Today was not one of my regular days. Instead of going to the hospital, I participated in an off-campus event for the morning.
Once I was free, I decided to walk home, as it was a bright, unseasonably sunny day. I almost pulled out my sunglasses, kept in my purse in perpetual optimism, in case I can actually get outside during daylight.
As I walked, I was distracted by a sign outside the nearby museum. Dropping in felt illicit, as though anything pleasurable is forbidden in the middle of a work day.
I went in anyway, and enjoyed 30 minutes of culture. Free (or prepaid) thanks to the household museum membership.
Recultured, I left the museum and resumed my walk home. I was thinking about a post I read this morning; it inspired me to think about the passage of time and the frailty of the human condition.
As doctors, we get a front row seat to the theater of human decay: hearts and minds failing, whether rapidly or incrementally, until the changes cannot be denied.
But for the most part, we feel the passage of time just like everyone else. The years pass, one day at a time, 365 of them a cycle; until suddenly we look up and we have grey in our hair, our strong vibrant parents are frailer and infants have become mature companions.
Around this time, I noticed that some sudden seasonal precipitation had arrived. The sun had disappeared and I could see only 1-2 blocks ahead of me. The walk was a good deal more challenging, though still pleasant in a different way.
I kept on going, and soon reached home and husband. A change into dry clothes was in order, and some hot coffee, which I sipped as I checked into work and looked out the window at the returning sun.
