I went to a coffee shop last evening in an attempt to study. Our house is filled with boxes and just a general sense of disorder that comes with the process of moving. I am a fuddy duddy who cannot study in a place of chaos. Plus, our standard poodle gets very needy when S is on trips. She barks at her own reflection, jumps on and off (and back onto) the couch, whines to go outside - then immediately back in. Basically the poor pooch doesn't know what to do with herself until S returns.
The bedlam of a coffee shop otherwise known as Starbucks was like a refuge for me; offering me a haven of order and stability. Plus a healthy dose of caffeine.
I got even more, unexpectedly.
After several hours and one bathroom break, I struck up a conversation with my seatmate - who up until this point was very respectfully minding his own business and quietly working on his own project. I think it was that, his distance, that made me feel at ease to have a conversation with him. Usually I keep very much to myself, especially if I have had a long day of talking to the public at work. Mostly, I find myself shy. Many people are surprised at my self-proclaimed classification as a shy girl, but I am. It takes effort for me to be extroverted in social settings and especially situations with unfamiliar people. When S and I were introduced to our two most beloved and adored wifey-besties (just this summer) I was emotionally and physically SPENT from a small interaction we had in a reception area of a hair salon. For reals. Exhausted.
This evening I spent some time explaining to this guy why I am in school to become a nurse practitioner and "why not just a doctor...." And it felt good. It felt right. I felt ready to say, "I'm a nurse practitioner." I listened to some of his frustrations surrounding his father's health care, and I felt encouraged and determined to be a part of the solution, to help make a difference. God. That looks so cheesy I almost couldn't type it. But I wholeheartedly feel it.
It felt good to be in that moment, on my path, just accepting my path.
Then I found out he is a writer.
And then my path got very blurred. I felt that little twinge *right there* in that spot in my stomach. I heard that voice that nags me and tells me to open my computer/notebook/journal/whatever and write. Write about anything and anyone. Just write to write and it doesn't matter what or who or why or how...
The same thing happened at work a few weeks ago when I asked a patient what he did for a living and I found out he was an English Professor. Oh dear. Quite embarrassing for the both of us. I may have asked him to grade some of my writing. Some of my non-scholarly writing. I didn't actually request this, but it was headed down that course...
I am tired of feeling this way. Like I only have half of the picture in front of me. New Starbucks-writer-friend-from-L.A.- did give me a great perspective on this. Something I've actually been working on in other areas of my life...
I'm grateful that I've been lucky enough to make certain connections in my lifetime. For whatever reasons, for however long the connection is there, each interaction with another living thing *counts*... matters... Each interaction has a significance, we just have to accept it's there, look for it, and give it recognition.