I have really great instinct and I think I’m fairly smart. The problem is I sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between my instinct and my wild imagination. Imagine mixing those two up. Well I do. The only person who has really caught on to this is my best friend Candace. We’ve known each other for 13 years now, and she’s finally starting to question the things that come out of my mouth.
It started when we were 16. Candace had her license and I only had a learner’s permit. Who in their right mind gave that girl a license is beyond me, but it enabled us to branch out to bigger adventures than those that could be found within walking distance. It’s hard to get into trouble when you have to get a ride from your parents in order to get there. One night we were bored and decided to drive up to a fire her dad was working in Riverside. We didn’t know exactly where it was but figured we would get in the vicinity and then it would be obvious from there. Did I mention it was night time? We were pretty clever though, I must admit.
We got into Riverside and I stuck my nose out the window. When the smell of smoke got strong enough, we took the next exit and continued following my nose. We pulled into a gas station and inquired about the fire. Apparently the fire had blown through there the previous day. See what we didn’t know was that smoke can settle into an area not even close to the fire and all we were doing was following our noses. I’m not sure what our plan was once we got to the fire. Her dad probably would’ve given us an ass chewing if we showed up at one unannounced.
That little adventure was the spark that set us off on all kinds of excursions. Candace would drive (I have another story about her driving my first car) and I would give directions. Anyone who has driven with me more than twice can tell you that every trip is an adventure… meaning we take the scenic route, but always get there. That same year Candace and I went in search of Mt. Soledad- again at night when my direction is at its worst. She drove and I gave directions with enough authority that she followed every single one of them without questioning whether or not I knew where I was going. I guess I didn’t. We never found Mt. Soledad that night. You might be asking yourself why I wasn’t just honest with her and tell her I had no clue where I was or where we were going. That’s where it gets a little sticky. My instinct speaks rather loudly and generally knows what it’s talking about. However, my imagination speaks just as loudly and may or may not know what it’s talking about. Sometimes my imagination sounds like a general in command of an elite force: it knows what it’s talking about, it’s been here before and it’ll get us out of any situation that may arise. Don’t question the general.
After several years of Candace and I taking the long (and scenic) route to get everywhere, I asked her why it was she followed my directions at all.
“Because you sound so sure of yourself” she said.
“Well I am sure of myself” I replied, but now slightly confused as to how I could be so sure of myself and still be so wrong. I still wonder about that. From my understanding, if you don’t know what you’re talking about you should feel like you don’t know what you’re talking about. There should be some doubt when asked “Left or right?” What is a person to do when the voice inside says “Right” and there’s no tiny echo that says “Maybe left?” Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of times I’ve experienced what I would call doubt and usually express that to whomever I’m speaking to. What is this voice inside me that keeps speaking up when it has no idea what it’s talking about? And how do I shut it up?
The most recent escapade was what I think finally convinced Candace that she should question the consistency of my discoveries. I recently had my rib removed during a major surgery to correct a scarred vein in my shoulder. Of course I decided to keep the rib- who would pass up such a great opportunity? I considered bringing it back to the barracks and offering my crew and the smokejumpers that lived with us a taste of it. I thought that to be a great opportunity as well. Not many people get to say they’ve eaten human flesh. Unfortunately the rib had to first be sent to the pathology lab to be scanned for diseases that might kill me. After they were done with it they placed it in a jar of Formalin which nixed the possibility of anyone taking a bite unless they wanted to die an early, and probably painful, death. When it was ready to be picked up it was packaged in alcohol and water. It took great pains to reunite my rib and I, but one beautiful sunny day in San Diego my rib showed up at my front porch and all was well.
I spent all day boiling and plucking the preserved flesh off my rib. Once I got it cleaned up enough to see the details of it, I decided to compare it to online anatomy photos so that when I posted pictures of it, I could point out all the details of its tubercles and grooves. I was proud of my rib like a mother is proud of her child. Unfortunately, what I found led me to believe I was holding a right sided rib. Without a doubt (seriously this time) my left rib was removed. I poured over anatomy notes and tried every which way to figure out how this rib could sit on my left side. I figured it out. There was a girl who had her rib removed a day or two after mine. Her rib and mine must have been mixed up in the lab. I was pretty bummed because she didn’t seem like the type to hang on to her rib (in other words, she didn’t recognize opportunity when it came knocking) so I figured mine was gone for good. I called the doctors office and reported the mishap to my surgeon’s assistant and she informed me she would call the lab and find out how such a thing could happen.
Meanwhile I searched for better pictures of a rib and came up with one that hinted I might indeed be holding a left sided rib. I consulted Candace’s (rather wise) mother, which is probably something I should’ve done before I called the doctor’s office. She confirmed that with all evidence considered she believed it to be a left sided rib. Thankfully the lab had a sense of humor and wasn’t insulted at all and to my knowledge my surgeon never heard of this little mishap.
So when I approached Candace a couple weeks ago with the fear that my vein had clotted or narrowed again but was doubting myself thinking maybe I was just paranoid, she gave me a stern talking to and referred to the little rib mishap and suggested I may not always know what I’m talking about. I was insulted. Of course I always know what I’m talking about. After I set the hurt feelings aside I realized she was right as history has revealed. I started to wonder what on earth took her this long to start questioning the things that I say with such conviction.
But it’s not really that simple because see, my vein really had narrowed again and I ended up getting another angioplasty to open it up. So now I’m wondering if I’m right the times that I feel doubt and I’m wrong when I feel wholeheartedly convinced. Can anyone really be surprised that I’m so confused as to what is my gut instinct and what’s not? Maybe it’s that my imagination speaks louder than my instinct and I should start listening to the quiet voices instead.
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