Inappropriate Nudity and Foolish Pride

It just hit me: I am really going to miss my job.

I like talking to people about their work. I like learning what a person enjoys or can tolerate enough to commit 40 or greater hours to each week. In talking to a lot of people about a lot of different positions, I've noticed two very distinct personalities. Some people identify with their work and are fulfilled by the thought of contributing to some "greater good." This is not to say everyone thinks him or herself a Mother Theresa, but rather that their daily efforts are advancing a cause greater than themselves. Other people put in 40 hours to earn enough to support the activities of their other waking hours.

I don't know that one is better than the other, but I am definitely of the "greater good" persuasion. There's something invigorating in taking on that responsibility, even when it's absolutely terrifying. Invigorating. Terrifying. Such is the 40 (or more) hours a week I've spent as an addictions counselor at detox for the past 3 years. I've been privy to my clients' innermost thoughts and struggles, responsible for life and death decisions, laughed my ass off in the company of some of the funniest and most compassionate people I've ever met (clients and staff), and seen more inappropriate nudity than I would have ever predicted.

I've also become myself in the process. In fact, it's terrifying to think of who I might be without the experiences of the last 3 years. I owe so much of my personal development to the staff and clients I work with, and though I was often gripped by fear walking down "the tunnel" into detox, I would never trade it for the predictable comfort of a desk job. Sometimes I reflect on what I missed in my "remaining waking hours," as a result of my work... but then again, my work has helped shape what I do and value in those remaining hours. And I'm back to thinking about the concept of balance. Dammit.

Working in a field that is ever-attending to a capacity for and willingness to change, it's curious that I'm having such difficulty taking the necessary steps for the "big change" in my life. Perhaps that's the source of some of my frustration: I, of all people, should know how to do this. Well, that's what my foolish pride is telling me in any case.

In a month's time I'll be leaving this truly life-altering job and beginning what I assume will be a life-altering doctoral program in clinical psychology at Baylor University. I'm not only changing jobs, I'm moving to Waco, Texas, leaving my entire support system by at least 1,000 miles, and becoming a student again. Capable or not, I'm certainly willing to embark on this change and perhaps that's the key to capacity anyhow. Without a willingness to risk and try, one never knows if he or she is capable of anything. I need to remember this. My foolish pride needs to get this memo.