Want and Need

The sun was sinking tonight, painting everything unreal shades of pink and gold. It glinted just the right way off of the sign, flashing "Down on my luck, please help" right into my eyes. The silver reflection from the marker juxtaposed with the cardboard was startling.

I don't know how old she was. Late twenties, early thirties. She didn't smile once in the few moments I watched her, and she leaned against the Wal-Mart sign like it was the only thing she trusted in the world to not give out from under her at any moment. My car was stopped only three feet from her scuffed shoes, but she never really looked up.

Then again, neither did I.

I didn't know what to do. I had no money. In situations like this, it's easiest just to ignore the humanity separated from you by a sheet of glass and a lifetime of choices. Some of the choices were yours. Most weren't. She and I were so close, and a continent apart.

Suddenly, I wanted to roll down the window and say hi, break the barrier of silent judgement. I wanted to ask if she was hungry, if I could take her somewhere and feed her. If she had a cat. If she needed a place to stay. What her story was. Maybe just give her my number in case she needed someone to call and had no one else. Perhaps it was a crazy decision--but most of my life has been rational. Too rational. And this felt right.

I should have acted faster. The resolution had just formed when the car horn blared behind me, and I realized that the light was  green and I was the target of half a dozen impatient drivers, strung out behind me in an irritated line. I hit the gas without thinking and began to move.

Her eyes darted up at the noise and met mine. There wasn't any mystical connection there--they were just tired eyes. But she was a person, and I drove away from her, and I didn't have to.

I don't know how to explain this, exactly. I didn't want to help her out of a guilt complex, because she has less than I do. I didn't feel like I owed her anything. I just...wanted to. Because she needed it, and because I could. Because I am sick of being focused on myself.

And I drove away. But there will be a next time. It won't be quite the same--different person, different circumstance, different story. Maybe it will be in a library instead of a street corner. Perhaps a coffee shop, or a strange place where I'm not supposed to be.

I hope I'm ready for it.

Transition

Awareness.

It is always emotion that drags me out of oblivion. In those brief seconds between sleeping and waking, I struggle to separate reality from the vague remnants of a dream.

This morning, the emotion was loss. I don't know why.

It's so sudden, the transient moment between darkness and daylight, and it fades so quickly. It leaves me to begin my day with questions.

What would I have changed, if I could live yesterday over again? What do I regret, what do I cling to, what leaves me excited about living today? What have I learned? What unexpected gifts were handed to me? What direction am I going, and why? 

What will joy look like today?

*This is super rough and I'm dissatisfied with what I got across, and what I didn't. I shall try again tomorrow.  Until then...

This mechanical pencil won't stop squeaking

Word.

I wish I could leave it at that. But actually, brain to paper has never been difficult. It's getting it stored in an easily accessible, relevant way that's so time consuming.

In honor of turkey day:

Mirror, mirror, next table over...

They sat in the cafeteria at the next table over. Both moved slowly, although she was more ponderous, taking her time to stagger across the floor, each step looking like the first stage of a nasty fall from which she only caught herself with difficulty. Her purse dragged the ground and her shirt draped around her like a bedsheet.

I only noticed them when she spoke.

"These damn Adventists. I don't understand this cafeteria system. They can eat meat, you know, just not pork. It doesn't make any sense that they would only have vegetarian food here. It's so stupid that they let their religion leak into their food choices. And we have to suffer for it."

I lifted my head to look, surprised and a little irked. I couldn't tell you why, although the fact that she looked like she had never suffered for lack of food a day in her life might have had something to do with it. She continued.

"Now look at what you've done. You went and left your chimichanga in the serving line. No, don't tell me you didn't! I had to go and get it while you were galavanting around in the halls like a fool. Don't you even think to tell me I didn't have to go get it." Her voice was bitter and harassing, deeply disppointed and scornful. Over the next half hour, it never changed.

At this point, I took a hard look at the man with her. He looked normal, heavyset, about the same age, and infinitely good-tempered, perhaps on the simple side. I never actually heard him speak the entire time we sat there. She would pause, occasionally, and there might have been a small frission of sound in his vicinity, to which she would reply, "You think? That's ridiculous. PA's shouldn't be allowed to practice in hospitals. The last time we were here, one almost made you overdose on your medication before I caught him. And I told the MD that he didn't know crap and shouldn't be allowed inside the doors."

A few minutes later, her voice rose again. "And that idiot physician only had half of the lab report, and if he'd taken the time to do his research he would have realized that there was nothing wrong with her mitral valve. I tell you, this hospital  could use with a little shaking up. I'm going to make a stink about it. I think there's a place you can do recording, and I'm going to record our conversations and prove that they don't know what the hell they're talking about. I'm going to put it in the newspaper. Not knowing a mitral valve was normal! I knew about it before they did."

At this point, I almost couldn't concentrate on my PDX notes. The hospital wireless is too slow to stream music, so I couldn't drown her out with my headphones, and I was indignant. Where did this woman come off? "Uneducated" was the kindest description I could think of.

I keep writing this in the past tense, but I'm still sitting here, and so are they, and I'm having a hard time studying. She keeps getting louder, and by now, she knows more than all the specialists in this hospital. They're all stupid, little better than techs, who know less than nothing, in her liberal opinion. I'm a bit angry.

I think that I am not going to medical school for four years, and through residency for another handful, and paying out hundreds of thousands of dollars, for people like this to think they know more than I do. Or even have more common sense than I.

But that leads me to the real problem, which is not the obese lady with the loud opinions.

I think I must be very arrogant. I think I must pretend I'm not better than other people. Because sitting here, listening to her, I feel like I am.

Ugh. That's ugly. Much worse than her tone of voice.

If she'd grown up in my place, with my family, privileges, education, what would she be like? If I were her, where would I have come from, and how would it have changed the way I think, and speak, and see the world? An entirely different worldview, completely independent of any inherent fault or virtue.

I could be her. So easily. And yet I think I'm better than she is, as if through some intrinsic goodness.

That's utterly ridiculous. Appalling.

I don't like seeing my flaws.

Charlie

Charlie is dead.

Charlie, with his pants that were too tight, and his socks that came too high. Charlie, who didn't know what it was like to laugh moderately. Charlie, who awkwardly and cheerfully flailed his way down the river in an innertube, white legs gleaming brilliantly, like marble in the sun. Charlie, who so loved to air the French he knew, and who delighted in quizzing us on vocabulary. Charlie, so patient with his fatherless grand-daughter, loving her, raising her, making sure she never knew that the life she had was not ideal. Charlie, who would get up in church and talk on and on, but so earnestly that you couldn't fault him for going over time. Charlie, who with all his funny mannerisms was a father when he didn't have to be. Who drove our bus on mission trips and played cards with us and grazed his way down the potluck table and could never go anywhere without making at least half a dozen U-turns and who never got mad at me when I practiced my skills lifting his wallet. Charlie, who always kept a pocket full of mints that he would furtively pass around to us in the back of the sanctuary, his guilty smile hiding in his grey mustache.

Charlie, who is dead.

My mind instantly internalized it, shoved it aside, behind stacks of things to do and obligations and stuff. But grief shouldn't be something to be ashamed of, and I didn't want to do that to him. He's more important than that. It took me until the middle of Physio class later that morning, when I suddenly remembered him sneaking three of us out of work to go pick oranges in the jungle, and his funny giggle at how we'd outwitted "the grown-ups." Then the rest of the memories came spilling out, so fast. And I realized that he was actually, truly gone.

And then the tears came.

Oh, Charlie.

Soul

"When you get to know someone, all their physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell on their energy, recognize the scent of their skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That's why you can't fall in love with beauty or looks. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and your body, but not your heart. That's why when you really connect with a person, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant."

I used to wonder how the soul of a person would look if the outside were stripped away, and only the core of who they were was left standing there, simple and unaltered, unadorned.

This is the answer.

You only have to look at your closest friend-- the one who knows you inside and out, who can sing your secrets to sleep, who has their heart tucked somewhere in your hand--to realize that you don't see the shell at all. You couldn't describe their attractiveness based on their physical qualities alone, couldn't ever actually be sure what a stranger would observe, because you see so much deeper. Their soul shines through and obliterates any imperfections.

I love these discoveries.

Sometimes I look at these individual hearts tucked into my palm and marvel at who they are and what they've become. The truest thing I could ever say of a friend would be, "Your soul is beautiful."

And they are.

Respite

Test week is over.

I passed biochem, which means I don't have to do medical school during the summer. It was significantly iffy for a while.

This is me.

Imagine those eyes a bit wilder, imagine you've been up at 3:30 am studying every morning for the last week, imagine you are too tired to sleep. Assume your right arm is five degrees colder than the rest of you, assume your back is knotted from tension, assume you just had your first real, hot, sit-down-to-eat meal in three days. Pretend your house is trashed, pretend you are too tired to sit and do anything but look at it, pretend that you actually forgot your own name for a full six seconds today--heck, pretend anything you like, as long as you pretend that now it's over for two whole days.

This is me.

Thank. God. 

"Where the stars split into green fire"

I want adventure.

I've forgotten what it's like to stand on a beach at midnight and marvel at the unceasing rhythm of the waves, and the silver trail that the moon bleeds as it flees across the ocean. I miss watching the sun rise in the desert, achingly cold as it steals the stars away from the darkness. I want to chase back the night with stories around a campfire. I need to push to the top of a hard climb and feel the jubilant satisfaction of knowing that I can use my wits and skill to defy gravity. I want that hard, fey joy back. I need it.

To test myself against something that didn't come from a textbook. To marvel at something bigger than I am, and share that marvel. To be reminded that life is so much more complex and intricate and mysterious than this, and rediscover what is unique within myself. To just go, and be; something, anything, anywhere. To be alive.

Something inside me starts to die without this. I can't even define what "this" is--but one of my favorite authors said something along the lines of, "If I want to find my soul again, that means I need to go to the green, lumpy places on the map. That's where it will be." And I need to give my soul room to breathe, expand, remember what it feels like to wonder, and wander, without restrictions or reservations.

There aren't many green lumpy places around here. But there is ocean, there is desert, there are rocks to scale and shells to find and music to weave and nights to spend under the stars, far from where I sit tonight. I want this.

Five more days. Then I can cut myself loose--be free, even for a day or two, to become me again. I rather miss that careless, confident, cheerful girl in the mirror. I want to be able to lean forward, and brush the glass, and whisper, "There you are, again. Hi." I want to see her eyes glowing back at me, incandescent with secrets and fun.

Five more days. Then look out, world of mine. I don't know where yet, or how, but adventure calls. And I'm going to find it again.

"...walking the edge of the way
The world is supposed to be,
Just to be alive--
Gone
Off to places where the deep drum roll of the earth can be heard and felt
Through the soles of bare feet
Dancing to the song of the stars
Through the fire and ice of the Northern sky--
Laughing
Joining the crash of the waves on rocky coasts
Incessant rhythm of the sea
At once raging and calm,
Alone but never lonely--
Dancing
Together with the voices of the mountains
Responding to the music in the world,
Singing with heart's blood
And fierce joy in simply being alive..."

--March 2008

Again

Bloody hell.

It's not supposed to be like this anymore. I'm not supposed to feel trapped inside my own head. Not now.

Except.

Alone

I'm stressed to the max right now. Everything today has just built into this towering wave, the kind that never quite falls but keeps getting higher so you know that, when it does lose the battle to gravity, you're screwed. Basically. And gravity is scheduled to fail next week.

It makes the fragments of sunshine so much sweeter, when they come.

I just got off the phone with my little sister. She's precious, you know. This wicked sense of humor wrapped in blue-grey eyes and a careless disregard for convention and rules, all in one petite package. Despite all the fights we've had, and are probably going to have in the future, I've always admired her for being real in ways that very few people dare to be. She's prickly, but under that is this incredibly intriguing person. I always feel like there's something new to learn about her. Endlessly fascinating. 

She called me tonight. First, that's just a warm spot in my soul, because...because. She did it. And she listened to the sordid recitation of my week, and then she told me about her life, which wasn't much better than mine. She let me in. Just a little, but enough.

I like to catch those moments and savor them, hold them close like a hug from three thousand miles away. We haven't had too many of those, but they're getting more frequent, and I'm just so glad. Because...because. Just because she's so important to me.

I had this line running through my head just before she called. "But nothing's going right...and everything's a mess...and no one likes to be alone." It was so good to be reminded that, even if it's true, and it is...I'm not.

Farseeing

Every word we've ever said--
Each choice a single, brilliant thread
Intersecting, changing meaning--
The ebb and flow can be deceiving
These subtle twists in our direction
Beyond the range of our perception
Fate is tangled, changing always--
And no one can see all of the ways
A single word, a careless act
Can tear the web--leave it intact--
Or change the future altogether
And yet--to live outside of never
These passing futures, this silver web
Run through the dark inside my head
Seen whole for a moment only
Sometimes the view from here is lonely
The past now in the future stands
Silver lines run through my hands
Gossamer threads with azure lining
Possibilities rare and shining
Where we'll go and what we'll be--
Briefly, my epiphany.
But not to touch--not anymore--
I have made that choice before
But some lines broke--the threads were crossed--
And countless futures made and lost
So now these fragile silver wisps
Slide by, just past my fingertips.

Homeless

Dear God in heaven,

Is this supposed to be funny? Because I don't hear any divine laughter.

It's one of those weeks. The ones where you wake up to gray skies and they actually look brighter in contrast because the fog in your head is so pervasive, which doesn't make anything better--it just enhances the gloom. I don't know if I really have an excuse to be this way. I have plenty of food (relatively--I'm actually out at the moment, but as soon as I find the time, the problem will resolve). I have good friends who keep me smiling even in the middle of information cramming (although some of them routinely creep from the shadows and scare the bejeezus out of me). I have a roof over my head.

A roof.

Oh, yeah, actually, not so much anymore. About that.

Our landlord just had a baby. Or, his wife had a baby, which always makes it hard for me not to roll my eyes when the couple says "We're pregnant," because there's no we about it. She looks like a small planet, and he's normal. Let's be honest--unless you plan on actively going through labor, you are not pregnant. Anyway.

So, now they're living on one income, which apparently isn't enough. So, he's selling our house.

Meaning, we have to find a new place to live by Christmas. We do get a month's notice when it actually sells, but we are medical students. In school. We don't have time to look for houses, and we can't sign a new year-long lease that starts in November, December, or January; and moving? Are you kidding me? When do we have time to move?

I'm also pretty stressed about the upcoming test week. It's so intense, and I feel behind all the time. I'm so, so thankful that Sabbath starts in a little less than eight hours. Sabbath will bring Thai food and Ryan and sleep, not necessarily in that order, but all wonderful in their own way.

But this situation is becoming more and more real. I managed to ignore it last night and this morning, but then I started thinking about logistics during class. Bad idea. I'm pretty peeved, and getting angrier. It's not healthy and I'm trying to stop the spiral by leaving it here, for all of you. And by realizing that the only thing I can do is to keep studying, and look for a new place to live, and not fret about it past that.

I do fret so.

*In a sudden reversal of opinion, I have to say that I'm friggin' lucky. I have nothing to complain about. See the woman in my picture? That's her life, on that sidewalk. Look at me. I need to shut my mouth.