I find myself compartmentalizing my life to the point I no longer know how to be a whole person at all times. It gets exhausting put on and taking off my masks every day. We have a responsibility to celebrate how complicated we all are. Why can’t I be a strong, take no prisoners kind of chick, who loves to cry at romantic comedies? So, if you had to make a list of what you are what would it say?
I am just a…
girl
mother
daughter
nurse
nurse practitioner
friend
cat-lover
fast driver
Tough Mudder
boxer
writer
reader
cinephile
I want you to think I am:
smart
funny
clever
nice
tough
strong
warm
competent
useful
fun
lovable
loving
kind
dependable
cute
charming
enough
I feel accomplished when:
My son is happy.
My patients do well.
I have a good hair day.
I write something that explains where I am.
I make a hard decision.
I spend meaningful time with the people I love.
I find time to work out.
I say something funny.
I make a connection with someone.
I feel frustrated when:
I inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings.
I fail to communicate effectively.
I can’t find the answer.
I run out of time.
I can’t focus and finish a task.
I fail.
I just want to be an honest person. Authenticity is paramount for me.
Oh, and I want to meet a man with the personality of the leading men of the past. I want someone who treats me like a girl. Sometimes I get tired of being the strong, independent woman who can do anything. Kill the spiders. Hold open doors, and do that magic hand on the arm thing. Make me blush and not just from a dirty joke. Ugh. Then take me out to play in the mud.
Someone should have warned her… There are no easy answers. Have fun.. be true to yourself.
After all, I am just a girl. More on this later, I have to go put on my work mask now.
Imagine a rugged, gregarious, elderly man. He is quick to tell a story and flirt with all the ladies. He was the toughest cowboy who ever lived. He has never been sick a day in his life. He does not even notice the cut on his hand. He will blush and admit to some memory problems, however he is quick to reassure you that he is doing just fine. He explains all the help he receives from his family and friends. He tells you about all the things he is still doing. This man is healthy as a horse.
It is easy to assume he is doing just fine, until you realize this is the third recitation of the same story. He goes to church every Sunday. He spells out his daily routine. He will regale you with tales of his fishing adventure just last week! Biggest fish he has ever seen! He still drives around the town he has lived in for 70 years. All the while, he keeps forgetting about the cut on his hand. He looks down with a puzzled expression every time the bandage enters his field of vision.
He just wants to go home. Yes, he is well aware that his children want him to move closer to them. He is indignant and proud. He can manage just fine.
Sure, he may have had some difficulty managing his bank account- that darned internet is too complicated for him. It’s not surprising he does not remember which way to turn when he drives down that particular street, they must have changed it all up. There is entirely too much new construction around here anyway. It is just a waste of the tax payers money. They keep changing the roads every week!
He just wants to go home. There is nothing wrong with him. He is fine. He has been taking care of himself for 65 years. He raised four children. Of course it has been more difficult since his wife died. She had always cooked the meals, taken care of the house and laundry, and managed all the finances. He sure does miss her.
Keeping all his medicine straight is difficult, his doctor gives him too many darned tiny pills, and have you ever tried to open one of those bottles? You almost need a hacksaw to get into one of them. It is okay, the lady that cleans his house puts them into a box for him. One says AM and one says PM. Problem solved.
He finds the bandage again. He is getting slightly irritated at the discomfort. He starts pulling off the gauze so he can leave. He does not need to be tied up. Why would he have his hand wrapped up? He needs to get that mess off so he can go home. Besides, that is not his bandage. He doesn’t need it.He does not believe he would care to buy that today. He promises to come buy it another day if I need the sales commission.
He tells you about fishing last week. It was the biggest fish he has ever seen. He reeled in it all by himself. He is demonstrating his manly prowess, and proving he can take care of himself. Sure, he lost his wallet again. Nope, he has no trouble getting where he needs to go. He has never been in an accident or had a traffic violation.
He is quick and sure to answer your questions and concerns.
He can tell the best stories about when he was a cowboy. He still tends all his own fences. He just plowed his garden last week. What on earth could you possibly be saying? Of course he can fend for himself! Besides, he has wonderful friends who drop by and check on him.
He was horribly confused and combative in the night. He pulled out his IV site (more than once.) He spilled his coffee repeatedly. He wanted his pants. What kind of nonsense is this? Stealing a man’s pants? He was not going to stand for this. Fine, you know what? He has money. Where is his wallet? He will buy his pants back from you. He never uses the call light despite repeated reminders. He keeps insisting he is not in the hospital.
You realize he has no idea who you are. You have spent countless hours with him over the past few days, and in fact you were just in his room fifteen minutes ago. Every time you walk through the door, you are greeted joyously. He does not remember the nasty tone of voice he was using with you last time you were in here. He does not remember that you are the one who will not allow him to go home. He tries calling you darlin’ and he gives you a little wink.
It is not too hard for you to redirect him. All you see is a sweet old man. You can even laugh at times. Some of his antics are funny. He is “pleasantly confused” and you are well aware he does not mean any of it. This is not the man who raised you. You have not witnessed his decline from greatness. You are not the one who will have to go home and feel remorse for not being able to make it work with him at home. This is just another day at the office for you.
His son sits with a resigned expression at the bedside. He never interrupts or corrects his father. He only fills in information when his father looks to him to answer the question. I keep trying to give the son an opportunity to pipe up and let his father know he can’t go home in this condition. I try telling this man he can’t stay at home alone at night. I look to his son and wait for him to tell his dad he has to come stay with family. He only asks me how long I think his father will need someone to stay with him. I can see the wheels of desperation turning over in his mind. Oh. He is not always this bad. Okay. The infection could explain it. Perhaps a few days or weeks would be sufficient.
Turns out, Paul Harvey was not going to chime in “With the rest of the story.” (If you don’t know that reference google Paul Harvey.)I am mildly concerned, but feeling a little better. This confusion could be the delirium so many patients experience in the hospital. Nope. Not at all. Charming Grandpa has not been doing well for a while. Ok, no problem. Just get him to go home with his son. Phew. Glad I solved that problem.
It is painful to see adult children struggling with their new role as a protector and decision maker. What do we do when the body still works, but the mind is no longer able to handle the complexities of life? How do you take away your father’s car keys? How do you finally insist they cannot live at home anymore? It is not stubbornness that leads to their insistence to stay home. They are unable to realize and comprehend the reality of their cognitive decline.
So, what happens when they refuse to go to an assisted living, nursing facility, or even to live with relatives who can look after them? How do you compel someone to leave the home they built and raised their family in, when they feel fine? I somehow managed to convince myself patients with dementia actually understood how confused they were. Oh! This is why we perform mental evaluations. People do not know when they are confused. They truly believe everything is fine. Now what? You seem fine in short conversations, you are not physically debilitated, why would I say you need to be forced from the home you built with your own two hands. Yes, I remember you still mend your own fences. Yes, you used to be a cowboy. A real cowboy, not one of those fancy boys.
This is not an easy process. We don’t like to hold people against their will. You can’t just kidnap grandpa because you decide it is the right thing to do. Furthermore, NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU HOW TO DO THIS! Maneuvering through all the rules, insurance regulations, and red tape is maddening. Now, imagine trying to handle all of this if you live and work somewhere else, compounded by the fact that your parent has everyone fooled. He looks great! He is at church three times a week. He does not realize how severe the problem is, and neither does anyone else, until something happens. He gets lost and drives 3 states away. He leaves the stove on and starts a fire. He takes all of his money out of the bank and no one can find it.
There is no easy answer.
However, your grandpa with dementia may be entertaining a group of nurses tonight. He will keep them on their toes. They will watch over him while you try to sort out his affairs. They will nurse him back to health from whatever ailment landed him in the hospital. They will make sure someone is keeping an eye on the guy who likes to Pole vault over the bed rails while they rush to take care of their other patients. There will probably be a bed alarm that shrieks out every time he tries to get out of bed. A gaggle of nurses will rush to the door to protect him from harm. He will not remember the instructions he received 2 minutes ago to use his call light. These nurses will quietly ask you about discharge planning, and express concerns about him going home alone. They will be there to support you while you go through the hardest experience of your life.
He will vacillate between irritated and charming. When he turns on the charm in an attempt to manipulate his way out of this situation, he will capture a few hearts. He will demand he be released from this prison. Charming grandpa will constantly interfere with all attempts to treat his medical condition. He will forget he is sick.
Dementia is hard.
The aging cowboy has no idea this is happening. He will tell you again about his fishing trip. He will rip the bandage off his hand, and try to get the string, actually, those are sutures and I really wanted them there, out of his hand. We have only had this conversation 27 times in the past three hours. The cowboy will become furious at his wrongful conviction, and as soon as he gets distracted the situation never existed. He will politely ask to go home. He feels fine. There is nothing in the world wrong with him.
His son will tell me how his dad is the strongest, toughest, and bravest men he has ever known. He is facing a tough battle. He will have to overrule the ruler. No one will be able to convince him he is not a terrible son for taking his father from his home. Worse, it may not even be safe enough for his father to come live with him. The son will have to vigilant to prevent the cowboy from absconding into the night.
If they live long enough, even the strongest men (and women) are at risk for developing cognitive decline. It will happen in bits and pieces. Things will appear manageable even after they are careening through a mine field. We have to support the families of these super heroes. We have to reassure them, offer guidance, and listen most of all. It is heart-rending to watch.
Basically, there is no easy answer. It is difficult to prepare for this situation because you want to believe it will never be that bad. Your dad is the strongest man in the world, why does he have to lose his independence?
I have entirely too many friends with cancer. Some have treatable cancer, while others have stage IV cancer requiring constant palliative treatment. It is horrible and scary.
Now, I see a lot of articles describing cancer from the patient’s POV, and a few from the perspective of the spouse whose world is forever changed from their loss. What about the friend? What about the coworker, who really likes you, and wants to help?
I am one of those people who has spent entirely too much of my life saying exactly what pops into my head. Most of the time this is not a problem. Well, not too much anyway. The part of me who would never intentionally say something insensitive kicks in, and I become frozen. I don’t know what to say. Typically when I learn of your diagnosis, my first thought is Are you going to die?
I am a person who likes to have a problem or a puzzle to solve. Give me a task, and I will do everything in my power to help you out. I want to offer advice, but I do not know a lot about cancer and cancer treatment. It is not my specialty, and I do not like thinking about it. Cancer. That is a scary word. I have a new understanding of why the little old ladies whisper when they are gossiping about people who have cancer.
I wonder if other people feel as useless as I do when my friends or coworkers are going through this. I simply have very little to offer. Sure, I can be available if you need to talk, but wouldn’t someone who knows more about your situation be better? One of my friends made a poignant statement once, “Everybody loves you when you are dying.”
Yikes. I do not want my friend to think I am only there because they are sick. So, I don’t call. This leaves me feeling guilty. What are the rules? What can I do?
Some of the articles I have read have admonished well meaning friends not to ask “what can I do?” This person has had their entire life turned upside down, and they do not have time to find a task to feed your ego. Good point.
This leaves me with the same problem. I want to help. I would do anything if I could just make you not have to go through this, and I am powerless. I have seen my coworkers rally around our work family, raising money, and in general just being available. I find myself pulling back and suffering from intense insecurity. I do not want to interfere.
Even writing this makes me feel strange. My feelings should not matter, I am not the one with cancer. The thing is, I have feelings. I am sad, shocked, scared, and somewhat lost. If I have lost touch with you over the years, and I hear you have cancer, I want to reach out. However, then I am doing that annoying thing where people come out of the woodwork when there is a crisis. So, I just think about you, worry for you and your family, and reflect on the person I used to know. I stay silent.
There is no rule book for going through life. Now, we manage to stay connected to everyone we ever knew via social media. We are able to turn the world into that small town where everyone knows a little piece of everyone’s business. I wonder if this is part of why it seems like there is so much suffering in the world. We are exposed to more of it.
It is difficult to know how to offer support to someone who you know, but do not know well.
I remember people trying to comfort me when a very close friend died. They were using the common polite expressions. The one that infuriated me, “she is in a better place,” was not meant to upset me. I was infuriated. I wanted to scratch out their eyeballs. She was not in a better place, she was never coming back to the people who loved her.
Realizing the polite sayings can hurt, I am left with not knowing what to say. I want to ask so many questions. Are you scared? Is your family handling things well? Do you like and trust your doctor? What are you going to do? What are they telling you about the treatment? Are you in pain? How did you find out you have cancer? Did you suspect it was cancer before you went to the doctor? Did you miss the warning signs? Do you have a family history of cancer? Did you do something that caused your cancer? What are we going to blame this on? Why did this happen to you? SELFISHLY, is this going to happen to me?
My intentions would be to simply find out where you are. I want to understand, and in my naiveté, I truly believe if I understood, I could help. It is unfortunate that it is really none of my business.
So, I am left with nothing to say. Fear leaves me paralyzed. I do not want to get in the way. So, I will throw some cash into the collection jar, buy a plastic bracelet to prove my support, and wish I could help. No, it is not enough, but sometimes it is all I have.
Here is my promise to all my friends:
If you need me, I am here. I may not know what to do but, I will figure out something. I may not know the socially correct things to say, and I may accidentally make an inappropriate joke, but I will care. I will not assume to know what you need from me, and I will not do things unless you ask me for something. I will not call you constantly to check on you, but I will answer the phone if you reach out to me.
I guess the best thing I can offer is a willingness to be there for whatever need arises.
My heart is heavy today. Another senseless act of violence perpetrated in the most public forum possible. This shooter apparently had a long history of feeling persecuted, and he suffered professionally as a result. According to an article in Newsweek, Flanagan had sued a previous employer for discrimination in response to reported comments disparaging him because of his race. The case was settled for an undisclosed amount of money in 2000. A copy of the complaint is available on the Newsweek article. That’s enough about this dude, I want to talk about the parts I understand.
Yep, that is me- in the dog suit. Went to the fair, pep rallies, and even the MDA Telethon. The ice packs only helped a little. I complained bitterly about it, but who does not secretly dream of wearing “fur” in 100 degree weather? I secretly enjoyed it, but don’t tell anyone that.I was incredibly fortunate as a teenager. I had a news director at my local TV station allow me to complete an internship in the news department. I was the first high school student to be granted this privilege. I learned so much during that semester, and the opportunity allowed me to gain employment as an associate producer at KLBK when I was 16. Most of my responsibilities were similar to my responsibilities when I was an intern, I ripped scripts, ran the teleprompter, pulled a few stories from the AP wire, and edited some of the video. Sometimes I got to tag along for special events, and I was the mascot (I actually wore a dog suit) for a short time.
I loved my job. It was exciting and fun. I learned a lot of skills which have proven useful in my current career. One of the most important skills I learned is how to deal with people who have (for lack of a better word,) strong personalities. I believe performing on air requires a certain amount of self importance, and self confidence in order to be convincing as a talent. Most of the people I worked closely with were (and still are) amazingly generous people, and I am a better person for having them in my life at such a young age. Tensions ran high frequently in the newsroom, and it is not a place for sensitive people. There are deadlines that cannot be missed, and you have to please a fickle public and more importantly, you have to please your advertisers. The ratings have to be considered, AND you have to use integrity and ethical reporting while not offending the public. Sure, it is a high stress environment.
While our journalists are not often considered “first responders” in the way healthcare providers and police officers are, they do put themselves in harm’s way in order to provide a public service. They are the information centers of our society. Even in our social media crazed society, we still turn on the local news when the weather is ominous. When there is a developing story involving active shooters or bomb threats (just an example), our journalists do not seek cover, they rush to the scene and deliver the most current updates. I like to believe they are acting to keep us safe.
Journalists are tasked with gathering information, and the public is constantly demanding more. We expect in-depth reporting, and exciting video to stimulate our constant craving for adrenaline. We reward the most daring journalists with our hits, tweets, and shares. Only the most exciting (or perhaps adorable) video goes viral.
I am one of the worst critics, and I tend to hold people (especially professionals) to high standards. I frequently forget to express my gratitude, and in light of this public tragedy, I want to now.
I don’t know what this guys problem was. Frankly, I don’t care. I think he is most likely an asshole with a mental illness. Keep in mind, not everyone who is mentally ill is violent. I could spout a bunch of crap on here about the need for gun control and reform for mental healthcare, but I am not.
I just want to thank all the journalists who provide this public service for me. I appreciate the work you do. I also appreciate all the people who took me under their wing when I was just a kid, and taught me so much about looking for the story. You were my first mentors.
Lastly, my thoughts are with the coworkers, families, and friends of the victims of this crime. I am so sorry for your loss. I appreciate the service your loved ones provided for the public.
Why do we gravitate to people and places from our past?
Nostalgia is a dangerous friend. She tends to paint our memories with warm and inviting hues, all while editing out the reasons we left in the first place. Perhaps this is why we pine for that one guy or remember our former relationships as much happier and healthier than they ever could have been. Oh, and he is the most handsome and the funniest dude we ever met. We cannot imagine finding anyone as special as he is.
So, you remember my job? The one I am divorcing? It cracks me up that I am so much happier now, and I still find myself only remembering the good times and wondering if I will ever have those experiences again. I do not allow myself to wallow in these destructive thoughts for long, however I find them creeping about when I least expect it. I am so grateful for my new opportunities and I am really thriving. So, why do I long for familiar people and places?
I actually believe this is normal. You know the old saying, “the grass is always greener,” is not always true. The interesting part is how our emotions influence our memories and how it is shockingly fluid. My mood at any given time can profoundly impact my personal version of events. If I am enjoying my day at the new job, I tend to remember the old one with disdain. I ruminate on the days I felt ostracized and taken advantage of. I remember how it felt when I was banging my head against the wall, wishing for an escape hatch. The very next day can find me lonely and homesick, and I only remember the good times. I find myself wistful and longing for the ease of familiar places and people. I miss the inside jokes (Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.) and the comfort of being able to be myself.
The other day I was at my old clinic seeing a few patients. When I first got there I felt horribly discombobulated, and I was terribly lonely. My dungeon of an office had been made over for a new doctor, and I felt like I was trespassing. I was adrift in a sea of fluorescent lighting. I did not belong there. It was not like a homecoming at all! Don’t get me wrong, it was not all bad. Once a couple of people walked in the door and we were catching up, my mood settled and I was happy again. By the time I left, the nostalgia had taken root again and I was wishing I could turn back the clock and start over and correct my mistakes from the past.
Unfortunately, you really can’t go home again. I imagine this is similar to trying to return and assimilate back into your hometown decades later. You remember things as they were, and it is impossible to anticipate the influence of time. Everything changes. You are not the only one who grew up. My ego is fragile, and I can’t believe this place could survive without me. Ha! They are doing just fine. They managed to function before me, and they will function without me. I am not that important. This may be the worst part. I poured my heart into this job, and that probably was not necessary. I placed entirely too much value on this role. I let it become my definition of self. I did not know who I was without it. Talk about unhealthy.
Now I have a unique opportunity. I am learning to stand on my own two feet professionally. I have heard people say “your first job should never be your last,” and I think that is true. Just like a family, you were a kid when you started, and sometimes you have to be shoved (even if it is against your will) kicking and screaming from the nest. If you are especially clingy, (I am not saying I am) you may clutch the side of the nest and hang on for dear life, all the while pleading for someone to just pull you back in. Seriously, this is ridiculous. Well, it is! It was long past time to move on, and you were miserable! The situation had ceased to be healthy.
I know people think I am being overly dramatic when I compare leaving my old job to a divorce, but divorce is the best way for me to explain the constant ebb and flow of emotion surrounding it. I still find myself vacillating between relief and nostalgic grief. I am sincerely ready for simple acceptance to take root. I truly believe this is right around the corner. The best thing I did was put physical distance between the job and myself. Oh, except you still work there sometimes. Is that similar to a booty call? Yikes! I had not thought of that. Oh well. Sigh. I suppose you gotta get some somewhere. I am mostly kidding. Sort of. Not as much as I would like.
Now, please understand. I need to keep an open relationship with this place. I need the security. They are still my work family. I like to have roots. Much like a toddler, I want freedom to roam but I still need a mother ship to keep me grounded. So, the prodigal daughter will come back from time to time, and I will ride the emotional roller coaster, then I will head back out on the open road and continue to seek new adventures and input just like Johnny 5. (I’ve been trying to figure out how to put that reference in here for like 30 minutes.) I had no idea I would be so drawn to a quasi-nomadic existence. I am finding it suits me and at least I am not bored. I just like to return to my home base regularly.
Can someone please explain this to me. This looks like a backboard suspended on pulleys between two buildings at my new hospital. Why? Why would someone put this here? Why has no one else ever noticed it? Believe me, I have asked. This is driving me nuts. I see it every day. Perhaps they ran out of closet space? It is there in case the need for emergency evacuations requires a backboard? Maybe it is a message for incoming alien spacecraft. Seriously. What is this thing? Who put it there? Is it a prank? Hmmm
I have devoted much of my life to defining my … for lack of a better word, spirituality.
It has been a struggle. I have attempted (and failed) to assimilate into Christianity. I have tried to be “Spiritual, not religious,” and I have often considered myself agnostic. All of these have left me with a huge void in my life. I do not get the same peace others speak about. All I am left with is more questions than answers.
I try not to judge. If your religion works for you, I respect that. I respect it works for you. I no longer try to kid myself into believing it will work for me. I am no longer wandering down that lonely street.
The terminology applied to those who do not believe seems to be shrouded in negativity. I do not like the term atheist. That seems to imply I have missed something, or I am living without a moral compass.
For me, the opposite is true. I have a strong moral and ethical viewpoint of the world. I believe in attempting to be useful. I believe in mankind. I believe we should help our fellow man. I believe we should care about our communities. This does not make me a bad person.
I have sought religious comfort and conversion on many levels. I have “prayed” for God to “enter my heart” and show me the path to righteous salvation. I have been “saved” and I have been baptized. I wanted to belong to this community so badly. I found fear and isolation instead. I felt alienated from the group. I must be broken or faulty since I cannot find faith. This has been a struggle. The isolation I experienced trying to find God was painful. God would heal me. He didn’t. It wounded me in way I did not think I would ever repair. I did not deserve to live a good life. God did not want me.
My profession has granted me so many gifts. I finally found a way to serve other people, and I did not have to pray or turn my will over to a doctrine I did not understand. I am able to help by caring about other people. I can give my time. I can spend my energy learning and improving my skills. I have dedicated my life to being better. More importantly, I have dedicated my life to being of service.
Through my reading and research on my inability to form religious roots, I have found I am not unique. There is a whole school of thought centered in my beliefs. I am relieved to know I am not broken. I can find a segment of society where I am not an outcast. I do not have to go to church to meet a nice boy. (Funny: one of my patients this week is praying for me to find a good, godly man.)
I get it. For some people religion fills a void. Unfortunately for me, religion is too exclusive. I have been told to believe or leave. My doubts were viewed as an attack on their culture. I felt horrible. I was obviously a horrible person. Thanks for that. Your religion told me I was worthless as a child because I had questions. My attempts to understand “The word of God,” and what it meant in relationship to humanity as a whole, left me out in the cold.
I needed support and encouragement. I needed to be told it was okay to not believe. I did NOT need to be judged and damned to “hell” for not blindly following you. By the way, you all believe different things. You take what you want literally, and if it does not advance your agenda, you disregard it. I was trying to understand the rules. I wanted to be a good person. I did not want to lump everyone who had different ideas into a camp of morally bankrupt, evil people. I wanted to understand.
I have had people walk up to me, and say things like “Aren’t you Christian?” If you could just hear their tone of voice. It is offensive. I finally stopped pretending. I just said no. They quietly backed away waiting for lightening to strike.
Some people may be upset I am writing this. I am sorry to disappoint you. I wanted to believe. I just don’t. It does not seem rational to me. I can no longer pretend to believe in this supernatural omnipotent being who likes to meddle in the lives of human beings. Oh! He only gets credit for the good stuff though. All the bad stuff is either Satan, or attributed to free will. Sigh.
When my son was young, he had a stutter. (It was fixed with speech therapy. You know, science.) Anyway, his well-meaning grandfather prayed for Satan to leave his body. (Not on my side of the family, I assure you.) I have never been more angry. Don’t tell my child he has a demon inside him! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? No. That is not okay. That will never be okay.
There are so many bad things in the world I attribute to religion. War, terrorism, bullying… It is not this grand loving scenario. To me, it is just another way to exclude people. No, thank you. I am good without all that.
This is not about religion bashing. This is about me. I have many people in my life who are devoutly religious. I actually respect it from them. I believe they believe it wholeheartedly. I believe them when they say they are praying for someone. I do not expect people to hide their religious views.
All I ask is please, don’t try to force me into agreeing with you. That makes me a liar. Please don’t demand my soul. I will continue to try to help society and to serve my fellow man. Just don’t paint me into a corner and tell me I am going to hell. That is cruel. I am not possessed by demon spirits. I am not a secret devil worshipper. I am not amoral. I have a strong ethical base. I know the difference between right and wrong. I respect your freedom from religious persecution. Please respect mine.
PS: I do not have a problem with you expressing your views. I am not going to go around and tell you you are wrong. I am going to respect you, and know that it is your truth. That is okay. Right?
Welcome to my world. It is a bright, fast paced, and loud carnival of stimulating ideas. I promise you, everything that comes out of my mouth makes sense to me, until you are looking at me with that puzzled look. What? You don’t understand the leap? Here, let me spell it out for you. Oh. Wait. You were not there, and you have no idea what I am talking about. Hmmm. Never mind.
Going home last week was great! I got to work with my two favorite people to work with, and I felt like I was back at home. Leaving was hard. I may have cried some. Okay, we all know I cried some. I know it sounds crazy, but this job feels like a spouse. It feels like what I imagine a divorce feels like. I am a little afraid of losing my friends at work. They have been such an important part of my life for so long. I do not want to lose these relationships.
So, where does that leave me? I don’t suppose you want to know I am eating a microwave S’more in a hotel room alone. Solitude does not bother me.
I found the travel brochures. There is one for Lubbock. Hmmm. Only 7 hours away, I could not even drive straight there and back before I have to be back to work.
Adapt and grow. This is an adventure. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I have not been banished to the small town in East Texas. I chose this. I should be happy. I will figure it out. The job is fun. Perhaps I am just tired.
So, while I am all over the place mentally and emotionally, most likely because I need a nap, just know these are the fleeting thoughts that come in and out of my mind without warning. They come and they go. All I need is a distraction. Perhaps a well placed brochure to remind me I am traveling down my path. It is going to be good. It’s okay to have mixed emotions. It may even be a good thing. It means I can consider situations as a whole. I am not looking through some lens that leaves me with a short-sighted view of the world.
Nothing is black and white. It is all shades of gray for me.
This is not my hearing test, I found it on google. But, if I remember correctly, mine looks something like this.
I have some hearing loss in my right ear. I am by no means deaf, but there are certain sounds I do not hear well. Unfortunately, that includes many male voices. Since I find it annoying to say “What?” and “Huh?” and “I’m sorry, I did not hear you,” I have come up with some coping mechanisms. When someone says something in passing I generally assume they are offering a greeting. So, I nod and give a generic response.
This usually works. Unless it doesn’t.
Yesterday I was at work and the CEO of this little hospital walked by as I was waiting on the elevator. He said something unintelligible, and I responded with a nod and a half-hearted little thumbs up. He stopped, turned and looked at me expectantly. I had a moment of sheer terror. What on earth did I just agree to? Oh, crap. I agreed that kittens should be drowned at birth. I may have said I love Michael Bolton. Ugh!
Nope, he had asked me to come open a locked door with my badge. He was waiting for me to walk with him. Oops. I am fairly confident I turned fifty shades of crimson, and I explained how I don’t always hear people, and that I probably should not pretend like I did. He laughed and it was no big deal.
I find it fascinating how people develop coping skills to hide their difficulties. Most of the time my hearing loss is no big deal. It is a thousand times better than it used to be. I have had several surgeries, and my surgeon did a fabulous job restoring most of my hearing. I am lucky.
Sometimes my hearing loss causes me a lot of embarrassment. Just add it to some of my quirks. Yes, I talk loudly. I have no idea when I am doing it. I don’t find it offensive when people give me signal that I have gone up several decibels. Just give me an indication. Seriously. I tend to try to walk to the right of most men, and I usually find it helpful to be facing you when you speak.
If I do not respond to you, chances are very great I didn’t HEAR you! I do not make it a habit to ignore people. That is rude. I am never rude on purpose. Well, maybe never is a strong word, but it is usually not my intention to be rude. I was raised with manners.
When I walk, my path sometimes veers to the left. I may end up walking WAY to close to you for comfort. I may brush up against you. Oops, that tends to be awkward.
So, if our paths ever cross, and I respond wildly inappropriately, just get my attention. We can have a good laugh at my awkward attempt to compensate and life is good.
Pretty cute representation.
PS: I am having fun and the doc I am working with this week has the same sense of humor as I do. We both find it riotously funny to see what big words we can throw into random conversation. It has become a challenge. If I were not afraid of defenestration, I would try to see if I could use that particular word in a piece of professional writing. hehe.
Sometimes I am fortunate to see myself mirrored back to me in another person’s behavior. This is when I get the best opportunity to reevaluate how my actions could impact others.
Sometimes I am a bit much. I am loud, indignant, and somewhat abrasive. It does not matter what my intentions are. I want to be seen the way I feel.
I have a big heart. I care about people. Yes, I get annoyed easily, however I do not want to spread malcontent. I want people to be better after they come into contact with me.
So, I am going to see what happens when I smile and say hello to anyone who crosses my path. No more looking down or pretending to be busy on my phone in elevators. I am going to be engaging. Who never know who you are going to meet.
By the way, spreading good vibes is free. It will not cost me a thing.
I have been accused of being unapproachable. I have been told I look angry. Ha! I am not angry. Have no fear, I will let you know if I am. I am going to try to be more friendly. I feel friendly, so why not allow the happy vibes out into the world?
Just because this kid makes me smile so much! This should be giving you good vibes. What a great kid!
It is not my job to contemplate all the world’s problems every time I am alone and not otherwise entertained. I need to get out of my head and back into the real world. I have to remember this is an adventure. Life is good today.
Yes! It is a tiara. With Glitter. And, yes those are bubbles in my scepter. Why? Because I am a princess. Every one thinks so.
Seriously. What age is it when you finally have it all figured out? I really thought 25 would be it. Then, 28 seemed like it would be the year. Now, here I am at 35…. and I am still pretty much flailing away, and figuring it all out as I go. Sigh.
There is some good news: Every thing is awesome. I get to be and do anything I am willing to try to work for. That is a liberating feeling.
I am on a path of many wonderful adventures.
If you had asked me 20 years ago who I would be at 35, I would have been so wrong. Turns out, I am still the same girl. I only wish I had been a little nicer to her.
So, having a great time. Surrounded by thoughtful and hilarious friends. I promise you, I have never laughed so hard continuously before. Good times, Good beer, and I may have had lemon cake for breakfast.
The Accidental Boxer 