I have been working for the firm remotely--calling clients to get medical records from Baltimore. I pick up the phone, remind myself to drop the east coast speed talking, and turn up the southern tones in my Baltimore accent. Somehow it makes me easier to hear that way. It's likely the slowing down that helps the most, but by the time I'm done a series of calls my accent is the strangest mix of Baltimore and Southern West Virginia. I pick up the accent of really anybody I'm talking to. I always have. Maybe it's a survival mechanism, maybe it's a gift given to folks genetically programmed to migrate. Who knows, but I do know it is a bit easier to have a half northern accent sitting in my living room in Baltimore.
No matter how many medical calls I do, I don't stop learning new things, which is sometimes surprising. More recently I have learned to say things like, "Do you remember what doctor diagnosed you with your cancer?" with as little gravity as possible. It's a routine question and helping people be sad about their health actually doesn't help them. It also doesn't help them remember their doctor's names which is important for the case. There are times when I have to remind myself that helping the case is helping the client, even if I have to ask them hard questions.
Most people remember the doctor that diagnosed them with cancer, but the ones who found their kidney troubles are harder to remember. It's pretty logical actually considering that often a general practitioner is able to identify a kidney disorder and folks with health care see their family doctor for a variety of illnesses. There's that and the fact being diagnosed with cancer is likely hard to forget.
I'm only working half days here and there for the firm. The transition back to city life is quite curious. When I lived in the mountains my life felt isolated, still and surrounded by a depth of beauty that was undeniable. Don't get me wrong it was sometimes very lonesome. Mountains are very much like islands-- far away from everything and not easily accessible without effort. The cell phones work seldom, the internet works mostly and it's really hard to connect with folks who don't live or work with you for many reasons, of which the physical distance is only one.
I have been looking forward to the diversity of the city for a while and the familiarity of friends and family. Despite the proximity of my loved ones, I'm now rediscovering that I was always alone when I lived in the city. Even with people all around, the city is isolating. The difference is, now I am at peace with solitude in a way I never was before.
In fact, I sometimes wish there were less distractions here, so staying focused on my goals would be easier. There are so many things to choose from in the city that the choices don't actually seem important. In the mountains what is there, is there and what is not there is equally evident. Perhaps scarcity makes presence more meaningful.
The city often wears the illusion of accessibility and availability. It seems like it's right here, yet somehow what's here is elusive. Don't get me wrong I love being able to get Indian, Thai or Ethiopian food anytime I want when I can afford it. However, with less choices how to spend your time is sometimes more obvious.
I never figured out how to live well in the city, but I’m taking it as a challenge to master something new. I miss the reassuring presence of the mountains standing firm still, and undeniable. But the mountains are great teachers and I am a faithful student. So I plan to live like the mountains, in the midst of the city-- with a sense of certainty amidst the confusion. Perhaps if I am lucky I will finally learn the language of the city whose accent lives on my tongue.
