Sooo much is happening right now! So I'm not going to tell you about any of it, HA. I actually just can't get into it at the moment because I don't have nearly enough time to do any of it justice. I'll explain at least some of it sometime. Promise.
Instead, I'm going to tell you that I recently saw a book for sale in a shop downtown called "How to Cook Without a Book."
And I really needed someone there to point at it and laugh with. Where were you?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
there but for the grace
A lot of my job involves dealing with the crap that happens when 20-year-old U.S. Americans go to foreign (in every way) places. It happens; it just does. There's no way around some of it (and plenty of ways around some of it). They get sick, they get hurt, they get into trouble of their own or others' making. They get drunk, leading to all of the above. Sometimes it's sad, sometimes it's infuriating (see: drunk), sometimes it's just time-consuming. Shit happens.
I'm actually a janitor, cleaning up messes that happen to require a fairly unique skill set.
I'm actually a janitor, cleaning up messes that happen to require a fairly unique skill set.
But occasionally it hits me, as it did at 4:30 this morning, that some of my job is to be a bit player in the drama of someone's life falling apart. There's run-of-the-mill and then there is Life Altering. There is sexual assault. There is diagnosis with a serious illness, sometimes of the student abroad and sometimes of a loved one at home. There is - today - the sudden and shocking death of a student's parent. And another parent on the phone in the middle of the night trying to figure out how to reach her child literally halfway across the world, break the news, and bring her home.
I hope in these instances that I am providing calm and respectful support. I hope they leave those conversations thinking, OK, that person is going to do her best to help me right now. I hope they don't hear my voice shake as I think to myself, "my God, what would I feel like in those shoes?" Which is probably why it's hard to detach myself emotionally from the process of offering my support, especially when that process involves telling someone in pain that thing they really want is not actually possible, or is possible only if gigantic hurdles are cleared. Logic Brain says: you are doing what you can, and the important goals will be met. Empathy Brain says: this is the worst moment of someone's life, and of course they want X thing to happen right now, and you have not made that happen. Mom wants daughter home this instant, and you have failed to invent teleportation. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I am good at my job. I am even good, I think, at responding to urgent situations in the middle of the night. (I am not so good at keeping the lack of sleep from affecting my entire next day, or therefore going to bed early rather than staying up to write long introspective blog posts. Bummer.) And I'm really good at holding myself to impossibly high standards (if you invent teleportation, please let me know ASAP?) and getting upset with myself over my imagined failings on behalf of the stranger on the other end of the telephone call who probably isn't actually giving me a second thought because they have MUCH bigger fish to fry.
I guess that when you are awoken at 4:00am to play a small part in someone else's difficult story, it's hard not to get a little too wrapped up in it and think that your role is bigger than it really is. After all, for most of us isn't the whole point of being awake at 4am that things seem bigger than they really are?
Well, I'm going to propose another point for me and all those who play these odd little roles in other people's dramas - which is all of us really. And then I'm going to hang onto this one for all I'm worth, because it makes life worthwhile AND might just keep me from losing my mind to the fear of the phone ringing all night when I'm on call: Maybe it's the universe's continuing attempts to smack us wide awake into the recognition that it could all change *POOF* in an instant. Our lives. Our connections with loved ones. The amazing things each of us does every day with our brains and bodies without giving it the least thought or gratitude.
The illusion of control over these things that we work so hard to maintain is powerful, but micro-thin. Maybe we need to maintain it somewhat, just to provide some direction to the day. I guess what I am pondering here is how to poke holes in the illusion and still be OK. How to stay on the path while admitting that there's absolutely no map.
No, organized religion is not the answer, at least not for me. I think maybe it's much smaller and much larger than that. Like getting regular check-ups and buckling your seat belt. Giving some money away to good causes and volunteering in your community. And saying "thank you" and "I love you" as often as humanly possible.
I hope in these instances that I am providing calm and respectful support. I hope they leave those conversations thinking, OK, that person is going to do her best to help me right now. I hope they don't hear my voice shake as I think to myself, "my God, what would I feel like in those shoes?" Which is probably why it's hard to detach myself emotionally from the process of offering my support, especially when that process involves telling someone in pain that thing they really want is not actually possible, or is possible only if gigantic hurdles are cleared. Logic Brain says: you are doing what you can, and the important goals will be met. Empathy Brain says: this is the worst moment of someone's life, and of course they want X thing to happen right now, and you have not made that happen. Mom wants daughter home this instant, and you have failed to invent teleportation. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I am good at my job. I am even good, I think, at responding to urgent situations in the middle of the night. (I am not so good at keeping the lack of sleep from affecting my entire next day, or therefore going to bed early rather than staying up to write long introspective blog posts. Bummer.) And I'm really good at holding myself to impossibly high standards (if you invent teleportation, please let me know ASAP?) and getting upset with myself over my imagined failings on behalf of the stranger on the other end of the telephone call who probably isn't actually giving me a second thought because they have MUCH bigger fish to fry.
I guess that when you are awoken at 4:00am to play a small part in someone else's difficult story, it's hard not to get a little too wrapped up in it and think that your role is bigger than it really is. After all, for most of us isn't the whole point of being awake at 4am that things seem bigger than they really are?
Well, I'm going to propose another point for me and all those who play these odd little roles in other people's dramas - which is all of us really. And then I'm going to hang onto this one for all I'm worth, because it makes life worthwhile AND might just keep me from losing my mind to the fear of the phone ringing all night when I'm on call: Maybe it's the universe's continuing attempts to smack us wide awake into the recognition that it could all change *POOF* in an instant. Our lives. Our connections with loved ones. The amazing things each of us does every day with our brains and bodies without giving it the least thought or gratitude.
The illusion of control over these things that we work so hard to maintain is powerful, but micro-thin. Maybe we need to maintain it somewhat, just to provide some direction to the day. I guess what I am pondering here is how to poke holes in the illusion and still be OK. How to stay on the path while admitting that there's absolutely no map.
No, organized religion is not the answer, at least not for me. I think maybe it's much smaller and much larger than that. Like getting regular check-ups and buckling your seat belt. Giving some money away to good causes and volunteering in your community. And saying "thank you" and "I love you" as often as humanly possible.
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