The thing about living in a construction zone is this: the view is always changing. And some days you are the one leaning against the shovel, while other days you are the one powering it down. Pace yourself carefully and enjoy the view for what it is. It can all change without your input or advice.
On the day I very nearly parked prose in the poetry lot regarding my little Ipod, it suddenly stopped working. Just like that, fully charged and nowhere near full of Dave Matthews et al, it drew a blank. The first or second thing that came to mind was the possibility of the aforementioned heresy and resultant remarkably efficient backlash.
No amount of rebooting, reenlisting, rekindling, LIDO DRIP STAT! would serve to re-enlighten the glow that had once come from the Nano screen . I even asked for help. Human help, like the kind I accept when I'm commonly lost outdoors. Nothing. The best and the brightest, their intel clearances and Gen X credentials put to this test. Nothing.
But within which camp had I possibly fallen heretic? Had Mr Jobs sensed my marginalized attempt at marginalized humor at his expense, with my cavalier reference to elegance meets function meets the awe of a species as we consume the manifest of his intellectual properties? Or was it the critique of Eddie's singing abilities? No one has made note of my opinion before in that department. Islamic prayers potentially, but not quite, in the waistband of my shorts? They never made it there, truly. Would any of these things serve to transition a sleek technical entertainment center into the product capabilities of a 1 oz smooth river stone?
I don't know. I'm not particularly superstitious. Well, ok, ER nurses have made me superstitious in the ER. I do believe in Mondays on Wednesdays, full moon lunacy, no tuna consumption in the nurses station, (is that superstition or just stinky?) and certain phrases you never say unless you plan to take responsibility for the metaphorical busload of patients that will be let out at triage once it leaves your naive, unfortunate lips. Woe to the soul who does that.
But other than carrying the same photo in my white lab coat when working since coming to AZ in 1996, believing the room once designated "Trauma 1A" at the Vale is haunted, and thinking I have the spirit of a former beloved dog watching over me, there are no superstitions to complicate my crisp scientific measures.
With this change in the tunes status, now I will run the perimeter with the sounds of heavy machinery and the occasional whoop of an excited and highly trained canine. Rattle and hum with a howl. I might have missed something with the little buds in my ears...the sounds of progress and freedom in Kurdistan?
What does freedom sound like anyway? Does it ring like the song says it should be let to do? I think about comparative freedom now that I'm living within walls boasting a radius of about 1 mile, and with no liberty to leave without cause. This has initiated some inquiry from friends in the US about feeling trapped.
Do I feel trapped in my adventure? Has liberty been sacrificed for the experience? No, I can assuredly respond, there is nothing nearly so dramatic taking place. Trapped? Something sacrificed? No, but there is perspective that probably should be addressed to make some sense of it. Attitude and perspective. These are the things you have to come up with when somebody says the wrong phrase in the ER and the bus pulls up, or when you think the walls around the perimeter should have the gaps for wildlife and joggers too. Attitude and perspective are the duo that have saved a lot of bad days from becoming disastrous long term memories.
Inside these walls, I sleep, go to work, administer Peacework, eat three meals +, exercise, and communicate with friends in person and afar. I wonder about how different a typical day would be for me in my home in Phoenix compared to here, specifically, in regards to real use of freedom (not in regards to seeing my dog or friends).
My point is this: Do we really use our freedoms, or do we like to carry them around in our mental pockets for use another time? I mean, how often do you spontaneously jump in a car and drive to the Grand Canyon? Or is a typical day more likely to include a drive to the grocery store and traffic anxiety? Running errands should not be confused with freedom. I can't run errands here, true, but I can plan a trip. I may plan a long bicycle journey, or hike with my dog, for instance, for a leave period if I wanted. I have lost the freedom of spontaneous travel here, but I have gained the freedom from running household errands.
Most of us live and work and fully exist in a small radius anyway. Maybe not a one mile radius with all basic needs provided, but when you really think about it, your routine is your wall. Whether your commute is a 5 minute walk or a 45 minute drive, you have made your choice as certainly as I have decided to live within these 20 ft walls for three months at a time. We are probably doing the same things every day: sleep, work, etc, and planning our next adventure between patients or whatever it is you do.
It's good to plan adventures, but it's even better to get out and enact them...even when it means living in a huge chilly desert inside a former military forward operating base. Doing this with few distractions allows me to appreciate the people I'm meeting here, and the other details in the mix around me. What I lose in entertainment I gain in the observation of everything that exists within my senses. It's not orderly, it's not pleasing to the eye, and it's not meant to be these things for any one's concern. But for now, it's home, and it's a little quieter without the music.
On the day I very nearly parked prose in the poetry lot regarding my little Ipod, it suddenly stopped working. Just like that, fully charged and nowhere near full of Dave Matthews et al, it drew a blank. The first or second thing that came to mind was the possibility of the aforementioned heresy and resultant remarkably efficient backlash.
No amount of rebooting, reenlisting, rekindling, LIDO DRIP STAT! would serve to re-enlighten the glow that had once come from the Nano screen . I even asked for help. Human help, like the kind I accept when I'm commonly lost outdoors. Nothing. The best and the brightest, their intel clearances and Gen X credentials put to this test. Nothing.
But within which camp had I possibly fallen heretic? Had Mr Jobs sensed my marginalized attempt at marginalized humor at his expense, with my cavalier reference to elegance meets function meets the awe of a species as we consume the manifest of his intellectual properties? Or was it the critique of Eddie's singing abilities? No one has made note of my opinion before in that department. Islamic prayers potentially, but not quite, in the waistband of my shorts? They never made it there, truly. Would any of these things serve to transition a sleek technical entertainment center into the product capabilities of a 1 oz smooth river stone?
I don't know. I'm not particularly superstitious. Well, ok, ER nurses have made me superstitious in the ER. I do believe in Mondays on Wednesdays, full moon lunacy, no tuna consumption in the nurses station, (is that superstition or just stinky?) and certain phrases you never say unless you plan to take responsibility for the metaphorical busload of patients that will be let out at triage once it leaves your naive, unfortunate lips. Woe to the soul who does that.
But other than carrying the same photo in my white lab coat when working since coming to AZ in 1996, believing the room once designated "Trauma 1A" at the Vale is haunted, and thinking I have the spirit of a former beloved dog watching over me, there are no superstitions to complicate my crisp scientific measures.
With this change in the tunes status, now I will run the perimeter with the sounds of heavy machinery and the occasional whoop of an excited and highly trained canine. Rattle and hum with a howl. I might have missed something with the little buds in my ears...the sounds of progress and freedom in Kurdistan?
What does freedom sound like anyway? Does it ring like the song says it should be let to do? I think about comparative freedom now that I'm living within walls boasting a radius of about 1 mile, and with no liberty to leave without cause. This has initiated some inquiry from friends in the US about feeling trapped.
Do I feel trapped in my adventure? Has liberty been sacrificed for the experience? No, I can assuredly respond, there is nothing nearly so dramatic taking place. Trapped? Something sacrificed? No, but there is perspective that probably should be addressed to make some sense of it. Attitude and perspective. These are the things you have to come up with when somebody says the wrong phrase in the ER and the bus pulls up, or when you think the walls around the perimeter should have the gaps for wildlife and joggers too. Attitude and perspective are the duo that have saved a lot of bad days from becoming disastrous long term memories.
Inside these walls, I sleep, go to work, administer Peacework, eat three meals +, exercise, and communicate with friends in person and afar. I wonder about how different a typical day would be for me in my home in Phoenix compared to here, specifically, in regards to real use of freedom (not in regards to seeing my dog or friends).
My point is this: Do we really use our freedoms, or do we like to carry them around in our mental pockets for use another time? I mean, how often do you spontaneously jump in a car and drive to the Grand Canyon? Or is a typical day more likely to include a drive to the grocery store and traffic anxiety? Running errands should not be confused with freedom. I can't run errands here, true, but I can plan a trip. I may plan a long bicycle journey, or hike with my dog, for instance, for a leave period if I wanted. I have lost the freedom of spontaneous travel here, but I have gained the freedom from running household errands.
Most of us live and work and fully exist in a small radius anyway. Maybe not a one mile radius with all basic needs provided, but when you really think about it, your routine is your wall. Whether your commute is a 5 minute walk or a 45 minute drive, you have made your choice as certainly as I have decided to live within these 20 ft walls for three months at a time. We are probably doing the same things every day: sleep, work, etc, and planning our next adventure between patients or whatever it is you do.
It's good to plan adventures, but it's even better to get out and enact them...even when it means living in a huge chilly desert inside a former military forward operating base. Doing this with few distractions allows me to appreciate the people I'm meeting here, and the other details in the mix around me. What I lose in entertainment I gain in the observation of everything that exists within my senses. It's not orderly, it's not pleasing to the eye, and it's not meant to be these things for any one's concern. But for now, it's home, and it's a little quieter without the music.
Oh no music PB ... I would go crazy without..good luck dear is singing an option?
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