It’s been more than a year since I published here. The reasons for this are both known and unknown to me.
Among the reasons I am aware of: I got sick of talking about myself and analyzing/broadcasting my personal life. Writing and publishing my book Men, Myself, & I: Revelations of an Opened Marriage was such a challenging, singular experience. I needed some distance.
I also needed some space to integrate what I learned from writing my book, most essential of which was to understand the reason I write.
When I started that book, it was an impulse. I felt pregnant with the urge to write, like there was something inside me that had to get out. That was the only reason I started writing, and I don’t have the faintest idea where it came from, nor how the effort at some point became about getting published. Writing a book was never a specific objective I had for my life, and the attempt at publishing was exceptionally joyless. So why did I do it? Capitalist indoctrination, perhaps—creation as a path to commerce?There was also the implicit expectation of being rewarded for my time, i.e. I’m working hard on a thing so I should be paid for that thing. What’s the point of effort without monetary reward?
I will admit it was painful to be disabused of my entitlement, but the process ultimately led to me realizing the true gains of the project: unexpected clarity and healing, improved self awareness, and a sense of personal sovereignty I had never imagined or conceived of before it dawned in me.
I realize now (and have written about this before): the pleasure of writing is reward in itself. To be so deeply engaged in a world of ideas, to conjure something from nothing, to be gripped by the creative drive and wrestle with the effort of making something people care about. What satisfaction!
A few months after releasing my book on this platform, I started full time chaplain school, which involved A LOT of writing and scant free time—competing forces that undermined my best intentions of consistent content creation. I did get a few related posts completed, but writing about my experiences in the hospital felt cheap, like I was borrowing from people in their worst time to…what? Report on human suffering? To demonstrate my virtue? To imply I’m some kind of badass because I’ve seen a lot of gnarly shit?
(In one of my classes a few of the chaplains were talking about the Harborview fleece one of them had purchase and was proudly wearing. I couldn’t imagine why someone would want to adorn themselves with a garment promoting a trauma center, but he said he was proud of his work and likes when people ask about it. Which…I mean…good for him, I guess? I feel differently about it…a topic for another post, perhaps.)
Over the last year, I’ve had many an impulse to write about what I’ve experienced. But almost as quickly as I feel that nudge to write, I’ve wondered whether it’s possible to write about people in their worst times without it being exploitive. How can I write about chaplaining without making light of people’s trauma, illness, and injury? Why do it at all?
I don’t have answers for these questions, exactly. But I do know I have missed having an outlet. Another reason I write (I now realize) is to process my lived experience. A blank page is a place I can make visible what’s stirring in me in order to see and understand it more clearly.
And a reason to write about chaplaincy, specifically, is to be a voice for the voiceless. The majority of people I meet are marginalized: old, sick, or poor. Often, they are all of these things—social determinants of health are very effective indicators of how likely a person is to get sick. But so many of these lives exist under the radar of people with upward mobility and resources like youth, beauty, education, and able bodies. It is staggering the pain so many people are in, and I think we would all do well to be reminded of this when we get self absorbed about our latest creative project and whether or not it’s going to make us any money. Or, you know, that kind of thing. Perspective is priceless.
Another reason to write about my work is that it’s tremendously moving. And meaningful, and surprising, and sometimes bizarre, and even amusing, like the lady that was calling out the other day. I was standing in a patient room across the hall from her because there was a code blue. There wasn’t much for me to do in the moment because there was no family present for the patient for whom the code had been called (he had passed out). The patient was obviously not available to visit, so I went to the woman I heard across the hall. It can be quite jarring for a patient near a code, which entails a couple dozen people arriving rapidly, many of them carrying equipment or wheeling machines. At the very least I thought I would offer to close her door.
It turns out all she wanted was to be discharged. “Get me the hell out of here…”
“Wow, you sound really frustrated. I’m so sorry. The hospital is a hard place to be.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have anything to do with discharging patients…I am a chaplain.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“Well, if you want, I could sit with you and listen to the reasons you’re unhappy. But I’m not going to stay in your room if you’re going to be rude.”
“Why don’t you kiss my ass then?”
“No, thank you. Best wishes…”
“Where are you going?”
“I told you I’m not staying here if you’re rude to me.”
“Well, fuck you then.”
I mean…how does that not make you smile?
Human beings have told stories since we had a means of recording language. It’s a way of connecting to something bigger and older than ourselves. It’s a way of learning, relating, and making meaning. Stories are so important, and I consider it a great privilege to witness so many of them. It is extraordinary to me that perfect strangers allow me to share space with them in their most challenging moments, as they make their way across thresholds they never anticipated and would never have chosen.
So I am going to try again to reengage here, to convey the tender humanity that connects us all. If ever there was a time for tenderness, I believe this is it.
Thank you for reading, sharing, and subscribing. And wherever you are in the world, whatever you’re doing…thank you for doing something today to spread kindness.
Nice to hear from you again, Minda!