Go Big or Go Home

The other night, I felt a bit of pain in my gut. A few hours later, it intensified, twisting and clawing. Clean water miraculously pouring out of a tap did not help; neither had the guilty pleasure of a steaming hot shower. Sleep did not ensue, as I alternately shivered and sweat in aching cold despite my soft, clean bankets. By morning, I was tired and still in pain. For a few hours I called my health insurance to see which provider I could visit without going bankrupt. There were a few but none had an ultrasound machine-- neccessary if there was to be any serious problem. So, I went to that icon of American healthcare, the best in the world, the pinnacle of scientific advancement, the emergency room. After waiting six hours, pain having subsided, I saw the doctor. He laughed at me, prescribed Zantac, and told me to quit eating so much friend chicken. I am still waiting to go broke from the bill.

The next week, a hurricane blew through my brother's neighborhood, ripping apart houses and tearing up the local high school. Despite all of the fallen lines, power was back on within 36 hours. Now the problem is fighting with housing insurance guys and repair men. Later on, as we went out to eat at Ryans and I looked at the overweight, slightly dishevled couple beside us, I was struck by how hard it really is to survive here. Writing this, I am sitting with my legs crossed (unallowed in Uganda) in comfortable leggings and a sweater (all recently realized dreams) on a clean couch with clean socks and a clean carpet. Yes, for the first time in a while, I was in mass, and no one cut in line ahead of me for offering or communion. But life here has its own way of getting to you.

Survival, minimum wage (or more) and bills and insurance and health payments. Survival is impossible if it is my goal. If I were to seek employment for its own sake and just try to make it, I probably would not.

Last Sunday, the priest said that we must live beyond fear and invest the talenst we were given for something greater than ourselves. We can never bury ourselves in survival mode, afraid of losing what we have. Terrified, I have applied to Columbia. Living expenses in New York, tuition, and transportation made my stomach begin to twist again. But this is America, where you step off a boat (or plane) with nothing but ten bucks ( or some African dresses) and work hard to achieve your dreams.

A friend from Zambia, when watching news about American earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, and blizzards, told me that humans were never meant to survive in America. That is true. In America, you cannot survive, you have to dream, to jump and thrive; either go big or go home.