The Secret of Life

Have you ever given any real thought to how your adult life would start? I have repeatedly dreamed about this day hundreds of times and I assure you that it was not like this! Let me tell you a bit about me and how my dream veered into a crazy experience that taught me more in twelve hours than in all of my twenty-two years on this earth to date.

My name is Janice Evans. Today I had an interview at Lincoln Memorial for my first full-time job – a nursing position working in a Level 1 Trauma Center emergency room. I recently graduated from a bridge program where I earned both my Bachelor and Master of Nursing in five years. I and my classmates completed this feat with little to no fanfare thanks to Covid. Then, my parents surprised me with a new car for graduation only to have an uninsured driver total it just two days ago. As a result, I boarded the #14 local bus to travel across town for the biggest and only, if the truth be known, job interview of my life. Much like the prize you would find hidden in the box of cereal you begged your mother to buy, the reality that unfolded before me was nothing like what I had been contemplating.

Nursing a bit of negative attitude over this twist of fate, no pun intended -- I could not have been more dismayed by how the day unfolded. Let me just give you an abbreviated recap before I give you the complete list with details; a six block walk to the bus stop because my four week brand new, graduation gift was totaled, pouring rain, mismatched shoes, a windswept umbrella, gum on my pants, soaked clothes and hair, and runny mascara, to name a few.

But much like the juxtaposition of the typical college graduation and the Zoom graduations of the Class of 2020, so was the contrast between my expectations and the reality of public transportation during a global pandemic. I expected to be hastened to my interview in a bus ripe with the sweat of hard physical work and overflowing with endless, deafening chatter of the passengers. Passengers who I suspected would throw caution to the wind by traveling while unmasked, indifferent, or maybe just ill-informed. Instead, I spent over an hour choking back the overpowering smell of bleach in the otherwise sparsely occupied transit with exhausted, eerily quiet essential employees compliant with social distancing and mask protocols. So to distract myself from the butterflies churning my stomach into a swell of gastric goo, I spent the time running hypothetical answers to anticipated interview questions through my head. My concentration and the still quiet were disrupted when I looked down and let out what could be described as a thunderous gasp -- I am wearing two totally different shoes thanks to the last minute decision to change them because of the heavy rain and I realize as I try to adjust my pants to cover my shoes a bit more that I had sat down in bubble gum at the bus stop. So let me set the record straight; no, I never dreamed that I would attend my dream interview looking like a toddler picked out my shoes and spit gum in the seat just as I was sitting.

Okay, I will put that pity party aside as I share my first actual observations of public transportation outside of the Roane County School System transportation when I was a sixth grader. Buses are clearly prohibited from beginning its forward motion without an initial forceful jerk at which time the bus begin to lurch ahead. The sudden halt for each and every bus stop, regardless if there is anyone to embark or disembark, could cause kidney injury and certainly would keep any passenger in their seats until the bus has come to a full and complete stop. And yes, I am speaking as a licensed medical individual. A evidence of such, I will relate the experience of a kindly but tired looking gentleman who rose to steady his feet before stepping out into the aisle only to end up in the seat in front of his original one. He laughed it off with the “it isn’t the fall that gets you, it‘s the sudden stop that will” comment. This is the same gentleman who just minutes before had his cheek resting on the cold damp window while he wrote in a journal he kept contained in his lap. I had previously thought looked sad, tired or maybe both. but mostly I wondered how he managed to legibly write in his little black book as the bus seemed to jerk and swerve on every block. I pondered what was so important to write down that he could not wait until a more suitable time to crystalize his thoughts but as he exited the bus, I thought to myself that he seemed more sad than tired. For some unknown reason, I watched him as we pulled away from the curb and he disappeared heading north on the rain soaked street.

The bus then turned the corner, clipping the curb, and in the distance I could see the hospital. I took a deep breath. I rose from my seat, self-conscious of the giant wad of Double Bubble that drew attention to my posterior I began to make my way to the exit at the middle of the bus anxious to get the prying eyes off my hind-end. Before I reached the exit I noticed a beautiful leather journal sitting on the seat next to where the elderly gentleman had originally been seated. I reached down and picked it up determined to reunite the journal with the owner. I tucked it quickly into my bag as I braced myself for the heavy rain that seemed to form a curtain just beyond the bus doors. I stopped on the bottom step and extended the umbrella. I exited the bus as the umbrella set sail thanks to the gust of wind that whipped through the corridor formed by the bus and the eleven story hospital. With no chance of catching the wayward umbrella, I lunged toward the entrance and as I placed my hand on the revolving door, I took a deep breath and prayed that from this point forward my day would begin to resemble my dreams. And just for good measure, I prayed nobody would look at my feet or my pants. With a slight push of the door, I took a giant step and several awkward shuffle steps into what surely was the beginning of my adult life.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection off the glass as the door turned and chucked at my earlier concern that someone might notice my mismatched shoes or my gum spoiled pants. I looked like an angry cat caught in a downpour. Who would notice my shoes when my hair was soaked or when mascara was everywhere except my eyes? I completed my Covid screening then hurried to the nearest restroom to clean up then proceeded to the reception desk as instructed.

Normally I am a stickler for punctuality, but when I was told interviews were running more than an hour behind schedule I was bordering on giddy. My hair would be dry, albeit flat, but dry by the time my interview comes around. I could get the mascara off my face so I do not look like I am impersonating someone peeking out from behind prison bars and maybe I could get some of the bubblegum off of my pants.

Forty minutes later I pulled out the supple leather journal dropped when its owner did an end-over the seat. I thought I would locate contact information for the owner and return it following my interview. I quickly fanned the pages intentionally trying not to read the entries as I was reluctant to invade the privacy of the writer by reading the private thoughts of this stranger when suddenly the first page caught my attention:

“To Miss Discouraged and Downtrodden, Could you uncover the answer to one of the great mysteries in life…..a mystery that eludes millions of people daily? Hypothetically speaking, could you do this if you had $20,000 to aid you in this undertaking? If the answer is yes, then continue reading. If you said no, then return the book to the bus seat for someone who wants to discover life at its very best.

If you answered yes, here is the quest - - Challenging and simple at the same time - - discover the secret of true joy in this life. Then share the answer in this book by sharing your experiences. When you have answered the question and updated this book then, and only then, may you look in the envelope addressed to you in the back pocket.

So, as fortuitous as it seems, the journal was not accidentally dropped but intentionally left for someone to find. I discovered that the elderly man’s name is Henry and he did not want the finder of the journal to be left entirely to fate so each day he watched and waited for “the person.” In what I suspect is bus driver assisted chicken scratch, Henry wrote that I reminded him of his mother in her younger days when she was a bit ditzy and on more than one occasion wore totally different shoes. I cringed and chuckled in unison, if that is possible, when my thought was interrupt the intercom…. “Janice Evans, please report to the lobby reception desk.” Placing the journal in my bag I walked quickly to the reception desk. Maybe my moment was upon me, the culmination of the years of hard work and even more years of dreaming of being a nurse. At the desk I was informed that interviews are running even later than previous advised and rescheduling is being offered if requested. Since I did not have a car at present, I thought I should just wait so I decided to continue to wait. I was told it could be as much as two hours before I am called again. So I set off to get a drink and return to the lobby with the drink and the journal.

The #4 elevator opened with a lady about my Mother’s age accompanied by who I suspect is her daughter, a young lady with Downs Syndrome who looked to be a few years older than me. As the elevator doors closed the young lady slid behind her mother, peeking out at me while holding onto her mother’s arm with one hand and to her well-loved baby doll with the other. Maybe she is claustrophobic or has a fear of strangers I thought so to distract her I wished out loud that I knew her baby’s name. She eventually whispered, “Baby” in response. I said Baby’s name is perfect and that Baby’s smile was almost as beautiful as her own. As the elevator reached the sixth floor, I heard mom sniffling. I reached out, touching her arm and inquired if everything was okay. She choked back tears as she shared with me that in 26 years nobody had ever spoken directly to Kelly or treated her as I had. I was stunned at this revelation. I light-heartedly shrugged my shoulders and said “that is their loss, isn’t it?”

I got in line to purchase a drink and as the line progressed I kept thinking about Kelly and the journal and the many lessons my mother had taught me that would carry me far in life. She taught me many things but several she would say were simply lessons taught by Dr. Seuss. These lessons included: Treat Everyone as Your Equal like in The Sneetches; Cherish Diversity like in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish; Never Underestimate the Power of One like in Horton Hears a Who! ; Be Proactive like The Lorax; Uphold Justice like Yertle the Turtle; and Be Grateful like in Did I Ever tell You How Lucky You Are? Maybe in moments like those with Kelly, we should rely on the most basic of principals and these are generally taught to all of us before kindergarten.

I returned to the lobby with my drink in hand and began to read Henry’s entries. There were entries of memories shared with parents he clearly missed and others of fears he may never some close friends in person again because of Covid. I read how Henry had been pondering the meaning of life since his doctor told him that he had, at most, months to live. He recounted a story he read once in the Notre Dame Magazine in the 60’s which had little meaning until his doctor uttered the words “cancer” and “weeks to months.” Patrick Dunne wrote “think of this as a memento mori. We all live our lives with the sword suspended above us, in the darkness never knowing when the sword with fall. All that has happened to you is that someone has switched on the light, and you have seen the sword.” Henry wrote how he wanted to believe that and did find some comfort in the eventuality that nothing had changed for him except that light had been turned on. And while he did write about his looming expiration date as he called it, he made clear the journal was truly about finding joy and meaning in life while pondering what he will be remembered for, if anything. That was his “memento mori” - - the realization that the light that was turned on was not to see that his death was looming or as he chose to see it that the window of learning and growing was closing.

As I was reading I noticed the same lady who was across from me previously had moved a few seats down from me so she could charge her phone. I introduced myself and asked if she was there for an interview just seconds before I saw her hospital wristband. She shared that she and her husband of 40 years had been in the ER all evening and that she was treated and released but Ben was admitted. She was allowed to come to the waiting room because of her negative test and the precautions they had undertaken at home to keep her safe from the infection, but now she was just lost. As we talked, she shared that his prognosis was not good and that she cannot bear to return home until she can see him.

I asked permission to sit with her. Maybe it was because of Henry’s journal but I kept thinking about Piglet with Winnie the Pooh in the story of A Difficult Day. Instinctively, I knew that Ruth was having a very difficult day and that she needed a friend. For the next hour Ruth shared memories of her life with Ben interspersed with fear that she may have to live the remainder of her life alone. I heard my name called over the intercom but I stayed with Ruth. I knew that Ruth needed a friend more than I needed a job and if Ruth was my mother, I would want someone to sit with her and hold her hand. Over the next nine hours Ruth cried, we cried, and at times we sat quietly while she was lost in thought. We did it together. I was there when the call came that she changed everything. We held hands and we cried together and when her son pulled up outside, we all cried together.

I took a taxi home, showered and climbed into bed too exhausted to eat. I opened the journal and began to write what I already knew all along…..the secret to true joy in life is to connect. People say that connecting is the same as communicating but I do not believe so. Yelling ones hurtful opinions or calling people names is communicating but it is certainly not connecting. Connecting is reaching inside and connecting with the other person. It is opening your heart and making the needs of that person paramount. It is touching someone’s arm when they are about to cry and honestly seeking to alleviate the pain. It is sitting and holding someone’s hand for hours without speaking, but just making them central because their need is so great that you simply cannot grasp walking away. Connecting is speaking to a young lady in an elevator and shouting her value t this world by honoring her presence. Connecting is so much more than communicating.

I pulled up the covers as I opened the envelope in the back pocket. There I found a cashier’s check for $20,000 made payable to cash. I smiled and immediately knew what I would do with it. Tomorrow I will get four cashier’s checks; $2,500 so that I can make a down payment on a new car; $2,500 to the Greater Downs Syndrome Association; $5,000 to Lincoln Memorial for payment on the account of Ruth and/or Ben Sansome; and finally, $10,000 will be issued in a cashier check made payable to Cash. This final check will be placed in an envelope in the back pocket of one very special little black book to be passed on to the next person who needs to look at life in a new way…..someone just like me.