choices

"Geography is no cure for what's the matter with you." -Hemingway, Islands in the Stream

I used to think that I needed to get as far away as possible from everything I knew in order to be happy. Throughout college, most of what I talked about was moving to a developing country when I graduated so I could start my "real" life. A lot of people, myself included, were quite surprised when I turned down an offer to teach English and art in Nicaragua in order to come to Baltimore. At the time, I couldn't really give a good reason for the decision, except that going to Nicaragua just didn't feel right. To be honest, if I could do it over, I might make a different choice, but I am also thankful for the opportunity to experience Baltimore for year.

A lot of what I'm learning here is what I don't want to do. I know now that I don't want to spend my life in the inner city. I know I don't want to be a social worker. I know I don't want to work with adults with addictions. It isn't that I don't love my job, because I do, I'm just not that good at it. I'm not cut out for this type of work- I am too trusting, too sensitive, and too naive. I know that, with time, these things would change, but I'm not sure I want them to. I LIKE that I'm a trusting and sensitive person. Naivete is perhaps a less desirable trait, but I have trouble seeing myself losing these things without becoming cynical and detached.

Some of the people I work with- most of them, actually- are fabulous at what they do. If, for example, a client's urinalysis comes back positive for cocaine, and I have a conference with the client and ask if they used cocaine, and they tell me no, and start crying, and insist it must be a mistake, I believe them. If one of my coworkers were to have a conference with the same client, they would be able to see through every lie they told and somehow get them to admit the type, amount, and location of every drug in their possession. I don't know how. They're just that good.

Earlier this week two of our female residents moved out. They weren't kicked out, and they didn't find permanent housing, they just left. Both of them had stayed in bed after 7am (which is against the rules) and so our manager had a conference with each of them individually. In the course of these meetings, she somehow got them to both admit that they had used drugs in the past week. This, by itself, is not grounds for being removed from the shelter, but it is a serious offence. The manager was in the process of discussing how to better address the clients' substance abuse issues, and both clients became frustrated and resistant. The manager said something like "do you really want to be here? are you ready for help? are you ready to quit using drugs?" and the women both said no. They threw what few possessions they have into garbage bags and walked out.

I was fighting back tears. I wanted to chase them into the street screaming for them to come back, pleading for them to give US another chance, asking them to fully consider the consequences of their decisions. I didn't, though. I sat at my computer and entered urinalysis results into the computer. Over lunch, the other counselors and I were discussing what happened. The consensus among the experienced counselors was very much that what had happened was a shame, but that the women needed to make their own mistakes, that they were not ready for help, and that we had done everything we could do. I hate that. I hate feeling so helpless, I hate working so hard and having everything I've done be so fragile, and I hate letting go of people I've come to love. But I also knew that the other counselors were right; I can't fix anyone, I can't force anyone into recovery, and try as I might, I can't love someone back to sanity or sobriety or happiness (though I plan on continuing to try).

Somewhat in line with the thought that moving far away would mean leaving all my problems behind, I used to think that only the hardest work was worth doing. I thought that, somehow, my life would only have value if I was working in the poorest country with the most vulnerable population doing the most draining work. I am now more than comfortable with the concept that some work is really just too hard for me. I would have been ashamed in college to ever say that a job- particularly a job serving people who are so often ignored and oppressed- was too tough for me, but guess what: this one is. Of course I will finish my year here, and I know I will be stronger for having done so, but I can say with confidence that this is not my calling. Nothing has ever confirmed in my love for and desire to work with children as much as working with adults and nothing has made me want to live in a rural area of an unindustrialized country more than living in the inner city. Thus, I can't really say that coming here was a mistake or wasted time, because I AM having confirmations of my vocation... just not for THIS vocation.

By the way, today, two days after she left, one of the residents who left on Monday came back, welcomed with open arms by staff and clients alike. And that, my friends, is an example of what will help me last here until August.