Shelby said, she hesitated. She wanted to think it over at home, to take some time to evaluate whether the program was right for her.
“The funny thing is,” Shelby said, “I’d already decided that the program was right for me. But when it came time to take action, I froze. Because what I really wanted to do was go home and judge and evaluate my experience until I had sucked all the life out of it, until it became something I could dismiss as ‘stupid’ or ‘a waste of time.’ And I said to myself, Shelby? You do that a lot, don’t you? You find excuses to stay in your comfort zone and turn down new opportunities, don’t you? And that was when I knew that I had to register right away, because if I didn’t, I would never come back.”
There were a lot of nods and some clapping. I found myself nodding and clapping right along with the group. I do that too! I thought, horrified. I hem and haw, allowing doubt and fear to discourage me from doing anything new or different. In fact, I’d battled those very same thoughts just a few hours ago. It was like she knew me.
From that point on, I was in. I was ready to listen and stop judging and find out how I could get one of the top seven benefits of the Forum, which were listed on two chalkboards positioned on either side of the room. Those benefits included: courage, confidence, freedom from resentment and regret, peace of mind, the ability to fully express your love, the ability to make decisions without doubting yourself, and happiness.
Who wouldn’t want just one, or all, of those things?
As the evening went on, I became increasingly convinced that the Forum was for real. After all, there were real participants in the group with real stories of how they had achieved some of those very same benefits. There was the woman who asked for and received a raise, even though she feared that such a bold request would hurt her career. There was the man who restored his relationship with his father after learning how to fully receive his Dad’s love. There was the guy who had been sexually molested by his sister and was now writing a memoir about it—with her support. Through the Forum, he had gained the confidence and the courage to start his own business; with his impressive new income, he was able to send his sister to the Forum too.
Had I read these stories online, I probably would have rolled my eyes and clicked my way back to Facebook, so I could continue judging people from the comfort of my living room. But I’d already witnessed Max’s transformation. I had no reason to doubt these participants. And really, what was stopping me from having a success story of my own?
That was what Adam wanted to know. Adam was a Landmark “coach”—a graduate of the Landmark seminars who now mentors participants like Max to help them achieve their goals. He sat behind Max and me, and when Shelby asked us to discuss which of the seven benefits we found most appealing, I told Adam that I would love to go through life free from resentment and regret. I was hoping to stay in the realm of abstraction, but Adam pressed me to dig deeper. Talking about my alcoholic father always makes me feel like a bit of a cliché, but, tossing judgment to the wind, I forged on.
Adam listened to me with an intense stare. In fact, all of the coaches—and some participants—had developed this intense stare. It was further evidence of their Landmark transformation, Shelby had explained: these individuals had learned how to truly listen.
“Tell me, Kim,” Adam said when I’d finished. “What would your life look like if you were free from all that resentment?”
I hesitated. “Well, I’m not really sure because…I’m not free from the resentment, you know? Ha!”
Adam didn’t laugh. Or perhaps I should say, he didn’t crack. His next set of questions sounded as if he’d memorized them just a few hours ago. They had nothing to do with my father or other personal details I’d shared, and they were delivered with an oddly accusative tone. What was standing between me and the life I wanted to live? Why wasn’t I doing anything to change that? Did I really want to live my life this way?
After two hours of sitting under fluorescent lights and making intense eye contact with strangers, I was starting to feel fatigued. When I glanced around the room at the coaches, I couldn’t help but feel that something was off. There was something familiar about the way they sat there staring intensely at the guests, something familiar about the way they spoke when the guests had finished sharing.
And then, suddenly, I knew what it was. They weren’t really listening. They were merely waiting for an opportunity to interrupt with the questions they’d (most likely) memorized before class.
*
Having grown up with the supremely gendered assumption that being a good listener makes me a good person, I know a thing or two about listening. Specifically, I know that there is a difference between listening because you care about what someone else has to say and listening because you can’t wait to get your word in. These two forms of listening may look the same on the outside, but they have profoundly different effects. The former makes people feel supported and nurtured. The latter makes them wonder if they are speaking to a wall.
At last, Shelby relieved me from Adam’s intense gaze, for the moment of revelation had come.
“I want to thank all the guests who came here tonight,” she said. “And if you’re a participant, I’d like you to turn to your guests now and invite them to register for the Forum.”
I’m such a good listener, I could hear Max squirming internally at the thought that this “class” had been a two and a half-hour advertisement. He fumbled through the same statements he’d been making all night, telling Natalie (his other guest) and me that the Forum had changed his life irrevocably, and the reason he had brought us here was so that we, too, could experience the kind of happiness and joy he had recently rediscovered. I listened, and I believed him. I still very much wanted the benefits that were listed on the chalkboards. I quieted the doubts that Adam’s robotic “listening” had sown in me and I glanced at the registration form someone had dropped into my lap.
Adam glanced at it too. “So, Kim.” He leaned onto the back of my chair. “Can I ask you something? What’s stopping you from filling out that form right now?”
I smiled politely. “I just want to go over the dates with my husband.” I explained that my husband was a producer with an erratic work schedule, so it would be best if I could chat with him before committing to their intense forty-two-hour program.
“Okay.” Adam nodded. “But here’s the thing. There’s always going to be something that comes between you and your goals. Making excuses is so familiar to you, it doesn’t feel like making excuses anymore. It feels normal and natural, and maybe that’s something you need to question.”
“Actually, I just want to be respectful of his schedule,” I said, less politely. I was starting to wonder if Adam ever blinked. The next thing I knew, Shelby was leaning onto my chair as well.
“If it’s a scheduling thing, that’s fine,” Shelby said gently. “But Kim? I’m asking you to explore the possibility that it’s not a calendar issue. Maybe there’s something else that’s making you hesitate right now, and maybe that same thing is making you hesitate in a lot of other areas.” As she spoke, another coach sat down beside Adam. Three pairs of hawk eyes all focused on me.
I mumbled something about getting water, and when I came back, Shelby was working on Natalie, whose form was also blank.
“I have to work on all those dates,” Natalie said. She reminded me of a blow-up doll with a leak.
“Okay.” Shelby’s eyes tightened. “But Natalie? I just want you to consider the possibility that taking this first step and registering might actually open doors for you. The moment you fill out this form, you might find a different career opportunity—something more in line with your real dreams and goals.”
The funny thing about that, I thought, is that Shelby doesn’t even know what Natalie does for a living. Since she hasn’t taken the time to really listen, she doesn’t know that Natalie likes her current job, that she’s already spent thousands of dollars on self-help classes, and, at present, she feels pretty okay with herself. Instead, Shelby took the approach of a psychic, using general assumptions about most people’s problems (relating to work, relationships, family, and identity) and applying them to whatever specific details Natalie provided.
At that point, I felt a bit concerned about drinking the Landmark water, so I returned to my seat. Adam was waiting for me.
“I just don’t get it, Kim. When you were talking about your Dad and how you want to live a life free from resentment and regret, I thought you were really going to do something about that. I thought you were—”
“Am I not allowed to fill out the form at home?”
I expected Adam to switch tactics or adopt the smooth, silky tone that Shelby was using to magnetically attract Natalie’s hand to her pen. Instead, he sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.
“Okay, Kim.” He looked disgusted. “I guess I’m never going to see you again.”
“Wh...at?”
“If you don’t fill out that form right now, I know I’m never going to see you again. That’s just how it works.” He pointed to the chalkboard. “You want courage? You want freedom? Take the first step. Fill out the form.”
It was indeed a moment of revelation. And it happened just as Shelby predicted—at the very same moment that we were asked to make a commitment, to step outside of our comfort zones, and to register for this life-changing course.
Only, my revelation was this: I never wanted to see Adam or any of the other Landmark robots again.
*
For the remaining thirty minutes—that’s right, half an hour carved out specifically for recruitment—I decided to do what I do best: to evaluate what had just happened and to judge the hell out of it.
What had happened was that the Landmark corporation wanted me to ignore my instincts and previous life experiences and to start with a blank slate—a slate that they would then fill with their own “unique” brand of wisdom. And yet, it was only in listening to my instincts and past experiences that I was able to see the red flags.
It wasn’t just the faux-listening. The pressure they put on guests to sign up right now had a familiar rank taste—something any modern consumer would recognize (“Sign up for our credit card NOW! You’ll save 40% on your next purchase! You want to save money, right? Who doesn’t want to save money?). But I’d also felt this pressure as a woman. A woman who has been told countless times that I don’t really know what I want, that I can’t trust myself, that when I say “no” it means “yes,” and that there are plenty of other people (boyfriends, girlfriends, parents, siblings, teachers, doctors, politicians, law-makers) who have all the answers. After all, I’m just a stupid, emotional female prone to breakdowns and indecision. How could I possibly know what’s best for me?
Sometimes I believe this. Sometimes I feel crazy and unbalanced and I need help making up my mind. But was I really going to throw away whatever wisdom I’d gained in life and place all of my trust in someone like Adam, who, come to think of it, embodied none of the Forum’s top seven benefits?
For one, he was terribly insecure. Why else would he be so desperate for me to join him? Past experience has taught me that when people are desperate for you to take on their way of life, it’s because they need you to validate their choices. They need you to prove that they did the right thing. This is not what confidence looks like.
Then there were his awkward threats (“I guess I’ll never see you again”), which did not strike me as particularly courageous. And I’m not sure how pursuing such an aggressive, insulting recruitment strategy gave him peace of mind. And how about his bizarre reaction to my “excuse” for not registering? To me, love is about respect and communication. Based on the blatant disdain Adam showed for my decision to talk things over with my husband, I can conclude with reasonable certainty that he doesn’t understand the first thing about love.
I could go on, but then I’d just be dwelling on the negative, and the Landmark corporation frowns upon that.
*
The funny thing that happened when I almost signed up for the Forum is that I ended up leaving the class feeling transformed in all of the ways it had promised. I entered the building full of fear and doubt, and I left with a renewed sense of confidence and a greater willingness to trust myself. Having resisted their cult mentality and detected the cracks in their suspiciously-smiley veneer, I felt smart and capable and liberated. I felt like I could do anything, including saying no to the Forum. I felt as if they had “given me back to myself,” just as Max had said.
I even looked different. When I stole a glance in the rearview mirror, I noticed that my face had a mischievous glow.
When several truths are placed side by side, it can be tempting to hunt for correlation or to add them all up into one Big Truth. It’s true that the Landmark Forum transforms people. And I don’t deny that I’d be better off with a little less judgment and little more confidence. But these truths don’t necessarily amount to my signature on a registration form. I don’t need to spent $625 on a weekend of intense staring, convincing myself that a for-profit corporation knows me better than I know myself.
As I drove home, I felt giddy, like I’d committed a minor crime without getting caught. But what I’d really gotten away with was an acceptance of my own flaws. Sometimes I will have breakdowns. Sometimes I won’t be able to make a decision to save my life. Sometimes making pop-tarts will be my biggest accomplishment of the day. Placed side by side, these truths reveal nothing except that I am human.
And, for the time being, that’s something I don’t want to change.