On "Awakening". . . .

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

~ Marianne Williamson, author

"A Return to Love"

____________________

My mom called me this morning and said that the cryptic-ness of my last post left her with a sense of angst. That or just such curiosity about what the hell happened in her daughter's life that she felt compelled to text me at the crickety-crack of dawn for some interrogation.

You just gotta love Grandma Shugsie.

Well, I called her this morning and explained. Next I emailed one of my other favorite silent knights of my blog-reading round table because she had questions too. And I thought I could just leave it there but then I saw a comment from Anonymous Jo saying she, too, wanted to know more. Poopdeck left me a comment that just had question marks. That made me wonder if this meant others might have angst.

That or just curiosity about what the hell had happened.

Okay. . .so first of all let me just say that I'm sitting in an airport typing this on my iPad. Furthermore, I find the newest version of the Blogger app to be quite craptacular. So you'll have to bear with this and the typos and cut me some slack until I get back to my laptop. Especially since I'm attempting to reduce angst.

That or just to reduce the curiosity about what the hell happened.

Remember the fateful day that that medical student happened to email me while I was being held captive in jury duty? And remember how that series of emails led to a phone call? And do you recall how that phone call then morphed into a relationship that wasn't really forced or fabricated but instead just kind of happened?

Remember that?

So check it--that whole thing was crazy. No--really--it's crazy because me getting into that exchange with her was, in a way, a bit of a miracle. I get so many emails and especially emails like that one. How serendipitous it was that she reached out to me when she did and that I was where I was. So that in itself was pretty amazing.

But then there was her story. Life had presented a few speed breakers to her medical school travels. But she was still striving and pushing to overcome them. That brought her into my path. She was trying to finalize a one year preliminary training requirement needed before entering an advanced residency. Sounds simple enough. But it wasn't. Doors kept shutting in her face. Over and over again.

So we talked on the phone and she told me that. I heard about those speed breakers and could identify with her scrappiness. I listened to her and immediately felt convicted by her truth and her struggle. It wasn't so much that I wanted to help. This was different. Something inside of me felt ordered to help.

Or at least try.

And try I did. I called. I emailed. I asked. I waited. And nothing. Doors kept closing. Over and over again.

I identified with her. She is young, black and female. She attended a historically black college and was better in person than on paper. And like my dear friend and med school classmate "Wise Jada" reminded me, she was us.

She was me.

So when all of these efforts weren't working, I grieved as if it were me. I stood in a hot shower on Wednesday morning after yet another door seemed to be closing and cried an almost primal cry. I actually couldn't even understand my grief at the time. But it was there.

I called my Dad and talked to him. He listened and provided my misery the company it longed to have. I sent a text to my dear soul-friend the profesora in Pittsburgh. I simply told her I was very, very sad. Like always she was gracious and there for me, which I appreciated. Lastly, I reached out to my fellow Grady doctor Stacy H. who gave me some excellent advice (as always.)

"Just be still."

So I took that advice and sat quietly in my room listening to this song called "Stand." I let those lyrics resonate:

"After you've done all you can, you just stand."

So I sat still on that whole thing. Or rather, I decided to just stand.

Just stand.

And then something happened. Someone who'd heard her story contacted me. They wanted to talk to her. This person felt "haunted" by this story and perhaps ordered to help, too.

So they talked. And like me this person could see the diamond gleaming inside of her. This led to more calls, telephone interviews and file reviews. But this was different because it involved a compassion that this student had not experienced in a very long time.

And then I get the call. The elation in her voice leaped through my iPhone and twirled around the room.

"I got the position!"

And we celebrated her triumph and even her tragedy because without it we never would have met.

At least not like this.

She said, "Remember when you told me that I would win? I needed to hear that. That day when you called me out of the blue, I was broken."

"Broken?"

"Broken, Dr. Manning. Broken and defeated and embarrassed. That call that day and all of the text messages and calls afterward lifted and encouraged me."

Broken?

I could barely speak. But I did manage to whisper, "I knew you would win."

"But how did you know that?"

"Because you are me and I am you. And we fight until we win. That's what we do."

Then I got off of the phone, buried my face into the crook of my arm and just wept and wept. As primal and guttural as I did that morning in the shower that very morning. Maybe even more so.

And perhaps you are thinking that I was crying because I did this for her. But nothing could be further from the truth. I was so emotional because despite my best efforts, I could not fix this. So I took some sage advice and stood still.

And what's really crazy is. . . . I still have never even met her face to face.

And listen. . . no matter what you do or don't believe in, I know for sure that all who convene here can appreciate a spiritual experience. Christians, Jews, Muslims, agnostics, and atheists are all affected by pivotal circumstances. We process them in the way that works best for us, and that's okay. But we all are changed somehow when they happen.

Yes, we are.

When I woke up to go to jury duty that day, I had no idea that I was about to be given this one moment in time. All I thought was that I'd sit on a hard bench and try to stay awake.

But that wasn't the plan.

So I am looking at my life with different eyes. I'm reexamining the ordinary things in it like jury duty and laughter and stillness . . . . and paying attention. Even more attention than ever before.

Here is what I now know for sure:

We are powerful beyond measure. I am powerful beyond measure. And in my "awakening" I can now say that this is no longer my deepest fear.

No, it is not.

***

Me with Wise Jada, May 19, 1996

*One last thing. . . . .that student will be conferred her medical school diploma on May 19, 2012. . .  . . exactly sixteen years to the day after I received my own.

***
Happy Friday.

***

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .Donnie McClurkin singing "Stand."