Shine

Mustard soup is served for lunch at the hospital restaurant. I haven't eaten this soup since I was working freelance at the Museum Catharijneconvent, years ago. The proud owner of the museum café regularly served mustard soup - always with the same obligatory croutons and parsley as flavourings. So when I fill myself a generous bowl, with the exact same condiments, my mind drifts away from Kenji in the examination room to the good old working days.

The hospital staff appears to go overly Dutch at lunch: a bowl of soup for 90 euro cents to spice up their lunch brought from home in a sandwich bag. I overhear the polite conversations full of faked attention and stare at the identical blue bags with white plastic wires. These are the precise moments that tell me I'm not
a 'colleague person' but very much meant to be an 'hop on, hop off freelancer'.
The regular nine to five working life = so not me. And even more not me since I became a stay at home mom. Tasting my mustard soup I wonder: how is the duality of full time caretaker at home ánd at the hospital making me feel this estranged from the working world? Because with my job I'm always on call.

My job is not to know. Last night my Zen teacher gave me a promotion: my job is to shine. To light up the hospital room with my presence. And I very much succeeded on my first day.