Tomorrow you are presenting rounds. I want to tell you that I wish I could be there, because I do. But the problem is that I wish I could be there for so, so many reasons.
If I close my eyes, I don’t have to try very hard to imagine what it would be like to be there.
I know the room: I know the feeling of the seats and the way you can never reliably leave your coffee on the desks without it sliding to the floor. I know who will be there: I see the postures and faces of the people who will be listening. I fantasize of the conversations I would have with the people sitting near me. I hear your voice and am captivated by your confidence and expertise.
And when it is over, I would still be there and getting ready to do the things I thought I would always do there.
Being there means being back where I belong – back with my community. I imagine an empty seat where I’m supposed to be sitting: however, no one else knows I’m missing because there is no reason I should be there.
I wish I could be there to hear your talk and to be a happy, smiling, supportive face in the audience. But, I also wish I was there for me, because if I was there, I wouldn’t be so lost.