I really believed that my career was taking off in the best possible direction, and I hoped to plug all my energies into being the best MHT that the B-wood had ever seen, hoping to surpass the exemplary standard that I begin to set for myself and everyone else beginning in the summer of 2006. The new five-year plan included me completing my BS while working the night shift, graduating in May of 2012 (which I will still be doing -AND- which has me completing my degree in the perfectly historically allotted four years), getting a position with the Intake department and enrolling in a Master's program in Psych. Despite the fact that the questions still lingered ("Is this really what I want to do with the rest of my life?" et al.), I felt that I was taking a step in the right direction.
No matter what, I could always find the time to write and write and write and find a means to justify the maximus perfectus goal of finding an end as a published and publishing writer. Despite my inconsistent posts here, even when I promise outwardly that I'm to be forthcoming with more, I've been really adhering to tons of other self-imposed ideas for this transitory period of redemption in my life, and the one thing that I'm most proud of myself for sticking with has been finding some period, no matter how long, to write creatively each and every day. Most of my blogs are incoherent and stream-of-conscious crap. My journal entries are likely even worse, but I rarely go back to re-read them. But my stories.... I'm really starting to think that some of this stuff is actually better than pretty good, and hopefully - no matter anything else - I'll soon be in a position to edit, re-write, type, and post a few examples for any and all of my friendly followers here. There I go again: an entire paragraph of digressive thoughts on paper.
I've been pouring through The Writers' Market and The Novel and Short Story Writers' Market books from the most recent years to start getting some ideas for where I might look to begin publishing. I've also begun to really look at things on a little more local scale... don't you think it's about time that Shreveport got with the times and allowed a Maupin-esque serialization to treat readers of any of its multiple dull and dreary regular publications? I don't think that anything would be better to really increase circulation and cause a little controversy than SB or The Times or The Forum to allow a young and energetic and observant citizen of the SBC world to circumnavigate direct appeal to a literary agent by publishing an engrossing thrill ride filled with sin and sex and secrets against the backdrops with which everyone reading is familiar.... more digression, but a little more of a hint of where I'm headed with some of the stuff I'm working toward.
Anyway....
Immediately upon resuming my calibration at the B-wood, I begin to get a dose of the sights and sounds and smells of alarm. It was as if there were a million little things that were slightly different, just to the other side of askew, and they were all adding up to tell me that I was/am (technically, I'm still PRN, and I'd gladly accept a call/request that I pick up a non-weeknight shift or one over one of my upcoming long weekends) in the wrong place at the wrong time. For those who follow my blog regularly, I'm certain that many of you remember some weeks ago when I published a series of posts about the issues that I was having and the conflicts that seemed to be unnecessarily arising... and the disdain I felt at missing the opportunities toward which I supplicated. Something was rotten in the state of Caddo, and it had nothing to do with that pervading smell of foul sewage that permeates the early morning air in the Broadmoor area these days.
I'd applied for a spot that I'd seen posted through a career website some time ago, so long ago that I'd really forgotten that I'd sent in my resume and a rocking cover letter. In fact, my pursuit of the spot was almost passive, definitely not filled with any sense of urgency at the time, but my interest was genuinely piqued when I saw the ad because I thought of alterations to my five-year plan that could possibly work in my favor to an even more sublime degree. My other notion of simply completing my BS (because, these days, a BS really is just BS, something to get you from point A to point B to prove to the world at large that yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and I can show you a piece of paper that not only proves that, but also proves that I'm capable of working for your firm/company/facility/institution for greater than ten to twelve dollars per hour; in other words, the BS [or BA as
What's funny is that I applied for an upper level spot at the B-wood, and I was passed over for the position. Despite the fact that I was told I was the better candidate, that I was more experienced, that I have a sparkling resume (that, to be honest, really doesn't contain everything that I've accomplished in the past six years alone because I run out of room when I try to include it all), that I'm an asset to the team, that I deserve the spot... I was passed over. Even the one for whom I was passed over believed that I was the one who really ought to have gotten the position (I disagree on multiple points, but that's because the other happens to be a friend of mine for whom I have great respect and admiration and who I know, in a way, needed the spot much more than I did at the time). I was passed over. Ya know, that's the first time in my life that I was ever told that I couldn't do something now that I think about it. Don't get me wrong, that's not the reason that I wanted to leave my full time position there, and I had my other fingers in the fire long before this event. No, it wasn't the reason, but it was a definite catalyst... a little kindling for that fire, I guess.
Then one thing led to another, and...well... most of you guys know the rest.
That's when the call came in...while I was still recovering from the (miserably failed) lower lumbar disc-fuc*tomy and wondering how the hell I was going to safely return to a world of code greens and heavy patient care when I wasn't even beginning to feel like my whole self again. The call requested my presence for an interview. I obliged despite my pain and the limitations on my physical parameters (which have obviously improved, but are still NOWHERE near the spot at which I was prepared to accept), and I instantly fell in love with the practice and the people and the idea. It was as if the cosmos had suddenly aligned and knew what I was thinking and wanting and needing but hadn't really found the right way to put into the right words to seek out and find for myself. Kismet. Fate. Destiny. A complete and perfect cohesion of intergalactic star-crossing serendipity. Very nice.
What followed was a call for a working interview, which is the new deal where you go in and you kind of observe and you kind of work and you get to ask questions and everybody meets you and judges you silently and sizes you up while you silently, slyly do exactly the same. It's a two hour deal, and I thankfully did it right when I was about to go back to my full fledged, pre-surgical work schedule. The funny thing was, I had already lost any passion and verve and drive that I once felt toward the hospital. Don't ask me why, but I knew the day of that very first interview, a meeting which couldn't have been longer than fifteen minutes, that I was about to begin a new chapter in my life. I knew that I was coming to a crossroads and that my Higher Power (whom I choose to call "My Higher Power") was putting something in my lap with a big red bow and saying: "Okay, you want happy.... I'll give you happy... unwrap this, Miles... it's not often that I get to give you an actual, tangible, obvious gift like this because most everything else I give you, you take for granted in one way or another.... so, here you go... I've even wrapped it up and made it look like something you can fish out from underneath the tree on Christmas morning {does anybody ever think it's ironic that it's the big man's birthday and we get presents instead of the other way around? i dunno... just occurred to me}... so, I'm not gonna twist your arm and tell you what to do, but you've worked hard and you've earned this, and I'm gonna leave the ball in your court and let you make up your mind... but if you want it, it's yours... open the box, the keys are inside..."
Following the working interview, I sent a quick thank-you card, knowing that this duo who were (likely, at the time) to be my future superiors, were preparing to embark on a vacation that would keep them out of pocket for a while. It wasn't a bribe, but a little genuine gratuity for their time (incidentally, there's an incredibly ironic and incredibly meaningful aside that accompanies this story and relates specifically to the end of my working interview, but until I gain permission from the other party to which the story pertains, I likely ought not to post it for public consumption... in time, though, I promise to get it out to everyone; it's one of those that will give you goose bumps and maybe splash a little mist in your eye because it's one of those things that just seems to happen sometimes to people like me, and when it does, you feel God; there's no other way to describe it for those of you who've never had it happen - for those of you that have, I'm sure you can read between the lines) and appreciation for their consideration; however, I went right back to the B-wood nights with the understanding that something was about to happen, but I wasn't going to hold my breath or wait or bounce in bladder-full anticipation. I was just gonna play it as it laid and take the steps as they presented themselves before me.
Last Wednesday, I had a missed call from the good doctor, and he asked me if I needed to give a notice. I promised him that I'd let him know first thing the next morning, and I spent the next sixteen or so hours debating on just what I was going to do. Although I'd been feeling it since before my surgery, the feeling of general disgust and utter contempt for my immediate supervisor at the B-wood was suddenly more solidly cemented than ever. I realized so many things last Wednesday night, and I grew tremendously through it all.
I realized that I am one of the hardest working people that I know. I realized that I am an asset no matter where I am and what I'm doing. I'm not only a good friend, but I'm a great companion in any and every way. I realized that I'm really freakin' smart, incredibly smart... probably one of the smartest people I know (lucky for me, I'm a member of the Special People Club). I realized that I have more potential than I have or will ever realize under the roof of the hospital. I realized that I was unfairly overlooked for the position for which I applied. I realized that I had spoken out against the opposite of justice and professionalism prior to my surgery and I may as well have been slapped in the face with the lack of response on the matter(s). I realized that I have a big, bright, shining future ahead of me, and that I need not burn any bridges, but I also need not suffer unnecessarily because plenty of others have already done that for me. In other words: when the pain of remaining the same becomes greater than your fear of change, you surely will let it go (my all-time favorite AA/NA/recovery in general quote).
I am now the office manager of an expanding and thriving dental practice where I'm not just a warm body filling a scheduling gap, but an actual face and member of a team. With the title comes a plethora of responsibility with which I would never have been benevolently challenged had I remained full time where I was. I decided to change my status to PRN and to allow my name to go in the hopper for suddenly opened shifts as they arose, but I know that I am - for the first time in my life - in a place from where I can actually take it or leave it.
You see, these people, this couple who interviewed me and made such an awesome impression on me (as -they assure me- I did the same on them), saw that I was the best candidate. They saw that I am and that I will continue to be an asset. They saw my energy, my talent, my intelligence, my capacity to learn and to grow and to build and to be the member (and the leader) of a team of other stand-out individuals. Despite only knowing me personally for a total of no more than two hours and fifteen minutes and otherwise only from a piece of paper that shows some things I've done, not who I am, they saw everything that I am and always forget to recognize when I look in the mirror (probably because so many of the others that I once admired and respected and hoped to emulate individually and deceptively showed me that I needed to question and second-guess and be uncertain of my drive, my passion, my zest, and my ability to whithold, to withstand, and to win each and every battle I might possibly face).
It may seem silly to write that I feel that I've learned all these ideas simply from being selected for a job, but this job is finally something that I can look at as a career and really mean it. I finally know my worth, and -for the first time- I can really see that it has no finite dollar sign attached to it.
The way I see things is that, from here, the only way is up. Not that I can't fall any lower, it's just that now there really isn't any point.
I've written way longer than I planned. I need to get busy on the remainders of my to-do list, get my face washed and my teeth brushed, and get into bed. It's half past midnight, and six o'clock will come early tomorrow.
Thanks for letting me ramble.
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