Camden, redux (with a different ending than I'd planned)

I got to work early yesterday morning, and happily skipped to my desk so I could set a few things down, proving that I had been there first. I like for people to know that I won the race to the office on the mornings I actually get there before dawn.

Now that winter is easing its grip (because it’s downright balmy here, and I scoff at the person who berated me for telling her there was no need of a jacket), it’s getting light earlier. I also have discovered that my sensitivity to coffee works in my favor. The bitter liquid that I attempt to mask with cream and sweetener makes me almost desperate to do work.

So, hyper and early, I set several items on my desk, gathered my notebook and pen, and headed off to the seminar I wanted to attend. It’s surprisingly populated by a number of students, professors and clinicians, despite being held at 8AM.

I’ve personally drug myself to the talks many times since starting my post-doc, but always walk outside to get to the appropriate conference room. I like to (right – that should read I need to) see all the buildings, able to orient myself as I make my way toward the center of campus.

On several occasions, someone has walked me back to my office after the seminar without going outside at all. I try to pay attention, and honestly, the route seemed relatively simple. And I liked the idea of not having to slosh through the rain on my early morning trek.

Hopped up on caffeine and allowing extra travel time, I head off to the meeting. I find the hospital easily enough – it’s the building through which I’ll navigate to reach my conference room. As I wander through the halls, I think of a trip to Toronto. They have a whole system of underground tunnels, like I’m sure many other cities do. I like them. They have shops. In fact, the umbrella I carry in my bag came from underneath the Royal York (By the way, I still think it’s a shame they removed that sign and put up the Fairmont one atop the building. Not cool.)

Right. So I’m walking down the hall and I reach the cafeteria. In short, it confuses me. I can’t remember which door I passed first on my last trip back to my office – the main cafeteria or snack shop. Maybe I should go up a floor. I think the hospital is built on a hill, so perhaps I’m down a level too far.

So I take the elevator up. Then I start to walk again. I see a sign that I think might be in the right direction, so I head that way. Then I stop and look around. It doesn’t feel right. So I turn around and head the other way.

Reaching a window, I look outside and, startled, realize I’m almost back at my office. I’ve circled around completely.

So I go outside, and find another entrance and start to head in the right direction. Once again, I feel like going up a floor would help me out. So I’m again on an elevator. I exit and wander to a window, check my position and head in the right direction. I end up in another section of the hospital and wonder how the hell this building snakes around so viciously. I see some nurses, but wary of embarrassment, I turn around head back in the other direction. I end up back at the elevator, feeling discouraged and pitiful.

Back outside once again, I see the sign for my building and scurry toward it in the misty rain. I find a rear entrance and take an elevator to the appropriate floor. This time, getting lost pays off. I’ve wandered the floor extensively in the past, earnestly looking for the conference room. So I quickly ascertain my position, find my way, take a seat and relax into someone else’s words and ideas.

It is with significant energy and determination that I resolve to make my way through the hospital back to my office. I remember taking one particular hallway on a previous day, so I started out in that direction. Looking around, focused on memorizing landmarks, I realize everything looks familiar. I continue to walk straight down a single hallway, make a turn near the end, and exit the door I originally entered that morning.

Much like my trip to London, I was almost where I wanted to be very early in my journey. The place I wanted to reach was minutes away – in less than 20 feet, I would have entered the lobby of the appropriate medical building and realized where I was. Instead, crippled by self-doubt and second guessing every single step, I turned around and continued to walk in circles. I passed the same point four times, turning a 5 minute trip into a 25 minute trek.

It’s a life lesson, I nodded decisively upon reaching my desk again. If you’d just have some faith in yourself, you could be where you want to be, I continued to internally lecture sternly. Making significant progress in research, involved in a romantic relationship, laughing with good friends actually located in your current location.

Instead, I stop to think, looking around and feeling as if something is vaguely wrong, then hurrying to fix it. If I’d just focus on moving forward – straight down the hall and toward the room – I might reach my goals rather than waiting for elevators, jogging down stairs, continuing to stand outside in the rain in an attempt to regain my bearings.

This was my original stopping point, but then something happened this afternoon. It's so perfect in my mind that I can hardly believe it happened. But I promise I'm not making it up.

I was standing outside, waiting for the shuttle to take me to my parking area, huddled under an overhang to avoid getting soaked. There was a car, a black Honda Civic with the passenger side severely dented, driving around. It distracted me from dark thoughts of traveling in circuitous paths when a straight shot was available but overlooked.

I’m not observant – I spend the vast majority of my day locked in my thoughts, considering problems and composing blog posts. I don’t notice other people, let alone cars. So why this one?

It was driving around in circles. Over and over and over. I started to feel a bit dizzy watching it twirl around.

It would stop for the shuttles (none of them mine) and for other cars as they picked people up to complete the commute home. But as soon as the path was clear, it would weave around obstacles and continue to circle around the little turn-around drive.

It wasn’t going fast, I thought, frowning at the car. Just steadily proceeding around the circle again and again. I didn’t even count its revolutions, so engrossed was I in determining why someone would engage in such behavior.

The shuttle came and I hurried to board, arranging myself in line so I could sit by the window on the driver’s side. I wanted to keep watching the black car as it continued, passing the same points over and over with no signs of ceasing.

A woman was driving, I noticed upon the closer inspection my new seat afforded me. I wondered, as she headed away from me, if she was crazy. Had finally had enough of medical research and lost it. Perhaps, like me, she was tired of working so hard to make so little progress. So she decided to get in her car and just make little circles, always turning left.

But as she approached my shuttle again, I saw her face. She was laughing – shoulders shaking lightly, hugely grinning as she made her way past me again. I smiled without thinking about it, but stifled it when I realized I was probably mistaken in my interpretation of her mood.

Impatient now, I waited for her to approach yet again. It’s a small circle – I didn’t have to wait long. She was smiling – she looked joyous. I let this smile stay on my lips, eyes squinting this time, not in befuddled focus but in bewildered happiness for her.

Just as the shuttle began to pull away, one of the 4 parking spots along the cirle drive was vacated. She neatly pulled her black, dented Civic into the space, and was unbuckling her seatbelt with a smile as we drove away.

As we headed through the rain to my parking garage, I was suddenly thrilled that I hadn’t written this post last night. I would have complained about my trouble finding the room, berated myself for not trusting my original plan and for not paying more attention when I had walked through the hospital before.

Instead, I’ve decided that even if there is a quick, easy route through life, I’m not always going to find it. If I’m lucky, I’ll walk that path for at least some of the time, and spend other days of my life making circles – some small, some huge.

But if I pass the same point again and again, I’m going to remind myself of the woman in her Civic. Sometimes, there will be a reason I'm passing the same point ad nauseum. Maybe I'm waiting for the right time to progress, maybe I'm re-learning the same lessons until I really understand something.

But as it’s happening, I have a choice. I can duck my head, embarrassed, and pretend I know what I’m doing so nobody thinks I’m stupid. Worrying all the time that they see through my facade to the insecure ignorance I sometimes feel.

Or I can laugh, abandon myself to the joy and humor of the moment, enjoy my trip uncaring if passersby think I’m completely insane or realize I’m just waiting for a parking spot.

Driving home, still smiling, I thought, remember to laugh when you screw up. If this is going to be hard, at least you'll get to giggle.