I added a new link tool bar to the right. So far, I have put my own CFI website on there, Pro Flight Aviation’s website, as well as some really good FREE websites for students to check out.

Pro Flight Aviation in Renton has a really good special on Private Pilot training… $5,150 includes 40 hours in a Cessna 172, 20 hours of Flight Instruction and 20 hours of Ground Instruction. You won’t find a deal like this anywhere else in the area. Of course knowing me, I will help in reducing costs wherever I can.

Proflight puts a strong emphasis on safety above all else and they won’t push you to fly when you don’t feel comfortable doing so. Diane, Bernie, and Brad are great and the CFI’s all are professional pilots that do this part-time. With the exception of myself, of course, since I have a non-aviation career and do this part-time. Anyone who has followed my blog for a while knows I’ve worked in less than stellar conditions in the past and know I don’t advertise. But, I feel good about putting out the good word for them. Check out their link to the right…

Happy Holidays and New Years!

Well, today I turned down a job offer. I would have made more money and had a better commute, but I am absolutely convinced that the added stress of the new job would not be worth what they’re willing to pay me in return. I’ll stick with my current job, thanks anyway.

I had been anticipating this offer for a couple of months, so I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I was certain about my criteria for changing jobs—how much I would need to make, how much vacation I could get, and what type of job it would be.

Along the way, I encountered some tell-tale signs that sat in my gut uncomfortably (pardon the mixed metaphor; I am still on my first cup of coffee):

1. If I accepted the new job, I would relinquish my office with a window that looks out onto a pretty wooded area (at my current job), for a cubical in a dark basement.
2. I would have a large sales quota, but would not have the opportunity to make much commission (and the base salary is distinctly room temperature).
3. The HR person was phony. Shallow, even. Probably not a valid reason not to take a job, but her insistence that their offer was so fantastic got on my nerves. “We’ve done a lot of research” about wages, benefits, etc. and she truly seemed to think their offer was great. But for me, it didn’t add up. A great offer to them does not necessarily equal a great offer to me.
4. This prospective employer would perhaps be willing to give me raises moving forward if I performed well, but did not acknowledge that my own experiences are also valuable and would bring a lot to this job. I’m not fresh out of college, I have the perfect experience for this job. It doesn’t seem to count. Frustrating.
5. No ability to work from home. (“We’re not set up for that.”)
6. They work during snowstorms.
7. I wouldn’t be eligible for the company’s 401(k) program until I was employed there six months. Why would I want to stay out of the market now?
8. After 6 months, I would be eligible for 3 sick days. Gee, thanks. I’m rarely sick, but this type of policy just sets you up for wanting to be sick. It reeks of “we don’t trust you.”

On the other hand, I liked the company, products, people I’d work with directly, and responsibilities enough so that I’d be willing to work with all those tell-tale signs if the offer were better, i.e., if it met my criteria.

After four interviews with this company, over four months, and meeting with about a dozen decisionmakers (including 5 sales managers!), I got an offer. I thought we could work things out and, over the long holiday weekend, I settled into the idea that I would probably be accepting a new job. After negotiations that didn’t produce a reasonable return on my investment, I turned down the offer this morning. 

I would generally expect negotiations to last for more than a couple of days, but the employer didn’t budge much and didn’t show signs of being interested in how to get me on board. I sold, sold, sold, but they didn’t.

So, I turned down the offer this morning. It feels a bit anticlimactic after all those interviews, but the process was still good for me. I got some great interview experience and met some nice people. Maybe they’ll realize what great talent they’re missing out on and call me up in a few weeks with an offer I can’t refuse. Ha, ha!

Trying out my new phone. An HTC Hero.

By Michael MacLeod

CANCER-conquering chef Andrew Fairlie is planning his next challenge to summit Mount Kilimanjaro.

And as Scotland’s top hotel chef, he wants to serve up haggis, neeps and tatties when his trek team reaches the top.

He told a weekend interview that he plans to climb a mountain a month in preparation for the 2011 adventure.

The 45 year-old Gleneagles Hotel restaurant boss recently cooked for world leaders of the G8 summit.

But he says reaching the summit of Africa’s highest mountain is “a walk in the park” compared to conquering cancer, so he’s raising money for the charities that helped save his life.

He said: “It’s certainly going to be an adventure.

“I’m hugely excited about getting to Tanzania though I feel a bit nervous about getting in shape.

“I want to make sure I’m as fit as possible, so my New Year’s resolution for 2010 is to climb a mountain a month.

“Hopefully after a while it’ll feel like a walk in the park.”

Brain tumour

The dad of two was diagnosed with a brain tumour in 2005 after a seizure on holiday in the Middle East.

After life-saving surgery, Fairlie rebalanced his stressful work pattern by cutting back on 14-hour shifts in the plush hotel.

Now he’s gearing up for a new challenge, and hope to dish out a Burns Supper at the peak of Kilimanjaro.

Having previously supported the Maggie’s Centres cancer charity, the chef is again dedicating his spare time to others.

“Fantastic cause”

He is teaming up with 15 walkers raising money for the Hospitality Industry Trust Scotland, which offers a helping hand to struggling young chefs.

Fairlie said: “I’ve always tried to give something back.

“After I had my operation I was more determined to work closely with Maggie’s and others who are ill.

“HIT Scotland is another fantastic cause, offering a leg-up to young chefs struggling to get their career started.”

See more of our videos at our dedicated channel,  Deadline TV.

1. Friends & family (great things are to be shared right?)
2. Hershey the Schnauzer, my new family member
3. On the move with the iphone
4. tv series
5. twitter
6. Level 5 partners
7. Macbookpro!!!
8. DSLR, now everyone looks better (or worst??)
9. Bittorents *hiak hiak*
10. My little Kelisa that gets me everywhere (and parking illegally)
11. Bah Kut Teh
12. Great clients
13. IKEA
14. Beef
15. Orange Juice
16. Passport & Aeroplanes (the need to travel!)
17. Addictive TV Series
18. Comfortable Sofa
19. Xe.com
20. Online Banking
21. Swimming Pools
22. Groomers
23. Pet boarding
24. Spectacles & Contact Lens
25. Drill
26. Magic Mop!!
27. Chili
28. Holidays
29. Google
30. Toilet Paper & Wet wipes
31. Mamak and their indo-mee
32. luggage with wheels
33. external harddisk
34. credit card
35. free wifi
36. pet-friendly restaurants
37. hot showers
38. massages
39. airconditioning
40. hairdryer
41. steve jobs
42. electric & water supply
43. mp3
44. rain
45. banana leaf rice
46. office
47. cleaners
48. calculator
49. blessings
50. ice cream & waffles!

This Monday, the 21st, was one of the roughest days of my life. I had a brutal weekend during which I struggled to get out of bed and brush my teeth, and come Monday, I wasn’t feeling much better. In fact, I was feeling mentally and physically shot.

I had the shakes for some reason, my back ached from staying in bed for three days (note to self — bed rest is the worst possible thing for middle-aged aches and pains), and I was thoroughly derealized and depersonalized. Emotionally, things were as bad as they could be. On the cognitive front, I had the attention span of a five-year-old boy who hasn’t taken his Ritalin, and even the most commonplace thoughts were arriving and leaving at an annoying drip-drip-drip pace.

Oddly, I had been briefly — very briefly — hypomanic on Friday, calling folks on the phone and chatting away in a manner that at least I found most amusing. Or perhaps I was simply acting normally and the contrast was so stark that I felt hypomanic. In any case, a brief spell of hypomania makes depression that much more difficult to weather because you really feel — or, at least, I really feel — that destiny intended you to live in this heightened state, and that you’ve been robbed for the last year or so since you last tasted it.

So, yeah, I was struggling. Going to work and staying there was was quite simply one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. This is sad in itself, because going to work is such a simple, basic act, and a part of me thinks “Good Lord, is this the sum total of my aspirations and abilities? Laboring mightily to see through a few trivial tasks at a job that is, let’s face it, largely administrative?” The answer, it would seem, is a humbling yes.

Right about now you’re probably asking yourself, “Wow, Dr. RandR, how did you accomplish this amazing feat of endurance?” Well, I’m glad you asked, because I’m about to give you some Pretty Darn Good Guidelines for Soldiering Through What Seems to Be an Impossible Task. Hang tight, here we go.

1. I’ve said this before, but it does bear repeating: No big goals. Break everything down into the tiniest imaginable steps, and work your way through one by one, refusing to think about the overwhelming whole. So in addition my master to do list, which, as usual, I populated with all sorts of ambitious projects that I had neither the intention nor the ability to carry out, I prepared a step-by-step list for each task that I absolutely had to accomplish, and I crept through my duties bit by bit in turn.

2. It helped that we had an urgent data delivery, and that none of my coworkers seemed inclined to help to get it out. I mean, if I were carted away to the looney bin before their very eyes, or they had proof positive that I was lying in a coma following a tragic car crash, I imagine someone would have stepped up to the plate. But as long as I was hovering around like a rain cloud, or at least likely to show up, everyone made it clear through their actions that they were too busy to help — and some were — or that they simply didn’t want to. So I was able to carry on in a martyred fashion about how if I’m not there to do things, they simply don’t get done.

A side note: a funny feature of my job — some would say a kafkaesque one — is that I have as little power as it’s possible for a creature with a pulse buried in a large, bureaucratic organization to have, and yet screwing up my main function by missing a data delivery actually carries severe penalties, both for me and for the organization as a whole. For the company, it can mean substantial fines and, in the long run, fewer widget contracts. I actually benefit from the sense of importance this gives me. If my job were entirely futile and pointless — I’ll refrain from pointing out specific functions at work, but trust me, they exist — I really wouldn’t be able to carry on at times. So I’m grateful for the bit of importance that I do have.

3. I’m not in the habit of speaking in an encouraging way to myself, but, boy, did I lay it on thick this week. At least one station in my head remained firmly tuned to the positive thinking channel: “It’s OK. You can do it. You’re going to be fine. You can do this. Just a little more. It’s really going to be OK.” It reminds me of the way I coached my car when the transmission suddenly stopped working the other day. A lot of, “Come on, baby! Just a little further! Let’s get through this one intersection, shall we?”

4. I flatly refused to think ahead to the future, or to ask any of the Big Questions. I’d been asking the Big Questions all weekend — “What am I doing on this planet? Why is there so much suffering in the world, and specifically in my skull?” — and — surprise, surprise! — I hadn’t managed to dredge up any persuasive answers, so come Monday I summoned all of my considerable powers of denial and refused to engage in any cheap existential philosophy. No big questions, just small tasks. No future; just the paper and pen, phone and computer before me.

5. I told myself again and again how proud I would feel if I managed to get through the day. I thought, “Heck, if I can sit upright and look busy for eight hours while feeling like this, then I can conquer the world!” And you know, I do feel proud. I’ve encounted a few stretches in my life where all I could do was slog through with very little hope, encouragement or pride, and I do pretty much manage to tough it out.

Taken together, these strategies did work. I doubt that they could work for months or even days on end, but luckily I did feel a bit better on Tuesday, so I didn’t have to test their efficacy over the long haul. I mean, I think I will eventually have to ask at least a couple of modest questions and discover some sort of purpose to drive me, but Monday was not the day for that, and I wisely refrained. As so often happens with depression, things did get a bit easier, and it was no longer such a superhuman struggle, say, to brush my teeth.

One consequence of my lost weekend is that I’ve had to skip Christmas. The window for buying and sending gifts and cards has closed, and I’m left reassuring myself that I will give everyone on my list random gifts throughout the year when they least expect it. Certainly not on their birthdays, since I always miss those. Perhaps in July, when the holidays seem so far away, and look alluring and not simply stressful.

One thing I did decide on Wednesday, my last day of work before the blessed, blessed holiday shutdown, is that I need a Grandiose Plan for this blog, and by extension for the rest of my life. Here’s the idea I’ve been toying with: what if I become the ideal mental patient? After all, I don’t follow a lot of my own advice. My diet isn’t horrible, but it certainly doesn’t meet FDA guidelines. The only exercise that I’ve been getting has been climbing the stairs at work and trudging back and forth to remote corners of our absurdly huge building. I’ve been slugging away at the coffee, which all the experts agree worsens mood disorders over the long run. I’ve stopped praying and attending church. And so on.

So I’ve been thinking: what if I really clean up my act? I don’t have to run a marathon, but I could revitalize my yoga practice and get the recommended minimum 20 minutes of aerobic exercise five days a week. I could eat more fruits and vegetables, behave as if I haven’t childishly withdrawn my faith from God, and so forth. Obviously, I couldn’t do this all at once. If I did, I would probably be assumed into heaven body and soul like the Virgin Mary, and that would have unfortunate consequences at work and for this blog. (I’m guessing that they don’t have internet connections or cell phones in the afterlife. No TV, either.)

Even so, I’m almost ready to concoct a grand scheme for self improvement just as an experiment. Would I actually get measurably better? Or is it true that mine is a hopeless case and there’s no point in buying spinach just to see it wilt in my refrigerator? The benefit of this approach is that it’s purely experimental. I don’t have to believe that it will work in order to do it. That helps, since I’ve been having a bit of a belief problem for the last several months.

It would also make for good reading — better reading than relentless whining about my sad lot, which others already do much more eloquently on other blogs (well, their lots, not mine). It would prove amusing for others, if not for me. And it might just work. All of the science and clinical evidence suggests that I would improve to some degree. Perhaps the clincher is this: it may be a matter of life and death. I’m genuinely not sure that I can go on like this, so I don’t have much to lose.

So, yes, a hopeful, ambitious, apparently unquenchable corner of my soul has been urging me to concoct and at least try to carry out a Grand Scheme. Watch this space for further developments. Or for more relentless whining. Or, most likely, for both.

Love to all.

Ha.

No, I’m not at work drunk.  Although, from the looks of things, I don’t think anyone would notice.  Certainly not my boss who I wont be seeing until the 30th, at the earliest, and even that is looking like its gonna be snowed out.  No one is here.  No one.  Well, except that one dude who uses my workstation after I’m gone for the day.  Creepy.

Come to think of it… a lot the people around here are creepers.  I already mentioned the dude who uses my computer.  Then there’s this other dude who sits on the other side of my wall, behind me, who likes to talk loudly, like he has cotton in his mouth.  Stealing computer dude likes to talk to him.  There’s also a guy who can, I think, only see out of one of his absurdly thickly glassed eyes.  And he’s obsessed with the Kindle.  There’s my boss, who I think just became a boss, because he’s not very bossy.  There’s the dude who I knew from a while ago who doesn’t have any hair, and yet still gathers together enough strands to put it into a long braid.  Oh, and he’s got a Z.Z. Top beard.  There was this one old dude over where I used to work who was as decrepit and annoying as old dudes can be… only this one was a ballerina.  I kicked him out of the library when I used to work there, so he never talked to me.  (Thank god.)

There are women who look like men, women who are 143 years past their prime, women who’s boobs hit the floor, women who pull their pants up to where their boobs should be, women who wear high waters, and women who sport all of the above and still think they’re cool because they have a 12 year old.  The fact that someone touched you long enough to procreate icks me out more than your camel toe.

Uhh… I never really meant this to be a rant on the quality of people I work with.  Really.  It just kinda went in that direction.

But can you blame me?  On any given day, I will hear 5 farts, 3 burps, hacking death coughs, sniffling, and a partridge in a pear tree.  I have to listen to my iPod pretty much from the second I sit down until the second I gather my crap to leave.  I will pause it to go pee or listen to someone who has wandered into my cube.

I am terrified that I will end up like these people.  I guess if I’m scared of it, then that’s a good sign for the future.  But it really is that bad.  This is where the government puts every single dork, dweeb, geek, tard, moron, socially inept loser that they hire.  And that doesn’t make me feel very good about my own social awesomeness.  Granted, I didn’t really apply to work anywhere else, but I feel like someone picked me up out of the cool kid’s seat, oh who am I kidding, I was never really cool… but I was funny and nice and had some social cred.  Anyway.  I was picked up out of where I had some kind of respect and plopped me down into the special ed classes.  And not the “oh that’s sad” special ed, where through no fault of their own, some kids ends up, but the “I like to burn things” and “Don’t look at me!” special ed class.

5 years.  Really.  I told myself I would give this 5 years before I gave up.  That’s long enough for someone, anyone, to get me out of this purgatory.  Or to get discovered and be a fantastically famous photographer.  Either will do.

We’ve been in trial this past week.  Yesterday the judge scolded me on the record, accusing me of rolling my eyes and throwing up my hands in disgust when he issued a ruling in favor of the prosecution.  He thought I worked for the defense.  Although he figured out that I worked for the prosecution and ostensibly realized that it didn’t make sense for me to gesticulate over a favorable ruling, I told him whatever I did was not related to the ruling, apologized nonetheless,and said I would keep an eye on my eye rolling (I do have a tendency to make a lot of faces, I don’t do it in the courtroom).

Now today, the prosecutor tells me that the defense attorney whined to the judge that the witnesses had told him I had been telling them what to say on the stand, kept the witnesses away from each other, and told one I would hold her in contempt of court.  Basically the defense attorney was alleging that I was suborning perjury by using threats and intimidation.  This pissed me off something awful.  First, I have never done any such thing in my 13 years working in the criminal justice system, and this defense attorney knows it (we actually used to be really good friends when he worked as a clerk in my office years ago).  I have no incentive to get a witness to testify one way or the other: I don’t get a cash bonus or even a gold star if our side wins, and I don’t get demoted if we lose.  In fact, I really don’t care if they lie on the stand.  All I do is tell witnesses what to expect during the trial, tell them to speak loud enough for the jury, and to not talk over the attorneys.  If that is directing their testimony, so be it.  Secondly, unlike attorneys who take an oath upon joining the bar, all I have is my reputation for honesty and integrity.  Attorneys are very reluctant to accuse one another of ethical violations, but me: I guess I’m fair game.  It is maddening to me when some desperate defense attorney decides to throw me under the bus and accuse me of wrongdoing in the hopes it will weaken our case.  In my 13 years (and in this case in particular), I have  supplied the defense with countless victim recantations: why the hell would I now start trying to get them to testify in a way that makes our case for us?  I have always told the truth and have no reason not to.  In fact, by behaving unethically I would only be undermining myself and our cases.

I asked the witnesses if they had indeed told the defense attorney I had been trying to get them to change their testimony and they said no: all I had told him was to tell the truth (even if their “truth” was not consistent with our version).

The last time a defense attorney accused me of something like this was years ago, and I’ve held a grudge ever since.  It’s sad because most of the defense attorneys get along with the people in our office and believe they are trustworthy.  And there are defense attorneys who have praised me for my integrity.  It’s the few rotten apples that believe they have to ruin relationships and act like dickweeds in order to advocate for their client.  This defense attorney who accused me today did nothing to hurt our case:  the judge basically blew his complaints off.  What the attorney did do was piss me off and now I will never trust him again.  Sure, the witnesses could have been lying to me about what they told him, but for now I am choosing to believe that the attorney simply twisted what was said and presented it to the court in a way that made me look unprofessional and unethical.

When it was my turn to whine to some colleagues about what had transpired, they told me not to take it personally: that it was part of the battle.  I can’t help but take things personally, especially when the attack is so unfounded and unnecessary.  When you question my honesty and integrity, you have crossed the line.  Defense attorney,  take notice:  you have been shit-listed indefinitely.

Hiya.

What did you do this weekend?

I… dug out my car, my court, and hiked to 28 because the feeder road into our court was snow packed, fought with the unwashed masses for a Buitoni pasta meal, chilled with family members in pajama pants @ the parent’s house because mine were drip drying in their mud room from the hike to 28, slipped and slid back to my court because the feeder road was still not plowed, slept, woke up to no work on Monday, had a snowball thrown at my window because my genius husband locked himself out while taking the snow off his car, clawed our way out of our community because the feeder road is still not plowed, had lunch with a batshit crazy friend of M’s mom’s, got lost in Greenbriar thanks to M’s ghetto phone GPS,  met my friend Cathy at her brand spanking new house, slid our way back into my court because the feeder road is still not fucking plowed, and went to bed early because for some reason the federal government thinks that because Maryland has nice plowed roads, the rest of the DC Metro area does, too.  Note:  It does not.

M drove me to work, today, because I’m not good when things are slippery.  I got here at 6 and M got to his work at 6:30.  The drive home should be interesting if this morning is any indicator of things to come.

I also plan on calling my housing community’s management company and asking them quite nicely where the fuck the money I pay them every 3 months is going to.  I understand not plowing after the 1st day… its 2 feet of snow.  I get that.  But they obviously plowed the mother fucking community center parking lot.

…

You see my issues with this???!?!!!!?!?!?

So, if any of my wonderful fans would like to go ahead and pester them as much as I am, feel free.  They open at 8:30.

In other news… I got yesterday off!!  Wooo!  That was nice.  I mean, its not like I was gonna go anywhere, anyway.  But still, I appreciated the fact that I wouldn’t have to take the nice little 8 hours I have accrued thus far and use them for the evil, evil, snow.  In fact, I could have taken leave today.  But I figured… meh.  Ya know?

So, I’m here.  No one else is.  We get a half day on Thursday, and the schools are closed till after New Years, so not many people are around.  Early start to the vacation and all.  Woo!

Anywhoo, that’s my day.  Aaaand, Scene.

Update 8:47am: Uhh, the feeder roads are the state’s problem, not the associations.  Whoops!  So, its VDOT that sucks ass.  But then again, uh, VDOT has bigger fish to fry.

Hey all,

I took up a part-time weekend job with Pro Flight Aviation as an instructor. They are based out of Renton airport in Renton, WA. They are a small, part 61 school with a few single and multi engine airplanes and a maintenance shop. The owners interviewed me and were very nice.

The ground interview with Diane was laid back and consisted mainly of company history and straightforward HR questions. Resume verification, What types of instructing I did, etc…

The flight portion with her husband Bernie, who is the Chief Pilot and the Head of Maintenance, was equally as laid back. Performed some maneuvers and different types of touch and go’s. I was pretty nervous, as the last time I flew an airplane was in April. I did okay though.

It’s been a hectic (but great) last couple of days. I stumbled across the ad, replied, and was interviewing and flying soon enough. I am getting my checkouts done tonight and tomorrow night and hopefully I’ll be ready to work by this upcoming weekend!

The end of this year has brought me a lot of personal grief. However, it also seems to be the time for second chances for yours truly – both personal and in business. After a lot of nervousness about the job situation, I got a second chance in my former career, drafting, and am quickly moving up in my field. I am also getting a second shot with instructing and will get paid to fly again!

I won’t get into personal, but I intend to not mess ANYTHING up this time around!

My husband just posted on his Facebook: “No Christmas for the juggler.” All I can tell him is, “Don’t be sad, dear.”

I know exactly how he feels when he posted that. It is terrible to be so resigned.

Today I am blogging because I am sick and resting at home, after half a day’s work. Otherwise, I am sure I’ll still be at work at 9.30pm or on the phone with my US/Asia colleagues.

Right now, Nik is still at work rushing multiple deadlines and juggling global conference calls.

Why do we work so hard?

I often as myself that.

We could be enjoying home-cooked dinner right now. Or taking a slow stroll by the beach that is so near our apartment. Or spending time with my little niece, whom we haven’t seen in a month. Or doing simple tasks like writing out Christmas cards for our friends and family.

Instead, we’re both slogging deadlines. Empathising with each other’s increasing stress levels. Understanding each other’s work burdens. But still slogging away.

It’s a terribly terribly draining feeling not to have a rest for 6 months. Then watch as everyone slows down for the festive season, but your rest-starved soul has to still keep going at full throttle. The new year is in sight, yet you know by then there is still no rest.

Why do we work so hard?

I know we both have a strong sense of responsibility. We cannot help but want to finish the tasks that are put before us. We sometimes are so focused on completing our work tasks that we forget where is the line between madness and sanity.

We both need a spa day really soon. Either that, or we’ll soon need a lifeline.

There is a swelling within each of us that aches to activate itself. It wants to be a part of who we are, it wants to wake up with us everyday and climb out of the right side of the bed with us, wants to make sure that we put on one sock at a time and brush our teeth before we enter the outside world.

This ache, swell, fire can’t stand all of the mundane parts of our day. The parts where we’re forced to do the little things that get us from one big event to the next. So annoyed and frustrated becomes the swell that it enters our mind and our heart at this time, giving us the freedom to think during a shower or the encouragement to ponder such a theory or idea while cooking a meal.

Whatever you want to call this thing – an ache, a swell, a fire – it’s known as passion most frequently by you and me. It’s what we dedicate our lives to, what we stand to give to the world in a way that is careful, intentional and full, the sort of end product that is the result of internal churning, burning and a need to be a part of something bigger in what can often be a frightening, chaotic and too-big world.

My friends and I wonder about our passions daily. Who doesn’t? We wonder where to put our energy, how we can useful in this world, what difference we can make and if what we do is actually making a difference. How can it all add up if each of us is doing so little, making such a small impact while we try to stay busy and make use of where we are?

I’ve again come to a sort of crossroads when it comes to passion. I’m passionate about gay rights. I’m passionate about writing. I’m passionate about tennis. I’m passionate student development and the way we work as people. But which passion will play a foremost role in my life? Which passion can I put to use? Which passion will get me paid?

Transitioning from the realm of undergraduate academia to the always-feared “real world” presents this difficult-to-decipher stage for us all, or at least for me. I can’t figure out exactly where to put my energy or how to make a difference, and when I become too engrossed on one thing or the next I can only think of what I’m not contributing, obviously a trait that doesn’t help me in trying to get it all nailed out.

Development comes in small stages, in bursts and leaps both internally and externally. It’s impossible to know how things will turn out, but as my road continues to swerve and curl, I have to be careful to know exactly how to navigate it. Wrong turns are okay, roadblocks are inevitable. Perhaps the passion – the ache, the fire – will present itself if only I keep on going.

The everyday can feel mundane, it can feel exhausting and pointless and frustrating, but to know that it leads to something bigger, and it can encompass something so large in the span of a few hours is exhilarating. Passionately exhilarating.

Working in the hospital exposes a person to many death and dying experiences. It comes as no surprise when a patient is terminal, but death unannounced is still traumatic especially when you remember speaking to that person just a few hours earlier. I’m not quite sure why, but I still get a little weirded out by it because you just don’t know when your last day will be.

I can certainly understand the anxieties and fears that come with death because most of them involve some sort of unfinished business. Whatever that business might be, one thing is for certain. Every day that we are given is a miracle and a gift that should not be wasted or wished away.