All the THINGS

I've been working on processing a particular kind of grief lately.  

I froze to death and drowned quite a
few times with this one

When I read choose-you-own-adventure books growing up, I wanted to know all the possible outcomes, which lead to some very complex book-holding techniques as I had different fingers in past major decisions so that I could go back to them when I hit another dead-end.  Significant early decisions were granted a slip of paper for the next read-through.  Certain page numbers became recognizable as I flipped through again, fingers contorted in strands of plots and pages. 

I love learning.  When I meet people, it's something that sits in the back of my mind, wondering what kinds of new things they can teach me, what niche subject they are quietly passionate about until someone asks the right question.  And by listening, I learned a lot of random things over time.  Sometimes only enough to ask halfway intelligent questions; other times building off of past conversations.  

This made the idea of choosing a career very daunting.  In choosing a college, I knew I found the right place when they didn't bat an eye when I said I wanted to double major in biology and creative writing.  It was important to at least keep learning a vast breadth of things while sorting out the larger questions.  I remember hearing "Jack of all trades; master of none," and feeling the gentle censure, that I should knuckle down into a specialty of knowledge or skill.  But then I heard the rest of the phrase that is commonly left off:  "but better than being a master of one."  

All of this to say I'm processing a degree of grief at the moment in changing positions that I've been struggling to find a way to articulate.  This is my last full week on my floor.  Naturally, I think of my favorite workmates first when leaving a job--I will miss seeing and supporting a number of people on and adjacent to MOSU.  And I'm also frustrated that I'm leaving after I've been finding such a good groove lately.  I enjoy working with students.  I have almost all of my assessments done before ten-thirty each shift, usually two or three done before eight-fifteen.  I am learning how to pay attention to clues on when someone is ramping up on both pain and anxiety and preempting those spaces, setting better boundaries.  

It seems a terrible time to leave, when I feel like I'm coming into my own.  I have had a couple people tell me that I would be a good charge nurse, and I think at its right time I would enjoy it, finding ways I can support my peers.  

And in the same breath, I am immensely excited to start working with wounds, to learn all the nuances and tricks in this expression of nursing.  

I grieve that I cannot do everything.  There is simply not enough time to do everything.  And that is a particular kind of grief.  There are so many things I could do, and even things I could be good at:  I have to choose.  And I'm happy with my choice, but also am sad to leave things behind.  They exist in the same space.  My plan is to keep a foot in the inpatient world by picking up occasional shifts on my old floor, a beautiful intermediate and merging of worlds, and yet I know this won't be the same as it was before.  

There isn't enough time in life to do everything.  I have to choose how I want to spend it best I can.  I have pulled the metaphorical strips of paper out of the choose-your-own-adventure book on some past decisions, choosing to hold the book in such a way that gives my full attention to the pages I'm currently reading.  There is a grief, but there is also a particular kind of wonder in accepting the present whole-heartedly.  I want to find the best way to honor my transitions grief, while also acknowledging this side frustration of limited time on earth and the impermanence of existence.  

There is not enough time in life to do everything.  And that's okay.