"There's no joy in it for you."

Marc Maron's podcast (wtfpod.com) changed my life. In the Summer of 2014, during successive weeks he interviewed father and son filmmakers Ivan and Jason Reitman. Ivan is famous for Ghostbusters, Stripes, and Meatballs among his dozens of credits on IMDB. His son Jason most famously directed Up in the Air and Juno.

In Summer 2014, I was on leave from my job at Amazon. It's no secret among my friends that I have clinical depression. I lapsed into a depression in the prior fall and winter, culminating in my departure. It became evident that I no longer wanted to be technical writer, which is pretty much at the bottom of the hierarchy in most software organizations. At the time, I aspired to remake myself professionally. I was studying business intelligence and other data oriented technologies. Throughout the summer, however, Megan had been encouraging me to pursue the nursing career I'd investigated in 2009 before we decided that Megan would obtain health care training first. I resisted because I'd long given up on the idea because I thought I was simply too old to do it. 

I spent my time after leaving Amazon studying SQL and other database matters, walking my daughter Sofie back and forth to school, cooking for the family, and performing other assorted chores. We own a rental house across the street from us that had landscaping I'd neglected pretty much since we moved out of the house in 2005. I'm not sure why, but one day in August, I decided it was time to clean up that yard. I spent weeks in the sun pulling plants, putting down mulch, digging up pavement stones, and re-establishing the flower beds. It was very pleasurable. The weather was gorgeous and I enjoyed the manual dimension of the work. Much better exercise than going to the gym. 

I listened to podcasts continually, catching up on Maron's among others. Maron gets his guests to talk about pivotal moments in their lives. He asked Ivan Reitman about his son's decision to follow him into film making. Reitman told the story of Jason coming home from medical school during a vacation. It was clear to Jason's parents that he was unhappy. Ivan said to Jason that he and his mother thought he'd make a very fine physician and would be proud of him, but they could see "there's no joy in it for you."  The next week, Jason told Maron the same story, this time from the son's perspective. The repetition precipitated reverberations in my thoughts.

I'd been daydreaming about working in health care for a long time. I was reading books about epidemiology and other aspects of health for years, regretting that I chosen to study literature instead of something in health care or life sciences. By 2009, it was clear that technical writing for me was a dead end job, but like a lot of people, I continued to work in it because, it paid well, didn't involve breathing coal dust, or standing hip deep in manure, and did have genuine moments of satisfaction. These moments became fewer and further between and as I rode up the job ladder. I refused to admit to myself what became more evident every day: I was f***ing miserable.  At the same time, an eventual transition to nursing seemed incredibly daunting. There were 50 credits of prerequisites ahead of me before I even could apply to nursing school, for example. 

Megan had been encouraging me to start taking prerequisites all summer long. Other friends, I'd come to learn, thought my plan to go back into tech as a BI analyst was dead on arrival. In short, there was no joy in it for me. One friend said that it would simply put me back into another isolated cube working for organizations I couldn't care less about. Megan pushed me harder. "Just register for one class and see if you like it." I replied, "Of course I'll like it, I love being in school. It's the only thing I do well." The negativity from the depression comprised a substantial barrier of entry.

"There's no joy in it for you." Hearing that podcast was like hearing the voice of God telling me to take a bigger risk than I ever had, to surprise myself with a new direction. To find the joy in work that had long been missing. I'm not naive. There'll be organizational unpleasantness; there will be difficult patients. But at day's end, I'll know that I moved the needle of the universe a bit more toward compassion and empathy. Or at least that I'll die having tried.