After hurried weekend trips get-aways, it was definitely a nice shift to spend five full days away on vacation, even if two of those days were spent in bustling airports sitting in plastic, hard-backed chairs. The Bahamas was even more beautiful than I remembered, made all the more memorable by the union of two people. Even though my only duty was to carry the long train on the bride’s dress, I still felt purposeful as I stood to watch the romantic exchange prevail under witness of God and country. To accurately capture the appeal of the numerous travel brochures, we spent the rest of the weekend sipping fruity drinks and lounging beside the clear blue ocean with the faint scent of coconut suntan lotion as our constant companion. There were no deadlines, no pressing managerial decisions, just stretches of time to do exactly as we pleased, which meant playing sand paddle ball and skimming gossip columns with pictures of celebrities on the beach.
Coming back to the normal routine wasn’t as difficult as I had imagined; my propensity towards compulsivity may have caused me to look forward to it a bit. All things considered, it was time well spent.
I was asked early this morning by my boss if I had had a good weekend, to which I automatically replied yes, without much thought. It was only after a long pause and an expectant expression that I realized I was supposed to follow that up with an example or two to qualify my answer. At that moment, my brain became a slurry of goo; all synapses must have been extinguished, because nothing was firing at all. I could not, from a fundamental base, answer the most simple question in the world. We had to embarrassingly move on to another topic. It was definitely not a shining moment for showcasing my intellectual capability, especially in the presence of a neurosurgeon.
But… to follow that up, since I am replaying that scene in my head like the first time I saw Matthew McConaughey shirtless in a movie , I did have a great weekend. Friday, I had sushi from a new place and discovered a new appreciation for the mixture of spicy mayo and Tobiko roe, and followed that up with what must be considered the antithesis of Japanese cuisine—a softball game that ended in a verbal fist fight and forfeit.
Saturday I finally indulged myself in a day at the spa, in preparation for the upcoming trip to the Bahamas. Again, contrarily converse, the afternoon was followed up with the purchase of a new tennis racket. That evening, we went to a local outdoor opera performance, and then to a party at a friend’s home where he served us Vietnamese infused cuisine and wonderfully sugary cake.
Sunday—slept in (until 8AM), went to the office to finish some projects, and was pampered with deliciously deep fried tacos, and I didn’t have to clean up afterwards. All in all, a memorable weekend that I couldn’t remember.
As I hurriedly eat my lunch of microwave-warmed brown rice, I think about how sheltered my life has been. It was first instilled by nurture, and then over time, naturally became my own choice. We had some friends over to play tennis last night, and afterwards had a casual dinner of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers by the pool. As I was getting to know/entertaining one of these new friends, I described how absolutely appalled I was earlier that day when a child had been admitted to our neurosurgery service, after which he tested positive for an illicit drug. He was a mere eleven years old. All sorts of judgmental thoughts briefly passed through my conscientiously conscious mind: what kind of neglectful parents did he have, how society just doesn’t promote ethics and values like it used to, and wondering just how many tattoos he was hiding underneath the requisite baggy pre-teen clothing. Thankfully, I had the scant sense to not voice these thoughts to our guest, because he looked at me with a twinge of awkwardness, and admitted that he himself had dabbled in a few drugs over 30 years ago back in his primary school days. Humbled, I also turned a few shades of pink and changed the subject quickly. I’m not sure what surprised me more, but I have a sinking sense that it stems from, and ends with me, and the lifestyle that I choose to lead.
I travel a lot. There is hardly a month that goes by without a few thousand frequent flier miles to one account or another. However, it has been an unusually long stint since the last trip to Utah in March, after which I started this new job. But next weekend we’ll be back to the norm. Three weekends in a row we’ll be away—first Nassau, then Chicago, and then St. Louis. I’m especially excited about going to the Bahamas again. This time will be quite different from the last, as we will be attending a wedding ceremony there and staying at a fancy schmancy resort. But I wonder how it will compare to the experience of going with five girl friends, taking turns sleeping on a floor, journaling, and taking goofy pictures, all with the wide-eyed optimism of never having seen much of the world before.
Sometimes, I get very frustrated. And when I get this way, I’m completely unreasonable and moody. This is how Tuesday started, and how it remained all day until I left the office that day. As with every other day, the elevator down from the 12th floor of the hospital was crammed with people, bags, strollers, and crying children. I didn’t think it unusual that a clinic nurse greeted a family as they maneuvered their way through the crowd of bodies, but was taken aback by the mother’s answer. She matter of factly stated, “of course we’re here, this is our life”, ending in a sighing tone, but still expressionless. I looked down the skinny boy standing next to her, wondering what diagnosis, what condition he had that would cause them to have to schedule clinic visit after clinic visit. I’ll probably never know, since he wasn’t on our service, but as I stepped out of the elevator, I reminded myself that I could voluntarily leave and come back on my own terms, and to not take that for granted.
Somewhere over the course of these past two years, I stopped writing. I’ve now been reduced to expressing myself through cutesy birthday cards and bullet-pointed reminders on post-it notes. And although I still carry my leather bound journal in my attaché case and the recurring thought nags me to log in and at least start an entry, I haven’t for an embarassingly long time. The situation has even come to setting a daily reminder that comes up in my Outlook calendar, that forces me to “dismiss” it manually.
The main cause for what I believe to be the reason I stopped, is that real life set in. Creativity plays second fiddle to mortgages, flipping laundry, 11 hour workdays, and ansty puppies begging to be fed. Although that’s not to say it hasn’t socially evolved and morphed into other outlets, like speaking to Bingley in my interpretation of a 19th century whimsical English accent.
With an overwhelming potential for bias, my time has passed with great rapidity. Since my last entry, I’ve started and left two jobs, and am now on my fourth vocation since moving down to Houston 22 months ago. (Okay, maybe one of those doesn’t count, because I returned to the first job after work at the cancer hospital). A few months back into clinical research I feel at home again, and working at a children’s hospital definitely does not have any dull moments. And then, with no great surprise in my life, I decided to take on another pet project. I’ve himmed and hawed a little, with the biggest detractor being taking on more debt, but this fall I will start law school. Law, you ask, all whilst giving me a skeptical look. That look is familiar, as I’ve seen it reflected in my own face many times, having never even entertained the idea for a fraction of a second before this last year. These last nine years I’ve dedicated to health care and research, and its about time to branch out of a comfortable niche. So in the spirit of new endeavors, I’m pretty darn excited.
~~It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance. It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes a chance. It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give. And the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live. ~~
