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As a child, I was convinced, CONVINCED, I would somehow be granted a driver’s license at a young age. I KNEW this was going to happen. I thought all I had to do was somehow get the President of the United States to grant me this super-special license and I’d be set. Of course, living in my community of 10 people, I didn’t actually know how this would happen but whatever, I knew exactly what I wanted. (clearly I was a bit of a car-loving, independent, big thinker…honestly not much has changed.)
Anyway, I’m sorry to say this didn’t happen but I can say that if this little bad boy had been around when I was little… it would have been item #1 on my Christmas list.
“This baby corners like it’s on rails.”
While I sip a Dirty Grey Goose martini and try my hardest to not let it drool out of my numb lips, I thought I’d write about my dentist.
Yes, my dentist.
For anyone who knows me– I love people and to take it even further, I love people’s stories. LOVE them. People fascinate me. The intent inside of people. The story. The choices. The loves. The losses…
As a friend of mine would say, I’m “ridiculously observant” of people.
So, today, as I sat in the dentist chair and waited for my mouth to go numb, I asked my new dentist a few surface questions (how’s your baby? etc.) and she offered some great answers that were not generic (!) so I dove in. (As my mother would say, I have the “courage to interrogate reality”). Here’s what I learned:
She’s fron Iran (ee-rawn not eye-ran) and she moved to the US to be a dentist at the age of 27. In Iran, women don’t work. And people don’t move anywhere, especially away from home as a single woman in search of a career.
People don’t move? I asked.
She feels this is unique to America. People move a lot here. I told her I’ve moved to Los Angeles, Atlanta, New York, San Francisco, etc., and she said, yes, exactly. People don’t do that in Iran.
So I asked her, (because I’m quite pre-occupied with “purpose” “career” and “service”), how did you know you wanted to be a dentist?
She said that she knew she was good with her hands (she is!), she didn’t want to sit at a desk all day (she get’s bored easily), and she likes people (let’s hope she likes people who ask life questions seeing that I’m the one asking and she’s the one with the sharp dental tools), and she likes that every patient is different– her days are never the same.
Love it! I wanted to dive in more– where did she get the confidence to leave even though her entire family was still in Iran? Did she feel that having a singular goal helped her to survive in a country by herself without knowing one person? How did she meet her husband? Etc, etc., etc.
But instead my mouth went numb and the drilling began… but honestly, I didn’t mind. I trusted this woman. And (I know this sounds crazy but) I enjoyed the time away from work to have this human moment. And while the high pitched wheeeeeeeeeee sounded, I got to think about life and the life of others.
How did she know she was good with her hands? Was there a moment? Did someone point it out? How did she connect this to dentistry?
And…
What am I good at? How do I contribute to the world, or my community, or a person?
Anyway– the martini is working and I’m starting to feel my lips again. (Of course if I drink another martini, I may not be able to feel my lips again.)
Here’s to all the independent women out there– doing it their way (and giving fillings to patients who have the courage to interrogate reality).
