So after two and a half weeks of diligently waking up in the morning, praying, and stretching, (taking breaks on the weekends, of course), I have broken my streak this morning. The most alarming part about this setback is my lack of guilt. I am somehow resigned to the fact that since I'm on my Easter break the next ten days are like an extended long, long weekend. But then I know, deep down, I will wake up early tomorrow morning and get at it again because guiltless as I am, I am not a stupid woman and knowing me for 37 years, I know this extended long weekend can easily morph into another 37 years. Maybe that's why I'm not laden with guilt--knowing full well that tomorrow I will pull myself out of bed and do what I begrudgingly been doing for the last 17 days.
I am also aware that saying to myself at 2 this morning, "I'm not getting up tomorrow, no way, Jose" sealed the setback deal. I've been studying for a couple of days now for an upcoming board certification exam that has caused an actual migraine when, in my exhaustion, I decided to take a brain break and watch a movie from Netflix after midnight. I was going to let the movie tuck me in bed but "Beyond Borders" was not the kind of lullabuy that puts anyone to sleep. I was engrossed within the first two minutes and I, having been brought up in a guilt-laden home, quickly thought about my staggering lack of contribution to humanity and my anemic compassion for the rest of the suffering world. I don't know if any of you have seen the movie. Clive Owens is this brutish, handsome altruistic-no-borders-doctor who trots the world risking his life and giving of himself to vaccinate and save the lives of Ethiopian, Cambodian, etc., men, women, and children who would otherwise die if there were no Clive Owens around. And then there's socialite Angelina Jolie who's moved with compassion and likewise intermittently gives of herself to helping the cause and becomes a UN rep for the least fortunate in these countries (quite a prophetic movie for her). Of course they fall in love but Clive Owens says in his anguish, "I am crazy about you. You're in my head, in my heart, in every part of me but you belong there with your family and I belong here with this people. This can never work!" And Angelina breaks into sobs, "No, no!" and I can't breathe at 2 in the morning. The good doctor has given up luxury, money, and even love to save those whose names he doesn't even know! How does one fall asleep?
I quickly think about my new obsession: designer stuff. I've been on a quest to buy a pair of Prada shoes since snatching my Cole Haan bag and I wanted to unravel the dust bag in the middle of the night, look at that shiny leather and say, "My God, how many vaccinations could this buy?" (If I had paid the full price, that is.) I place no judgment on anyone who wants to spend on themselves since I'm only insterested in my own masochism and I think, "What have I really done for others?" I thought of my different contributions but somehow only one thing could pacify my conviction: sponsor a child. I discarded my usual thoughts of, "Will it really go to the child? Will the head of the foundation pocket it and buy an android phone? Etc.,"
I think of Elizabeth. The Bible said that she gave of herself to her servants. She gave to the poor and the orphans. And I think, what a wonderful woman she must have really been. And because she was merely human, there must be a few Elizabeths out there. I want so badly to be one but the journey up this Mount Everest is full of slippery muds and sharp rocks, not considering the exhausting climb and my chronic asthma. But I know somewhere out there Elizabeth already exist. She would have been a volunteer of Clive Owens.
I want to meet her in person.