Treading Water

I try to keep a balance of perspective in my life that is both attentive to the more intuitive and subtle signs of situations, but that does not react to every little mishap or good fortune as being the token prophecy for one direction or another. In practice however, it’s typically in small, mundane ways that I find this, such as a slight misfortune in the day that changes the direction of plans. Otherwise, my failure occurs in the theoretical stage. My approach to planning has typically been to put my feelers out in a zillion ways and see what comes back feeling like the right fit. If option “A” to some big decision doesn’t feel right, I usually get the memo and end up on a different path.

I’ve been fortunate to have this approach work out for me this long. Yet while some would say this takes a certain kind of fearlessness and wisdom, there are underlying themes that I find in these patterns which make me wonder if I really am more fearful than ever. Up until now, every different phase or journey has had some neat little boxed time frame. both this and the way I just let opportunities unfold for me lend themselves to a certain sort of passivity.I’ve noticed this for a while and stubbornly joked with the world that I would never have to address it. But with AmeriCorps behind me there are no more superficial mile markers. This is officially a blank slate timeline. Now I have to be a more assertive designer. 

Fear, Failure and Forgiveness; three words that hold much more weight and power than the trademark f-word we prefer to brandish. I would say that each of these are essential to ultimately accessing authentic meaning in life. These are the cornerstones from which those recurring themes are built, and they will keep recurring with greater force, as the world beacons you to face life directly. 

Since moving to Portland, there have been small curveballs left and right. Like I said, I try not to react with unfounded assumptions, but at the same time, I can track the general vibes being created by my experience thus far, and I feel a greater and greater sense of urgency, that I have found myself in a failed decision. 

The daily demands of being in a city have been eating up my energy, leaving far from any sort of reserves to wrap my head around extra pursuits and interests. When it became apparent that I was not going to make enough of an income at the Senior Care job, all my time began to focus on finding more work. Now that I have, I am coming out of that tunnel vision to discover a reflection of someone far removed from who I feel I am. 

I crave the woods and the water. I crave that space removed from time, where the only thing to keep pace with is the synchronicity of surroundings, and the hearts of others. I don’t even need something big right now - just a week or two in that land of possibility - but I’ve created a schedule that doesn’t accommodate that need. I’m living to work and not working to live. 

Yesterday, we had some of the most gorgeous, warmest weather we’ve had in a couple weeks, and probably one of the nicest days we will have for a while as we move into winter. And I was missing out on it for the sake of work. If my heart yearns for those spaces so much, my work should be able to incorporate that. 

And yet this is where my big bold acknowledgment of change becomes muddled. Because even as I express my dissatisfaction, I see it as just a perspective’s shift away from being an unnecessary impatience with a path that could offer just as many benefits to me as any other and still eventually evolve to be integrated more with what i need. 

And perspecitve shifts a lot. For as much as I get disgruntled with my job, I love the people I work with and the small moments I feel I have something to contribute to authentically.

I had one of these moments during my afternoon shift yesterday. It was my high-anxiety, OCD client and I’d just about finished all of the day’s tasks. She had asked if I wanted to trim back the flowers in the flower pot, making an off-the-cuff remark about how she could “back when I used to have a life” or “I should say, when I wasn’t disabled.” I paused, once again coming up against my radical belief that she can change and the structure of the agency’s aim to please her and maintain her comfort. Delicately, I asked her if she thought about it much: what it would be like to try and go out these days? I didn’t get an incredibly detailed response, but she did jump to her primary concern about her sense of balance. Then to my surprise, she offered that we could go out and try and tackle the flowers together. Perhaps too excitedly, I gathered scissors and bags and we went down together. She said that she would need help balancing while sitting in her folding chair and to move it from pot to pot, but as she got involved with the activity, I found her more and more able to move without hesitation. 

Back upstairs, she asked for a hug, and then asked if I’d ever known anyone with her symptoms. I shook my head, but then carried on to explain how I could kind of relate. In the past, I’d experienced anxious, sensory overload that effects the perception of hearing and vision. I understood how that can be uncomfortable and how easily it could become a vicious cycle that someone feeds until they are trapped in those sensitivities. In the most polite way I could, I basically told her she needed to buck up. Granted, it was really polite, because I’m all about meeting people where they’re at. But it was exciting to begin that conversation that I’d been wanting to have with her from day one. I told her that I would be thrilled to do more like that with her, as much as she is able and willing. As she described her experience, I saw how much the current pattern of the caregiver routine fueled her anxiety and stole away any chance of learning how to live for passions again, and I explained that that was not why I was there. In  the back of my mind, I imagine us at a park by the time I’m done working with her. 

Then later that night, I had my first overnight shift. The hour before, I began to get nervous. What the hell was I doing? I’m not an all-nighter person, I haven’t worked with brain injury, and now I’m freaking out about the steps to basic standing and walking assistance. 

My client was a young, cognizant 67 year-old woman who had taken an incredibly nasty fall down the stairs. While the rest of her body was practically unscathed, her head sustained two skull fractures, a broken nose, broken eye sockets and brain rattling. Her husband greeted Allison and I and then took me into the bedroom to quietly say hello. As he calmly explained the night’s routine - she likes to take baths at night, and she needs to take this vicodin at 2 - I tried to imagine how he’d been experiencing this great upheaval. After the run-down, he set me up with wi-fi, stoked the wood stove and insisted I help myself to the tons of pie that was leftover. 

About an hour into my shift, my client rang her bell for assistance. At that point, all my preconceived worries were irrelevant. She asked what time it was and I could immediately tell she was in pain and wanting the vicodin. I brought in an Aleve and suggested that we could maybe try a bath. As she moaned at how painful it was, she still attempted conversation and explanation of herself here and there, so I began to find questions to understand more about what she needed and what she was feeling. I asked if this was worse than it had been the past few days and her answer let me know that she was unsettled by having thought she was in a steady decrease from pain when it now appeared there was more of a roller coaster to go. In the darkened bathroom, in the late night, the space unfolded into a bonding and I found that I wasn’t grasping for how to behave or what to say. Back in bed, the pain continued to torment her. Without second thought, I offered to message right around the trauma area. For the next hour I sat there, just embodying this simple, compassionate touch with this woman as she immediately calmed. We eased into conversation and then I finally turned out the lights so that she could try to close her eyes. We surprise ourselves with how far compassion and recognizing one another’s human-ness surpasses any skill. 

She had told me I had incredibly gentle hands. She had asked if I’d ever thought of being a therapist. She had seen me and understood me, and I had brought my authenticity to the moment. 

She’d also very quickly decided that I was not being treated or paid my worth with Home Instead. This too, has been a factor I’ve felt intuitively as I waver at the many forks in the road. I knew I was disappointed with the scheduling and lack of benefits but I did not realize how sorely ripped off we are. Her and her husband are paying a whopping $25 per hour for me to be there. I’m seeing less than half of that. 

Between these moments though, and the opportunities I’ve had to discover things like PDX Food Not Bombs and drum circles, I can’t quite see any one path clearly. Sometimes, it’s necessary to get through a less ideal set of circumstances to build towards something more fulfilling. Sometimes it’s a trap and it’s only purpose is to be the thing that forces you into fearful, unknown places upon abandoning it. I just don’t know which this is yet.