Whatsamatta U

One of my good friends from home (mutually identified hetero-lifemates) works at CNN, hoping one day to become an editor. Apparently, from time to time younger folks at CNN go abroad to film their own news segment, which can be pushed to the satellites that watch us from space if it's good enough.

I was telling him he should take a couple weeks off and come visit India while I'm travelling there. Of course, I already knew what he'd have to say about that, but half the fun of hanging out with him is provoking him to run a redheaded rant. "I don't mean to seem, you know, insensitive or anything," he begins, "but the whole AIDS in Africa, poor kids in orphanage thing is way overdone." "What I want is drug addicts - yeah, train-hopping, glue-huffing junkie graffiti artists."

At his housewarming party for his new and robotrendy loft in Grant Park, the subject came up again and it occurred to me that a segment on what's wrong with volunteers would be really interesting.

Last Sunday, working at the coffee shop, a group of cute girls that come in on the regular invited me to Five Guy's once I got off my shift. Brief preface here, there's a lot of cute girls that come in to our shop and this is one of the best parts of the job: drama-free 30 second dating. Tell a couple stories, have a good laugh, serve the latte and you're done. I got this wonderful system out of whack by taking the girls up on their invite. Talking to them about my plans for my next trip, they mentioned that they were looking at a program with a 24-year commitment. Four years of missionary school, followed by 20 years of living with a village without much contact with other people - learning their language, designing a written form of the language and translating the bible into this language. In her words "you go through the bible chronologically so they think that God is really terrible until you get to Jesus when they hear the good news and everyone gets saved."

Eeek. Fight flight fright. Though I'm always impressed that these folks can get out big words like chronologically, this brand of cultural pollution and judgment keeps me up at night.

Still, I'm sure their will be plenty of moments in medical practice when I'm the bad guy with the words from a made up language that were used to help someone that didn't want fixing.

Apparently the dean of Emory's medical school makes a point to remind each class that most medical students are high-functioning people living with mental illness.

Trying to pay more attention to my attitudes and compassion brings up words of Henri Nouwen, Pema Chodron and Rachel Naomi Remen - who all suggest that each person's brokenness or pain is what allows them to care for others. It's hard to be in that place, to stay with parts that are not where they should be. I'm still looking for how dwelling with the substance of struggle offers renewal.

One day I'll get my friend to put the film together, until then I'll stick to the overdone orphanages.