I know what the Universe looks like- a frail elderly lady with a black eye

What a synchronicitous/synchronous (is there such a word?) night! Usually when I ponder something the Universe tends to teach me in themes. After having an open and lengthy discussion(rare for me) with my co-worker about my belief that fear/stress/anxiety/emotional burdens manifest in our bodies as disease/illness our conversation shifted to letting go of fear/anxiety and living fearlessly. This brought up the topic of figuring out what our greater purpose is in life. Although I feel like I'm most "in the flow" whenever I'm with my patients and we've got it pretty good with our jobs, we both expressed feeling like there's something bigger and "ours" that's out there for us. 

As I moved on to relieve my next co-worker for her break, I took it upon myself to help her restless little old lady of a patient with dementia relax. Because she had pulled out her IVs and her wires earlier in the shift, she had mittens on to prevent her from pulling anything else. She had been restlessly wrestling (ha!) with the mittens for a while, when the idea finally hit me to help her with some Reiki. As I put my hands on her head, she paused from her restlessness and asked me gently, "What's your struggle?"  Totally didn't expect that and I laughed and told her we didn't have enough time for me to tell her everything. There's the rat race struggle, the raising kids struggle, the relationship struggle, and even the body image and gender equality struggle, among other things. But when I really gave it thought, those were just feelings of inadequacies I've imposed on myself over time because of the labels I've imposed on myself. When I separate myself from all those paradigms, I had the freeing epiphany that I don't really have anything weighty enough to truly claim as my own individual struggle. I am living such a blessed life that to call it a struggle felt bratty. So I indulged the sweet lady in her moment of clarity and admitted to her that I didn't really have any and that the cause of any of my misery was self-imposed. She paused and gave my answer some thought. I asked her the same question, expecting her to say something about struggling with her mittens, but she said her struggle was to feel like she achieved something. I told her that I could really relate to her sentiment and she asked if she could offer me a job. I told her I didn't need a job, because I already had one. Besides, I shared, the word job makes it sound so not fun. Well, she explained, it gives a sense that something needs to be accomplished. True, I agreed, but I told her I'm searching for something more. I'm looking for my life's purpose. Ah, she smiled in approval. "I like that. It makes it much more meaningful." She drifted to sleep as I held my hands over her chest, feeling all sorts of spirit tingles this whole time. After a few minutes, I stepped away to sit at the computer to chart.

Her restfulness only lasted for about fifteen minutes until she woke up and started wrestling with her mittens again.  I walked up to her bed and as I placed my hands on her chest again, she looked straight at me and asked, "Do you feed yourself?" She paused, then continued, "Do you feed your family? Or are you just producing meaningless things?" Although I knew perfectly well what she meant, I asked her, "What do you mean?" "You know. Do you give yourself what you want? What DO you want?" I emphatically answered, "Fun. I want fun." Realizing that I probably sounded like a teenager, I clarified myself. "Meaningful fun. That's what I want." I asked her the same question, and again, she brought up her need to achieve something. I asked her what she did when she was younger. She looked puzzled and asked, what do you mean, "younger"? So I just asked her what she enjoyed doing. She said she really enjoys making things. "What kind of things?" I asked. "Oh, all kinds of things", she said.  "Handicrafts." Being a crafter, I was intrigued and I prodded her and she said, "Oh, it depends on how I feel and whatever I have handy." Curious, I asked her for an example. She paused for awhile and apologetically admitted, "I'm sorry, honey. I can't explain it. Sometimes words just don't come out the right way." Sensing that she was getting tired, I encouraged her to get some sleep. As I walked away, it just hit me. I just had a conversation with the Universe... And now that I'm at home writing this, I'm smacking myself on the head for not asking her what her job offer was. But at least I got myself a title for my book.
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