I love my job. I really do. I love (most of) the people I work with and love those who we are privileged to serve each day. But today was one of those days when I question whether I’m even capable of handling the day to day tasks that I trudge through each week. First, after a three day weekend, my inclination to stay home was almost more than I could overcome. Second, a three-day weekend means a four day week in which we pack five days worth of patients. That means every day of that week is its own kind of crazy. Today had its moments. Moments when I looked at my desk and nearly threw up my hands and said ‘I’m DONE!’. Moments when I looked around and said, “where is everyone?” as the clinic was empty. Moments when I felt like I could accomplish the tasks of the day.
Even so, my passion doesn’t lie in the job. I’m not sure exactly where it lies. I thought at one point it was in music. I love music. Music energizes me in ways that nothing else does. But I know that I couldn’t spend everyday teaching or doing music. I just don’t know enough. I love my family and believe if given the opportunity I could completely invest my life taking care of them. But I’m fairly certain that my personal passion lies elsewhere. What keeps coming back to me is writing. Expressing myself with words. Spoken. Written. Words. Big words, little words, complicated words, obscure words, obsolete words, crass words, smooth words. I’m not sure the form in which they will manifest themselves, but I believe that words are my passion. I pray that my passion can develop into something self-sustaining and endlessly fulfilling.