My paternal grandparents came over the other night, and we had a nice evening with my housemates (my cousin and her busband, the doctor/ resident director) until the topic came to me. My grandpa proudly recounted some of my autobiography, traveling to Lesotho when I graduated from college, traveling in the Peace Corps, etc.; and my housemates began to ask a few questions. Later on, my grandpa asked me about the job offer I had vs. medical school. That night, during my Ignatian examen, I asked myself, what was a prevailing or poignant emotion today? The answer: shame.
Of what? Of appearing to be changing directions, of appearing to have muddled around in the past, of being back in undergraduate courses-- NOW. In organic chemistry, we realized that we cannot know the properties of a molecule until we turn it around and flip it over and see all of its sides. Am I ashamed of my actual narrative? No; because I can see more of its' sides. Do I feel shame before the Almighty? No, because he can see all of my sides. I am ashamed, however, of the one dimension at a time that others see.
The next day, a mutual friend who is violent, has a borderline personality disorder, and will not take a job because of work on a "book", came to the conversation. I could only think-- what's on the other side?
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