Confirmation.

“And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” 

- Esther 4:14 NIV

A door had closed before her. It seemed like there was no way out. Some way, somehow our paths crossed.

She was miles away on the eastern seaboard and had somehow found my email. “I went to Clark Atlanta,” she said over the email. And that was when I knew. This medical student looked like me.

No. She wasn’t at my institution. But something about that message grabbed me that day. Was it the first such email I’d received asking for my help or attention? No. But something about this felt different. It’s hard to explain.

I was in Jury Duty so things were still. Her email crossed my box during an idle period and, as fate would have it, afforded her my full attention. I don’t think that was by accident.

Nope.

Emails went back and forth for about 30 minutes. Then this lady with a flat voice spoke into a microphone. She rattled off some names in a monotone voice. “If I called your name, your case has been settled. Thank you for your service.” One of those names was mine.

Yup.

An unexpected window. What to do? Call her. That’s what God laid on my heart. Her number was at the end of the email. Before I could overthink it, o decided to be obedient.

What happened next—you wouldn’t believe it unless you knew me personally. But here is what I will say: I've always thought that that, just maybe, that one moment in time was pre-appointed long before I ever even thought of becoming a doctor. Maybe even before I was born.

The best part is that I could feel it in that moment. I could feel that the universe was telling me loud and clear: This is your Esther moment. And so I held on tight to that idea and pushed. Trusting and believing and touching and agreeing.

But then? Just like that, the door that I thought I could open for her closed. I fell to my knees crying that day. “I did what You said!” I cried. “I was obedient!”

A friend told me to be still. So I did.

And then, a door opened. Not the door I expected. An entirely different door opened by someone entirely different—but to whom I was connected. She opened that door in a whole different state. We hadn’t even been talking. I’d just been writing. And her reading.

Whew. It was so big, so divine that I still struggle to wrap my head around it. This wasn’t MY Esther moment. It was OUR Esther moment. A moment for which we were BOTH created.

Yup.

That girl from Clark Atlanta who cold-called me all those years ago? She walked straight through that open door and never looked back. Wait—I take that back. She only looks back to see who’s rattling the door handle trying to get in.

Today, as I was sitting alone quietly eating lunch at a soul food counter between rounds, guess who came up behind me and wrapped me in a hug? It was her. After all these years.

Dual board certified. An assistant professor and full time faculty member. Living the dream. At Grady Memorial Hospital of all places. Took everything in me not to cry into my black-eyed peas and collard greens.

“Wow.” That’s all I could say as she told me about all of the wonderful things she’d been doing.

“I will forever be grateful to you both. Forever I will.”

“And I will forever be grateful to God for letting us be there in that moment all together.”

She nodded and we hugged tight. Then I pulled her back, looked at her, and hugged her again. After that I snapped this picture to send to the other Esther so she, too, could feel all the same feels.

I do struggle sometimes with asks and recognizing my limitations. I can’t be everything to everyone. Sometimes I can’t be even a little something. But that moment taught me to just listen. Listen so that I know when I should.

Yup.

What an ordinary lunch at the Sweet Auburn Curb Market this started out as today. Just like that ultra ordinary day in Jury Duty back in 2012. Now I know that nestled in every ordinary moment is the potential for something extraordinary just waiting to happen.

And maybe—just maybe—you were created for a moment such as this.

Yeah.

__________
Happy Tuesday.

Habitual Reflection and moments in time.

"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."

~ James Baldwin

 _______________________________________________

I just returned from the National Meeting of the Society of General Internal Medicine (SGIM.) This year it was held down in San Diego and was a really networky-academic-general-medicine-nerdy good time. I've been to the SGIM meeting several times over the years, but admittedly, this was one of the larger turnouts from my recollection. From Emory alone we had close to fifty people--maybe even more--all of whom presented workshops and posters and sat on committees and panels and just did great and important things.

And some just soaked up the energy. Which is cool, too.

This year for me was mostly a year of soaking up energy. Usually I'm running all around making last minute tweaks on a presentation or scurrying over to judge a poster. But this year? I simply attended. Well. Unless you count being on the list of authors for an oral case presentation which really was 100% effort-driven by one of our amazing residents. Otherwise, I was just a spectator.

Which, for me, was just fine this year.

Presenting a workshop at SGIM last year

Anyways. I left that meeting with a lot on my mind. Not because things that most would define as earth shattering  happened but more because now that I habitually reflect on all that I live, far more in my life is of good report. Does that even make sense? Sigh. I don't know.

Yeah.

Some birds I met while running on the waterfront Thursday

Well. Speaking of this idea of habitual reflection--or even "mindfulness" as some like to call it. . . . I'm reminded of a conversation I had during the meeting with one of my residency classmates, Rachel S.

"I think writing and reflecting helps us to see the power and magic of the seemingly ordinary, you know? That 'boring' patient has a story."

"Yeah. There are stories all around us. Everywhere."

Then I told her about the day I watched a woman crossing the street to the bus stop with her children. This otherwise mundane event that this habit of reflection caused me to behold with different eyes. And then write about it. The story in it, the pain in it, and ultimately the beauty and triumph in it.

"It's weird," I told her. "That piece of writing ["Little Mama"] is one I go back to reread probably more than any other. And I know that had it happened ten years ago, I would have never even noticed it."

And Rachel's eyes filled with tears because she understood. She also knew of the walk my family has taken since losing Deanna and she remembered. Even though we hadn't seen each other in one full year (at the last SGIM meeting) it was evident in her eyes that she recalled and she got it. Got how life opens up and becomes richer when we allow ourselves to be more aware of the little things.

I should mention that Rachel leads writing and narrative medicine workshops at her institution in Denver, Colorado. She's my kind of people and just so. . . present and intentional. So that part--talking to Rachel and thinking with her--was really good.

Yeah.

So then there was this other part of this SGIM meeting that I also loved. Remember when I went up to be a "visiting profesora" at University of Pittsburgh? Well during that amazing visit, those folks up there embraced me in a way that I never even saw coming. I mean, yes, my good friend Shanta Z. is there and they know and love her. But mostly that means that they should just have been polite and welcoming--which, of course, they were. That said, they've also gone above and beyond that. Ever since that visit, their faces are warm and happy to see me when our paths cross. Familiar and easy. Hugs instead of handshakes and my favorite part is that the ones that I didn't even formally meet while I was there are the same way. Kind of like "a friend of Shanta's is a friend of ours." Many even started off with, "I feel like I know you." And that? That's just awesome. I mean really and truly awesome.

Pittsburgh people

One of the people I met up in Pittsburgh was this woman named Missy M. Missy is this unbelievably talented, committed and infectiously loving clinician educator who has committed her career to medical education and women's health. It came as no surprise to those who know her when she was tapped on the shoulder to be the Distinguished Professor of Women's Health at this year's meeting. That meant a keynote address which I made it my business to attend.

A blurry selfie with Missy M.

Her talk was aptly titled "Life Lessons Learned." And let me tell you--it was nothing short of transformative. She stood up there and shared her truth. About being a woman taking care of women. About teaching. About self care. About being a mom. About the things that really matter. And all of it was was magical. It was.

When they called for questions, usually it's a bit intimidating to take that microphone and speak. But I did ask one. but I especially made sure to stand up and publicly say, "Congratulations on being asked to do this. You are truly deserving of this honor and have blessed us all with your wise words." And she needed to hear that because we all know how pesky that little voice can be that tries to rob us of accolades and honors and replace them with feelings of being tiny and undeserving imposters.

Yeah.

Standing ovation after Missy's talk

So Missy gave the hell out of that keynote and I was there in the number when we stood to our feet to applaud. And even though I am not at her institution, I felt like she was one of my own and like I was a part of some different, insiders crew. Mostly because of how people like Missy and her Pittsburgh colleagues have treated me.

Missy doing a mystery case--and killing it.

So yeah, that was great. It was.

Yesterday I slipped into the back of the room as one of my Grady BFFs presented an update on hepatology. I've talked about Lesley M. and her trailblazing heart-work with Hepatitis C. And please, if you've never read that post, please take a minute to right that wrong. So she and our other fellow Grady doctor Shelly-Ann F. spoke to a standing room only crowd. Or rather standing, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall room only crowd. They were unbelievably polished, knowledgeable and just. . . inspiring. I remember when that idea of general internists treating patients with hepatitis C was embryonic and just a pie-in-the-sky idea. And this? This was a full circle moment of seeing what happens when people dream big and then go hard.

Update on Hepatology with Lesley M. and Shelly-Ann F.

My favorite line was what Shelly-Ann said after:

"I was very, very proud of us. I could feel that we were doing a great job and sharing good information and I'm so proud." 

And that was an awesome line because that's exactly what she should have been feeling.

Yep. So that was rad. Like super rad.

Of course, there was also the fun I always have each year at these meetings when I share a hotel room with my other Grady BFF, Stacy H. It always feels like this slumber party where we lie in our opposing beds whispering like middle schoolers. There's the parts like chatting while doing our hair and putting on make-up or pulling out contact lenses and all that kind of stuff. But in the midst of it we also nudge each other professionally and explore the "what next" parts of our careers as academic physicians. And all of that is wonderful, too. It really is.

me and my nerdy-meeting roomdog, Stacy H.

But I guess the last thing I wanted to reflect on was perhaps the one that has stayed on my mind most of all. Maybe because it almost felt spiritual. . . or even divinely appointed. And yes, I know that everyone reading here isn't fully on board with the idea of things being "divinely appointed" per se, but I do know that even those in this community who don't follow any organized religion can fully appreciate these moments that you just know will feed your soul and stay with you for a long, long time.

So yeah. Kind of like that.

I had just made my way into the poster session in one of the large ballrooms yesterday. For those who aren't familiar, at these meetings a big part of it is a competition of research posters that people put together from their hospitals and residency programs. There are literally rows and rows of bulletin boards with bright-eyed and bushy-tailed presenters standing beside them poised and ready to discuss their good work. The picture above is a lot like what these sessions are like at national meetings. This one was packed to the gills with not only posters and presenters--but people. I'm sure I won't be the first to say that it can all be a bit overwhelming to take in all at once.

I was mostly coming to see the Emory resident and faculty posters, but had also hoped to peruse a few that caught my eye and also locate my friend Rachel S. (who I knew was somewhere in that vast expanse.)

Pittsburgh peeps during poster session last year

 Anyways. In I wander and, of course, am bumping into folks and craning my neck to try to see if I noted any familiar faces. I snaked up and down the aisles, stopped to ask a few questions about intriguing posters, and visited with a few of our Emory people. Every other step required me to apologize for either nearly running someone over or mistaking them for the wrong person. As I said, it can be kind of overwhelming.

One of our Emory chief residents, Megan D.

After about twenty minutes or so, I noted a smiling red head next to a board that I recognized. Rachel! Yes. I was excited partly because I'd finally found her but also because I had some ideas for collaboration for next year that I wanted to chat about. We'd seen each other in passing but had neglected to exchange numbers so I was pretty anxious to find her before leaving San Diego.

I prepared myself to elbow through the crowd and bee-line it over to her poster before I missed my opportunity. Just before scooting up the aisle, for some reason I glanced toward the door on my left leading to the lobby area. Amidst that sea of people and noise, my eyes briefly met those of this slender, young black woman. We gave one another "the nod" but that wasn't where it ended. She held my gaze for a few seconds while pushing through the door. I smiled deliberately in her direction to let her know the thing we all want to know: 

I see you.

It was clear to me that she wasn't a faculty level attendee. Her wide eyes and youthful face assured me that she was still in training--either a senior medical student or a pretty junior resident. In that second, I felt this really intense thought. And I swear to you--as sure as I sit as this computer and type these words--I heard these words as clear as day:

"She needs to talk to you. That learner--she needs you."

My eyes cut over to Rachel for just a split second so that I could make a mental note of her location. But in that miniscule slice of time, I looked back to that door and just like that, that smiling stranger was gone. I felt this complex disappointment with the universe for robbing me of that moment and myself for looking away and squandering it. Grrrr. And I know this sounds crazy--especially because that entire exchange took only 4 seconds MAX--but it's true.

See, I knew from other experiences that it's my job to take notice and be obedient when these "one moment in time" things come before me. And that? That's what that felt like.

Anyways. I turned back to my original intention and headed over to Rachel. And we connected and talked as I told you before and all of that was good. So good that I pretty much let myself stop thinking about that brown girl with the big eyes and that missed opportunity.

Besides. I told myself that it would have been weird to say, "Hi, I know you don't know me but something is telling me that I need to come talk to you. And that you need to talk to me." Which seriously would have been creepy and stalkery on so, so many levels. So yeah. I told myself that-- which allowed me to toss it aside and not give it much more airplay.

Later that afternoon, I was sitting at a round table with a big group of my colleagues from the Southern Region. We were all relaxed and simply recapping the various workshops and run-ins people had. Old friends talking to old friends. New friends talking to new friends. And a lot of things in between. Feet propped up on chairs. Professional attire now exchanged for blue jeans, flip flops and fleece jackets embroidered with the names of our various institutions. And that part was cool, too.

So I was leaning on my elbow yucking it up with with some fellow Grady doctors and I notice Shelly-Ann (the other Grady liver lady) walking in my direction. Her head is up and her shoulders are squared and I can tell that she's still giddy from their rockstar hepatology session earlier that day. And since there were five trillion people rushing them after their talk and I didn't get a chance to congratulate her, I jumped up to my feet as she approached me to tell her how great they'd done. So she smiled ear to ear and we hugged and spent a few moments basking in all of that.

I guess I was so focused on Shelly-Ann that I didn't even notice the person standing right behind her.

"Kim, I actually brought someone over that I wanted to introduce to you."

And, as you can already imagine, she steps aside and up walks that same woman that I saw in the poster session earlier that morning. And you know? I didn't even hide my elation that she was in front of me. I didn't. Instead of sticking out my hand when Shelly Ann made the introduction, I reached out and hugged her. Like I meant it and like I'd meant to do it before.

And she did the exact same thing.

Now. Let me be clear. Before I saw her in that hall, I'd never seen her before in my life. And from what I learned, she, too, had never seen or met me either. No, she wasn't some reader of this blog who'd seen my quirky writings and photos and linked them to me. And you know what? When I saw her that first time, I knew that. I knew that it wasn't some "where do I know you from" glance or "hey, that's the lady who writes the Grady blog" look. I knew deep down in my soul that it was something else.

So Shelly-Ann simply tells me that she just felt like this resident should meet me and had taken it upon her self to escort her right in front of me. Not because she'd pointed me out and asked Shelly-Ann either. But because somehow Shelly-Ann, too, was in cahoots with the universe and this magnetic pull for us to make acquaintance.

"I saw you earlier," I told her. "You looked at me and I swear something inside of me said, 'That woman needs to talk to me. We need to talk to each other.' I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true. Do you remember seeing me?"

Her already wide eyes widened some more. I could see that they were already glistening with tears from hearing what I said. She nodded her head.

"We were supposed to meet. I felt bad when you got away from me--honestly, I did. I can't even tell you how happy I am to have you standing in front of me." And I told her that because it was true. I wanted her to know that this was important to me and that she was worth my time.

"I. . .I felt like that, too. Like. . .I don't know. . .like I wanted to talk to you just from that glance. It's not just you."

And so. We sat down and we talked. I listened to what it was like for her as a resident and also specifically a resident of color in a high-powered majority environment. I let her know that I knew how she felt and talked to her about always remembering who she is. But mostly I just heard her and encouraged her. I reminded her of Abileen's mantra--not through words but through eyes, ears and heart.

"You is kind. You is smart. You is important."

Yes. That.

And you know? That brown girl broke down crying. Right then and there in that lobby area in our quiet little area where we'd stolen away to talk. And her tears were so layered yet so familiar. Not so much sad but just . . .I don't know. . . .relieved and empowered. And I swear to you, it fed my soul probably more than it did hers.

"I don't even know how to thank you," she sniffled. "I just . . .I needed that so much. . .and I just don't even know how to tell you how much. So thank you." And when she said that, she wept some more.

I told her that the way to thank Shelly-Ann and me and all of the other women she'd met that week was to be excellent and pay it forward. She nodded her head and promised she would.

"Oh, and to constantly pay attention. Don't take your eyes away because you might miss the chance to do what you're supposed to be doing."

And she knew that I was referring to her getting away from me in that ballroom earlier. But I also think both of us knew that somehow, some way the things that are supposed to happen somehow do. Even if it seems like we missed the chance--sometimes that second chance makes what you do even more powerful and more meaningful. Kind of like. . .I don't know. . . .it affirms what first just felt like a tiny nudge as something more . . .and as something so, so much greater than it or you.

Yeah.

So we exchanged numbers. And I know that I will hear from her and be in touch with her. I will. And we will continue remind one another of who we are and what we can do with just one moment in time.

Yeah.

So that? That just explains a few tiny morsels of the rich slice of my life over the last few days. And I am seeing it and feeling it and embracing it all. The ordinary, the extraordinary, the all of it--forcing from it each and every drop I can taste.


Yeah.

This cappucino made me happy

"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."

~ James Baldwin

Thank you for reading, okay? I mean that.

So cool! With my former chief resident from residency, Mimi S.

***
Happy Saturday.

Super corny yes, but now playing on my mental iPod. . . . the song that has always made me wish I could sing. Ha.

And this--worth viewing again. . . . my Grady BFF Lesley M. on Hepatitis C. #superproud

Face to face.

She was even sweeter in person.

For the first time today, we met face to face. From that moment she sent that email at a point when she felt broken all the way to her victorious phone call some weeks later -- we had never actually met in person. It was all over phone calls and emails and text messages.

Imagine that.

So today we met in person. We talked about medicine. We talked about summer plans. And we talked about moments in time. (We also talked about which toppings are best on frozen yogurt.)

It was a really good meeting.

***

May 19.

Her graduation: May 19, 2012

My time

After all of the hard work

And all of the things I sacrificed

Now I finally know my worth

The whole of me it has no price

I thought I'd never make it this far

I underestimated myself

And though my life has truly been hard

Now I know the greatness of my wealth

I'm rich in love 

I'm rich in peace

I'm rich in hope yeah 

I'm rich indeed 

I'm ready

This is My Time

All that I'd hoped for is mine

It's mine, it's mine

I'm ready

This is My Time

All that I'd hoped for is mine

It's mine, it's mine

It's mine. . . . 

You'll know when that moment comes

And childish things are put aside

When you've learned to embrace your true self

And you really begin to live your life...

When you begin to live your life you'll see...

Just how ready you are...

I'm ready

This is My Time

All that I'd hoped for is mine

It's mine, it's mine

I'm ready

This is My Time

All that I'd hoped for is mine

It's mine, it's mine . . .

It's mine.

~ lyrics by Kindred The Family Soul

My graduation: May 19, 1996

***
Wow.

It all started with one moment in time. That led to a relationship that somehow became an awakening so profound that I couldn't even talk about it coherently at first. Then it set in that in the end, all things work for good. Finally I found some words to express what had left me so awestruck . . . . and for the world of people who were rooting for you, I am so happy that I did.

Thank you for allowing me to share your graduation photo. I knew that same world would want to see you standing tall and whole and smiling. Your face is filled with the pride that you have worked hard for and that you have always deserved.

My friend, Stacy H., who was one of the people cheering for you saw this photo and asked me if I was at your graduation. My answer to her was this: "No. Not physically. But I was there in spirit."

And I know that you know that I wasn't the only one there that way. 

It's so hard to believe that we still haven't met each other face to face. But now I know for certain that you don't have to be standing directly in front of someone to care. No, you do not.

Thank you for teaching me a lesson in bravery, faith and resilience. Thank you for being the true embodiment of "grace under fire." Because you did and you are. 

I am so proud of you. We are so proud of you.

This is your time. And we all know that you're ready.

I know for certain that you will pay it forward, too. That's how it works, you know. That's how we show our gratitude.

xo, 

Dr. M

***

Happy Sunday.

Playing this song for all of us today. Because really? This is all of our time. It always has been. . . Kindred the Family Soul sings "My Time" . . . . so beautiful and perfect for this moment.

To the world full of people who rooted for her. . .who offered well-wishes, prayers and positive energy. . . . thank you. Your energy, your thoughts, your belief made a difference. You do know that don't you? Let this entire experience be our reminder to seize our one moment in time. No matter how many times it comes to us.

On "Awakening". . . .

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

~ Marianne Williamson, author

"A Return to Love"

____________________

My mom called me this morning and said that the cryptic-ness of my last post left her with a sense of angst. That or just such curiosity about what the hell happened in her daughter's life that she felt compelled to text me at the crickety-crack of dawn for some interrogation.

You just gotta love Grandma Shugsie.

Well, I called her this morning and explained. Next I emailed one of my other favorite silent knights of my blog-reading round table because she had questions too. And I thought I could just leave it there but then I saw a comment from Anonymous Jo saying she, too, wanted to know more. Poopdeck left me a comment that just had question marks. That made me wonder if this meant others might have angst.

That or just curiosity about what the hell had happened.

Okay. . .so first of all let me just say that I'm sitting in an airport typing this on my iPad. Furthermore, I find the newest version of the Blogger app to be quite craptacular. So you'll have to bear with this and the typos and cut me some slack until I get back to my laptop. Especially since I'm attempting to reduce angst.

That or just to reduce the curiosity about what the hell happened.

Remember the fateful day that that medical student happened to email me while I was being held captive in jury duty? And remember how that series of emails led to a phone call? And do you recall how that phone call then morphed into a relationship that wasn't really forced or fabricated but instead just kind of happened?

Remember that?

So check it--that whole thing was crazy. No--really--it's crazy because me getting into that exchange with her was, in a way, a bit of a miracle. I get so many emails and especially emails like that one. How serendipitous it was that she reached out to me when she did and that I was where I was. So that in itself was pretty amazing.

But then there was her story. Life had presented a few speed breakers to her medical school travels. But she was still striving and pushing to overcome them. That brought her into my path. She was trying to finalize a one year preliminary training requirement needed before entering an advanced residency. Sounds simple enough. But it wasn't. Doors kept shutting in her face. Over and over again.

So we talked on the phone and she told me that. I heard about those speed breakers and could identify with her scrappiness. I listened to her and immediately felt convicted by her truth and her struggle. It wasn't so much that I wanted to help. This was different. Something inside of me felt ordered to help.

Or at least try.

And try I did. I called. I emailed. I asked. I waited. And nothing. Doors kept closing. Over and over again.

I identified with her. She is young, black and female. She attended a historically black college and was better in person than on paper. And like my dear friend and med school classmate "Wise Jada" reminded me, she was us.

She was me.

So when all of these efforts weren't working, I grieved as if it were me. I stood in a hot shower on Wednesday morning after yet another door seemed to be closing and cried an almost primal cry. I actually couldn't even understand my grief at the time. But it was there.

I called my Dad and talked to him. He listened and provided my misery the company it longed to have. I sent a text to my dear soul-friend the profesora in Pittsburgh. I simply told her I was very, very sad. Like always she was gracious and there for me, which I appreciated. Lastly, I reached out to my fellow Grady doctor Stacy H. who gave me some excellent advice (as always.)

"Just be still."

So I took that advice and sat quietly in my room listening to this song called "Stand." I let those lyrics resonate:

"After you've done all you can, you just stand."

So I sat still on that whole thing. Or rather, I decided to just stand.

Just stand.

And then something happened. Someone who'd heard her story contacted me. They wanted to talk to her. This person felt "haunted" by this story and perhaps ordered to help, too.

So they talked. And like me this person could see the diamond gleaming inside of her. This led to more calls, telephone interviews and file reviews. But this was different because it involved a compassion that this student had not experienced in a very long time.

And then I get the call. The elation in her voice leaped through my iPhone and twirled around the room.

"I got the position!"

And we celebrated her triumph and even her tragedy because without it we never would have met.

At least not like this.

She said, "Remember when you told me that I would win? I needed to hear that. That day when you called me out of the blue, I was broken."

"Broken?"

"Broken, Dr. Manning. Broken and defeated and embarrassed. That call that day and all of the text messages and calls afterward lifted and encouraged me."

Broken?

I could barely speak. But I did manage to whisper, "I knew you would win."

"But how did you know that?"

"Because you are me and I am you. And we fight until we win. That's what we do."

Then I got off of the phone, buried my face into the crook of my arm and just wept and wept. As primal and guttural as I did that morning in the shower that very morning. Maybe even more so.

And perhaps you are thinking that I was crying because I did this for her. But nothing could be further from the truth. I was so emotional because despite my best efforts, I could not fix this. So I took some sage advice and stood still.

And what's really crazy is. . . . I still have never even met her face to face.

And listen. . . no matter what you do or don't believe in, I know for sure that all who convene here can appreciate a spiritual experience. Christians, Jews, Muslims, agnostics, and atheists are all affected by pivotal circumstances. We process them in the way that works best for us, and that's okay. But we all are changed somehow when they happen.

Yes, we are.

When I woke up to go to jury duty that day, I had no idea that I was about to be given this one moment in time. All I thought was that I'd sit on a hard bench and try to stay awake.

But that wasn't the plan.

So I am looking at my life with different eyes. I'm reexamining the ordinary things in it like jury duty and laughter and stillness . . . . and paying attention. Even more attention than ever before.

Here is what I now know for sure:

We are powerful beyond measure. I am powerful beyond measure. And in my "awakening" I can now say that this is no longer my deepest fear.

No, it is not.

***

Me with Wise Jada, May 19, 1996

*One last thing. . . . .that student will be conferred her medical school diploma on May 19, 2012. . .  . . exactly sixteen years to the day after I received my own.

***
Happy Friday.

***

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . .Donnie McClurkin singing "Stand."

Awakening.

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"Once you start to awaken, no one can ever claim you again for the old patterns. Now you realize how precious your time here is. You are no longer willing to squander your essence on undertakings that do not nourish your true self; your patience grows thin with tired talk and dead language. You see through the rosters of expectation which promise you safety and the confirmation of your own identity. Now you are impatient for growth, willing to put yourself in the way of change. You want your relationship to voyage beyond the pallid frontiers to where the danger of transformation dwells.You want your God to be wild and call you to where your destiny awaits."


~ John O'Donohue, author
"The Question Holds the Lantern"

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I am pondering these words and feeling them in the deepest parts of my soul right now. A lot has been happening in my life lately. Pivotal circumstances. . . defining moments. . . . the kind that wake up those questions inside of you like, "Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Am I living my life like it's golden? Am I brave enough to do and be what lies in my full potential?"

This week and these words affirm my answers to those questions. And yes, I know this all sounds cryptic but right now that's all I can get out without the ugliest of ugly cries.

Because my God went wild. No, not for me per se. . . but I was there to bear witness. Which meant it was for me, too.

It was an awakening of sorts. Even though I wasn't asleep in my life it was still an awakening. Because I was there. And I am excited and exhilarated and terrified. I am charged and inspired and convicted.

Because my God went wild.

Nope. No earth-shattering concrete life change is about to take place. . . like a move or a job change or a family change. At least not for me. I'm not shifting careers or locations or any such thing. Nope, not me.

But my God went wild. In the ordinary comings and goings of life, yes, my God went wild. And it was still a wildly extraordinary reminder of who and what I can be. I saw all that is good in this world nestled tightly inside of an impossible moment in time. So now I'm looking at that word "destiny" with different eyes.

Yes I am.

And the beautiful part is that I know for certain that at this very moment in time . . . someone else is, too.

***
Happy Thursday.

One moment in time.

Give me one moment in time

When I'm more than I thought I could be

When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away

And the answers are all up to me

Give me one moment in time

When I'm racing with destiny

Then in that one moment of time

I will feel

I will feel eternity

~ from Whitney Houston's "One moment in time"

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So it all started with jury duty last week. I was sitting there in a big room in the courthouse minding my own business and happy as I-don't-know-what that they had WiFi and even happier that I had thought to bring my laptop. I watched the obligatory video, which for whatever reason, wasn't so bad this time around and even managed to write a blog post. Even though I was in jury duty, it was all good.

Then I did what I'm sure many people sitting in that holding room did. Exactly! I checked my email. Yawn. Nothing too exciting really. Work-related stuff and reminders about things that I needed to be remembering. Otherwise, not too eventful. Amongst those uneventful emails was an email from a medical student. Also not unusual--at all. Anyways. This email was inquiring about our residency program and whether or not we had any openings which we did not. I quickly shot the student back an email thanking her for her interest but letting her know that we'd filled all of our positions in the match for the coming year.

And this was also not at all unusual. Because I get these kinds of emails often--so often that I can probably type that response with my eyes closed.

So there I sat in jury duty with nothing to do but wait. I'd already blogged. I'd forgotten to bring a magazine. And I wasn't in the mood to read anything on my Kindle queue. So clearly I did what any bored person would do. Of course! I checked my email again.

And there it was. A response from that student. Just like that. Explaining a bit more about her situation but not so much that it felt like TMI. She had attended college in Atlanta and was visiting with friends. Here for spring break, she wondered if my schedule would allow us to chat. 

Chat? Chat about what? I didn't have any positions. I'm sure she was nice and all but I couldn't exactly hire her or anything. And truthfully, I can't just be meeting up with any and every random person who emails me. And don't even judge me for saying that because you know you can't either. 

Anywho.

Since I was held captive in that courthouse, I went ahead and responded. 

"Was there something in particular that you wanted to speak with me about?"

Of course that was wrapped around a few other diplomatic sentences, but that was the gist of it. She responded back in the snap of a finger.

"We don't have to meet in person. I'd really just hoped to talk to you so that if you had something open, you'd have more insight into me."

Lawd. 

I liked the humility in the email, but still. Why did she want to meet me or even talk to me if I couldn't necessarily give her a position? Maaaan. I'm a bleeding heart and all but seriously? I just don't have time. And look, y'all. Before you give me the hairy eyeball, you have to understand how residency programs work. People not only from ALL OVER the U.S. contact program directors about positions but also applicants from all over THE WORLD contact you, too. Setting up times to chat up all of the folks that email you--despite how wonderful they surely are--could take up your entire week. So I generally try to avoid it.

I prepared to quickly reply a kindly worded decline to her, but decided to just chill for a moment. What was the hurry? Hell, all I had was time in jury duty which, at the rate things were going, was about to be good and plenty. 

Then, just two moments later I hear the clerk shuffling at the microphone. 

"IF YOU HEAR YOUR NAME CALLED, PLEASE RAISE YOUR HAND HIGH AND SPEAK UP IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT!"

And I sat there waiting. More like yawning and waiting because I knew my name never seemed to get called in the first few batches of people. Since this was batch three, I listened just enough to see if somebody I knew was also unlucky--err. .. .had the honor of serving their time in jury duty that day, too. 

That's when I heard it. 

"KIMBERLY MANNING!"

I thought it was some kind of joke. I looked up from my laptop incredulously. 

Awww man! Already? Dude!

"Uhh. . .HERE!"

Great. Getting called meant going upstairs to an actual courtroom. And going up to an actual courtroom meant no more WiFi and no more catching up on emails and friends' blogs. Talk about a buzz kill. 

He kept rattling off names and horribly mispronouncing a few of them. Great. None of them even seemed fun. Man. This was totally going to be the group mandated for the next OJ trial--I could feel it. I closed my laptop and prepared to scuttle off to wherever we were going to be scuttled off to next. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to be a big girl about it.

Your civic duty. Your civic duty. Your civic duty.

And then this:

"IF I CALLED YOUR NAME, YOUR CASE HAS BEEN SETTLED. YOU ARE DISMISSED FOR THE DAY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE."

Dis-WHO?

Shut the FRONT DOOR!  Dismissed?!  Hush yo' mowf!!  

I looked at the time on my iPhone--10--fricking--23 AM. Shut. Up.  

I skipped out of that courthouse and past those security checkpoints whistling Dixie. Like literally. 

So I get out in the sunshine and realize that I'd expected to be in that building all day. Hell. I didn't know what to do with myself. I just sort of stood there with this dorky grin on my face smiling at people who looked at me and my big blue JUROR sticker on my chest. Kind of like this:

Who DOES this when they get out of Jury Duty? (Me.)

No. Exactly like that. I started to do the running man dance for a minute, but remembered that the last time I did jury duty, one of our big-boss deans was there, too. For all I knew, the dude could walk up while I was mid-stride.

Anyways. I sit on a bench and pull out my phone. For whatever reason, I looked at that email again from that same student. And then--and I'm not sure why--I pushed the hyperlinked number at the bottom of her email and called her right then and there.

"Hello?"

"Hey there. This is Dr. Manning. How are you doing today?"

"Uhhh. . . Dr. Manning?" she cleared her throat hard. "I'm good. Very good." 

She sounded stunned as hell that I'd actually called her. But also she sounded pleasant, professional, and driven. We exchanged a few pleasantries and then I started to hear more about her story. 

She was at an excellent medical school and preparing to graduate this spring. Without going too much into her business, I learned that she was sort of in a jam.  Match day had been bittersweet and while she DID get into an advanced program, she did not secure the mandatory preliminary year. Now she was trying to get a one-year spot--so she wouldn't lose the position that was to follow. That, I couldn't assist with.

But as I listened, I also figured out that we had a whole lot in common. 

Like me, she was an African American female who had attended a historically black college. Like me, she had roots in the south. And she seemed to have spunk. She was almost scrappy--kind of like I was as a medical student.

I listened. I responded to her queries. And I liked her. Instinctively, I liked her.

It dawned on me then that although I couldn't help her out with her particular situation, I could put her in contact with a friend of mine at another institution who potentially could. A friend who'd gone to medical school with me who was now in a high position elsewhere. 

So I called her. And she listened, too. And together we decided that we'd try to help. 

And since that phone call last week, I have talked to that student four other times and emailed/texted even more than that. I've made at least fifteen calls to other people on her behalf. 

And today, I called just to be of encouragement.

"Just called to remind you that you will succeed in this."

"Thank you, Dr. Manning. After last week and us talking I am really feeling that way, too." And I could tell that she meant every word. 

You see, I'm not sure if you all realize it but medical school is hard. Like some parts of it are really hard. But it's not just because of the complexity of the facts you're trying to master. The environment breaks some people long before the school work. Yeah. The medical school and residency environment can be really rough for any person who is different in any way. And by different, I mean a lot of things. I mean things like being black. Or being older. Or having a kid. Or being from a foreign country. Or having some kind of disability. Or even something as simple as just being married with children (since most medical students are not.)  

Unlike this young woman, I attended a historically black college AND a historically black medical school -- which meant I never felt or was treated like a minority as a medical student. But once I went to residency and then came here, I realized that black students and residents can feel pretty isolated sometimes. No, this isn't unique to my institution or where I did my training at all. In fact, my good friend who leads a program way off in another state talks to me all the time about this very thing and how it manifests at her institution, too.

So my point is--it's an everywhere thing.

Anyways. At some (and by some I mean many) academic medical centers, black medical students get lost. Especially the ones that are very good and full of promise but not necessarily stellar on paper. They get overlooked or misunderstood. And unless there is some great mentor advocating on their behalf and helping them to slug it out, it can be a hard row to hoe. 

Man. Tonight when I spoke to that young lady, she sounded so encouraged. Like my time and attention had meant so, so much to her. And for the record--my friend and me had not sorted out her problem yet. We hadn't secured her a position or anything like that. But I can say this: We did listen to her and try to see what we could do to help. And when I talked to her I did my best to inspire her to keep fighting because I believed that if she did she would win.

And she said to me, "You know what, Dr. Manning? I believe that, too. I truly do."

We got off the phone and I just sat there at my kitchen table lost in thought. Then, without warning, tears started rolling over my cheeks and splashing on my lap. Tear after tear and I couldn't make it stop.

Crazy right? Maybe. Maybe not.

Like. . . .do you ever have these pivotal moments in your life that start as something super tiny but while they are happening you just know it's the start of something big? 

Oh, you don't? Dang.

Well, I do. Like what if me being a student at Meharry and then a faculty at Emory and still friends with a classmate from Meharry who happens to be on the faculty at another institution AND who also happens to have connections all over the place. . .like what if all of that was just a part of a drum roll to this moment in time? All setting me up for that one moment where I randomly decided to cold call that student after being sprung from jury duty. . . .like what if that was the case? 

What if the time I took--that we took--to at least try to see what we could do to help her but even more to just mentor her and inspire her -- just what if that changes her life? What if reading her emails without distractions and then calling her was like that movie Sliding Doors -- you know, the one that shows how an entire life can change with something as simple as making it onto a subway before the doors close on you?

I spoke to my other good friend, Jada R., who happens to be Meharry classmate, too. She helps me process in times such as this so I called her up. And you know? I couldn't even get the story all the way out before I started crying. 

"This is so crazy," I blubbered, "I don't even know her, Jada. I don't even know her."

And Jada just listened intently and replied softly, "Of course you know her. We both know her. She's us, Kim." 

Of course. She's us. 

That did nothing but make me cry even more.

So now I am just reflecting and rambling about these moments in time and what we do with them. I am sitting here with a giant ball of Kleenex partly because I'm hormonal but mostly because I'm feeling so full just imagining how much one human being can do for another . . .and how just maybe the entire universe has been waiting for one of us to do this tiny part in something enormous. 

Just maybe.

Jada and I always speak of this black female physician who had us over to her home for dinner when we were fourth year medical students rotating up at Case Western SOM as visiting students. We had just passed our second set of boards and had done well--and we were SO HAPPY. I'm talking CRAZY, INSANELY happy. But according to her, we were a little too happy.

"You're so. . . happy and relieved, wow. But I think I hear too much relief in your voices. This is interesting."

And we looked puzzled. She went on and said this:

"At some point, you will have to get comfortable with succeeding. You'll have to stop treating it like it's some kind of accident or fluke and accept that you are fully deserving of it. Why not? You deserve to win."

She said that while buttering a roll or sipping wine or whatever she was doing. My point is that it was just a tiny moment at her dining room table, you know? Like I doubt if it was even a big deal to her, you know? But those words--those mighty words--changed our lives, do you hear me? Changed our lives.

We talked about those words all the way home. We spoke of them around commencement time. We revisited them during residency and again when we were both asked to serve as chief residents at our respective residency programs. And even to this very day, Jada and I speak of that one moment in time at least once per year. That one moment in time.

Anyways. . .back to the student.

Honestly? I was actually very disappointed when all of our phone calls and discussions didn't end in some fairy tale ending to that student's situation. That would have made this story a hell of a lot better, right? But in my heart of hearts I know that she will be fine. In fact, she will be more than fine. She's going to win. And I told her just like that doctor told Jada and me seventeen years ago: "Why not? You deserve to win." 

That may have been a bold thing to say to someone I don't even know. But you know what? That woman who said that to me didn't know me either.

But then again, maybe she did.

Sigh.

Once I ended my hyperemotional babble in Jada's ear, I finally said, "Girl, I just can't stop feeling like . . . I don't know. . . this was some kind of destiny. Like I was supposed to be in her life to. . .I don't know. . . to help nudge her to the next level."

And wise Jada responded, "That could be, sister. Unless, of course, she was supposed to be in your life to do that for you."

Hmmmm.

That could be.


What are you doing with your moments in time?

***

Happy Sunday.

And now playing on my mental iPod which is covered with snot after just one play of Whitney Houston singing this: