17
August 2017
Well, I think this is it. The time where I actually poop my pants in
public. It couldn’t be at a more
inopportune time. I’m sitting on a park
bench just outside of Central Park on 5th Ave and I am in between
job interviews. There is a storm
percolating in my innards and it isn’t because of nerves. No, this is just another unfortunate event
that has taken place recently, me getting sick.
My only hope at this point is to make it through the interview without
soiling myself. And I don’t want to be
greedy, but I would also like the audible roaring of the angry beast inside to
cease so that I do not have to explain myself to my interviewer.
I listen to
my voicemail from Hessy again as the tears sting my eyes. I don’t know why I listened to it a second
time. I think I wanted to feel something
other than the pain in my stomach, chest, sinuses, head, and soul. She told me she loved me and to “embrace the
suck.” There has been a fair amount of
suck recently, so this statement made me smile.
I put my phone away and start to walk to my interview. It is then I see a smiling monk in a Dijon-colored
robe making a beeline towards me. THIS
is it, my moment of spiritual awakening, my reprieve. We lock eyes and I smile back. He places a bracelet around my wrist and
hands me a gold card that says, “Work Smoothly, Lifetime Peace.” In broken English, he asks me to write my
name in a book. In the next column, my
desire. The people in the rows above me
asked for peace, which he suggested I ask for as well. Peace, of course! Breathe!
Everything will be OK! When I get
to the last column, I have my Ah-Ha moment too late, the donation column. He suggested $20 dollars. Sigh.
When I gave him the only 2 dollars I had on me, he harrumphed with
frustration and shuffled off. Is an
angry monk still a monk?
I somehow
made it through the interview and they asked me to stay and observe a
procedure. What? No.
No, no, no, no no. ::Tummy
Rumbles:: But I have to. I had a conversation with one of the
assistants before the procedure about old movies. It turns out she still watches movies on VHS
too and that we should be best friends.
During the procedure, which happened to be an implant placement, Frank
Sinatra came on the radio singing, non other than, New York, New York! I close my eyes for a second as tears start
to sting them again. I’m momentarily
brought back to the warmth of my goodbye lunch at Woodcreek, surrounded by
loved ones who are there for me when I have a crappy day – pun definitely
intended. I open my eyes and for a
moment cannot believe that I am here.
Steps from central park, interviewing with an innovative and
world-renowned periodontist, listening to Sinatra. Go me.
I have overcome obstacles; I have kept going when my body said to
stop. I have fought tears, and I have
embraced them. I have learned that “If I can make it here, I can make it
anywhere.”
As I’m
walking to the train for my 3rd interview of the day, I pass a good-looking
boy that hands me a CD. I’ve been given
tons of free CDs in my life. Chances are
I will hate the music, but it’s easier to just take the CD than it is to avoid
them. It didn’t hurt that he said, “Here
ya go, beautiful!” as he handed it to me in passing. He thinks I’m beautiful! How on earth could he see past my sickness,
stress, and lack of sleep to see anything that even remotely resembles
beauty?? “Where ya from?” (We’re still
walking away from each other) “South Carolina!” I holler back with a proud (flipper)
smile. Then he starts walking back
towards me and insists on signing the CD for me. And then it came, his request for a
donation. Genius work, really. I applaud him. I told him I gave my last 2 bucks to an angry
monk. He says, no problem – he accepts
cards. Of course he does. Sigh.
He wants 10 dollars for an R&B CD.
R&B!!! I don’t even like R&B, I tell him. I give him 5.
At this rate, I won’t be eating come Christmas.
I continue
walking and I know I have a ridiculous grin on my face. I somehow, despite myself, feel good. I mean, I feel absolutely awful, but I feel
good. I’m grinning because Dr. Hunt’s words
come back to me every time I walk in the city, “Don’t look up.” Words of wisdom, so as not to look like a
tourist with a Bullseye on my forehead.
Shout out to my angry monk and R&B boy!
I miss my
loved ones already, but am excited to take off my training wheels and put on my
big-girl britches. I realize now more
than ever that there is opportunity in every nook and cranny of life. It lies in mistakes, in mishaps, and even in
fear. I learn more about myself and
other people everyday. My brother once
told me that my biggest fault was that I think I’m indestructible,
fearless. That isn’t entirely true. I’m really afraid to walk over subway
grates.
Don’t look up,
Courtney
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