On passion and purpose.

When I was maybe 12 or 13 years old, I remember staring dreamily at the television as a young George Clooney donned scrubs and deftly saved lives (thank you, E.R.), and decisively announcing to my mother that the only way I would ever become a doctor is if I was going to deliver babies. A few years later, as I contemplated my future more seriously, I decided against a career in obstetrics because, as I informed a friend in the bluntly scientific Vanessa way, "I just don't want to spend the rest of my life staring into vaginas all day."

Such class at such a young age.

Fast forward to that time after college when I decided against doing anything constructive with the degree I had just earned, and was once again looking into my options in the medical field. At an information session for a Physician Assistant graduate program in Colorado, I remember raising my hand and asking whether PAs ever got to work with laboring women. I was told that the only medical professionals to do such a thing were OB-GYNs and nurse-midwives. I thought, "Crap. Like I'd ever want to be a nurse." Ha. Hahaha. Later on, faced with mounting bills from that hard-won and useless degree of mine, I was dismayed to find that it cost thousands of dollars even to become a doula. Slowly, that mild yet persistent itch to get myself into the labor room found its way back to the shadowy recesses of my brain.

Until last fall. My very first clinical rotation in nursing school sent me to labor & delivery, where I promptly fell in love. Not to mention the dynamite professor who pretty much changed all of our lives. After that class ended, getting myself to school every day was raw, brute will-power. Midway through the summer, as my motivation teetered on empty, I quickly realized that if I wanted to get through the next few months without losing my mind, I had to remind myself why I was back in school in the first place. So I watched documentaries and I listened to audiobooks and followed blogs and I read my Ina May. And then, as the countdown to graduation descended into double digits and I became accustomed to the reality of looking for a job in a market that is decidedly unkind to newly licensed RNs, I stopped. Fast.

I generally try to avoid true desire at all costs, usually justifying my disinterest with some heady internal monologue that rambles on about non-attachment to outcomes or how everything happens for a reason. But really, like it does to most of us, the risk of failure or disappointment scares the ever-loving daylights out of me. And when I say that that all I want is a job - any job, just as long as it puts this degree of mine to work - I'm lying to myself. Now, don't misunderstand me; that doesn't mean that I'm not keeping an open mind, or that I wouldn't take the first good job offer that comes my way. After all, bills still need to be paid. But it also doesn't mean that it's ok to settle for something that doesn't make my heart sing, not long-term. It doesn't mean that it's acceptable to forget the things I'm passionate about because it's more comfortable to convince myself that I would be "content" with whatever happens, and that getting excited about a job that I would ultimately love to do isn't worth it in this economy. 

In The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho writes, “Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams.” So a couple of days ago, I sized up my dusty stack of books about birth history, labor, and midwifery, and dove back in. One of the hospitals I applied to has two spots on the L+D unit for new grads. Two. I do not like them apples. I can't tell if I will get an interview, I have no idea if I'll get a job offer from that hospital at all, and I certainly don't know what my chances are of being picked for one of those spots. 

As purposeful and re-engaged as I feel right now, I know that being passed over for such an opportunity would feel pretty awful. But you know what? Despite all the discomfort, I think I'd rather be passionate and disappointed than successful and bored. Besides, Coelho also writes, "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” I hope that's true, for all our sakes. 

And even if it's not, here's to vulnerability. Here's to having high hopes, and having them dashed, and having the persistence and chutzpah to keep on fighting the good fight. 

On crawling out from underneath the books.

I promised myself I wouldn't do any schoolwork today. Actually... no I didn't. I promised myself that I wouldn't allow yet another day off to go something like this: wake up, make coffee, open and close and open the coursework website, stare blankly at an assignment, feel decidedly uninspired, close it again, eat breakfast, check the weather, blame the weather, read some news, scroll through some social media, walk aimlessly around the apartment, feel guilty, take out a sad-looking half-full bag of trash, scrub a stain, eat breakfast #2, open and close some assignments again, read a page or two of a book for pleasure, feel guilty again, check the weather again, change my clothes, eat breakfast #3 (emotional eating anyone?) and end up drowning my low-productivity sorrows in some trash on Netflix while feeling like a total slouch and failure.

No. Instead, I told myself, I'm going to write. It has been so long! And if I'm not going to be productive, I might as well do something... productive. True Vanessa fashion. Really though, writing used to make me happy. And I suspect that deep down, underneath all the layers of stress and tears and frustration and caffeine-dependence that nursing school has dumped all over my ambitious little soul, it still does. So here I am. Looking back on the last 15 or so months since the last time I wrote - and the two and a half years that have passed since I started this blog, I am feeling pretty amazed at how far I have come... and also pretty amused at all the ways that life is still the same.

For instance, now that graduation is only about a month away, that "thrilled and anxious and ecstatic and frightened and ... utterly bewildered and bittersweet" feeling I described two summers ago is back with a vengeance. I have a sneaking suspicion that nursing school is a sort of rite of passage that (eventually) earns you admission to your first job, at which time you will slowly and painstakingly learn all the things that are actually important to being a competent registered nurse. But not before you pass the NCLEX and are formally given a license to stick people with both sharp and blunt objects of various shapes and sizes. Please stay tuned for the results of that little endeavor.

Another thing I noticed as I perused all my old posts is that I tend to come to the same realizations. Over. And over. Again.

Be here now. Imperfection is okay. You're pretty cool. Everybody else is pretty cool too. Run. Breathe.  Relax. Enjoy. This too shall pass. Love is always greater than fear. "Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy." You are exactly where you need to be. And a smattering of remarks about how living in Colorado was awesome, but it wasn't Colorado that made it so great... it was the Living part.

I think I'm finally getting all of those little things (some days). Or, at least, I try to take myself less seriously (most days). I've been listening to and reading a lot of Brené Brown (who is outstanding, by the way, and I would recommend her stuff to anyone with a sense of humor, a spirit or a pulse), and she has a ton of fantastic things to say about loving your stories and owning your journey. I think part of the reason it has taken me so long to get back to this blog is because I was trying to separate myself from all that pain-in-the-butt soul searching I spent the first half of this decade of life doing. I figured that if I ever wanted to start blogging again, I would just start a new page. I've always liked blank slates and closure, because let's face it, who doesn't? Life is messy and imperfect and disorderly and maddeningly slow at times and unbearably swift at others. It would be nice to imagine that one day, all of that will be over and we'll "get it" and have these picture-perfect lives where we know everything and love everyone and flush rainbows down the toilet. But that isn't what happens, and furthermore, dreaming of that impossible tidy package drives us away from all the messy, imperfect, disorderly things that highlight our individuality, make our lives unique and define our personal journeys.

So the blog rolls on! I'm hoping to write more regularly now that I'm approaching my triumphant re-entry to actual adult life. Because if there's anything that I've learned, not only is imperfection the most underrated value on the planet, but life is colorful, and that's pretty cool too.