Of course anyone who is reading this and has read the book, you know what I'm going through. A path of self-existentialism? A re-thinking of the word, God? A craving growing so big and deep in my chest to just run off after college and pave my own path through the streets of Italy and the culture of the Balinese? Or all the above? I am not finished, so no book report yet. But what an incredible journey Gilbert has already painted. I can only hope some of her writing style is being mentally sticky-noted so my brain can effortlessly refer back to her voice when need be.
I have also read: The Girls from Ames (non-fiction) and True Colors, (novel).
My days are filled with working at a retirement community just across the bridge. A job that I could never have expected effecting me the way it has. I was going to blog through out the summer about my job and the hilarious stories/situations I find myself in daily, but between work and training for the race and reading/family time, blogging is usually near the bottom of my list.
But anyway, working with seniors is something I never in a million years saw myself doing. And never in a million years saw myself liking.
Bear with me, but before this summer I didn't especially care much for the 85+ crowd. I felt uncomfortable, out of my element. What do you even do with them anyway? Treat them like capable adults, only talk louder? Treat them like little kids, except they can tell me what to do? After all, they have 60+ on me. In my past experiences, I have also found that they smell like food, always look confused, make you repeat yourself like 30 times, and run over your heels with their walkers.
But against all odds, I fell into it. Into this small, smiley community. And have come out the other side with many more friends eligible for the early bird special. I take Dorothy grocery shopping and out the the seven things on her grocery list, we find five and it takes an hour. Barb usually comes to craft time, and at 88 is one of the busiest ladies I know. Chuck walks to the beat of his own drum, and never lets me clear his morning dishes. Leonard, at the ripe age of 95, still refuses to use his walker on a regular basis, and enjoys taking strolls outside and examining the trees, more specifically the leaves on the trees. Joan is suffering from dementia and her husband Tom is becoming increasingly agitated by her declining heath. At first you want to blame Tom, tell him he needs to be patient and supportive of Joan. But in Tom's eyes, it's not as much him getting angry at the small things just out of agitation, it's the frightening reality that he is slowly losing the one he loves. And scared that without her, there might not be a lot left for him to hold on to.
So yes, as you can see I am forming personal relationships with these people, and that is another reason why I didn't ever see myself entering this field. I am emotional. Whether it's PMS or any other random day of the month, I am a classic offender of the: care too much, worry too much, carry too much. Once I am emotionally invested in someone (which doesn't take long), I carry what they carry. Not because I want to, but because I truly feel like I am just the kind of person who is hardwired to. I carry another's loss for days, I sit with it and talk to it and try to understand it. Why does she have Multiple Myeloma? Why did he have to lose his wife? Why can't she remember?
Taking this into full circle, I feel like I could not be reading a more perfect book for what I am experiencing in my life right now. Faith.
As Gilbert puts it, "Faith is a belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking full-speed and face-first into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy."
I guess you just gotta have faith.
