4 someone unspecific

“Time, travel.”  If I saw these words printed at the top of a newspaper article it would read, “Time-and-travel.”  But here, the words are separated with a comma.  Separated because time moves one direction while the act of traveling is bidirectional in the construct of time.  Time and travel both move forwards, but only through travel can one move backwards.  Separated, but connected. But remove the comma all together, and the words “time travel” mean something entirely different.  We’d have to go back in time to ask a living Einstein if time travel is possible, but here and now, I am saying no.  Time still moves forward in our minds as we travel backward in time.  We’d have the memories of the future to affect the present life.  But right now, I wish I could travel back in time, one year from this very second, with all my memories of that year to guide me in my decisions.  There is much I would’ve done differently.  I would have done more for myself.  I would have asked more questions.  I would have required more answers.  With my priorities straight, it would have been easier to talk, easier to listen.  I know for a fact, things would have been different.

I love travel.  I love to travel.  I love traveling.  If I traveled back in time to one year ago, I think I still would’ve walked onto that plane with her.  Not because I love traveling or because I loved her, but because that week in San Diego was the week in my life when time stood still.  I looked out over the ocean, a wave would come towards the sand, crash, and fade away beneath the ground, as if it never happened.  Seconds later, the act repeated itself.  Stuck on the same song, the music I was hearing as we were in CA was something of a fantasy.  As the impossible isn’t supposed to happen, time stood still.  Yes, if I could do it again, I would.  But it would be different.  I’d prefer it was reality than fantasy.  For one week, I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think clearly.  All I thought was, “this can’t be happening.  So much good surrounding me, standing with me in my arms, while outside of this my life is still the same, bad. Time is standing still as it waits for me to come back to the reality of sadness and loss that is my life.”  But with her in my arms, I thought when I left CA my life would be different.  I would stop losing.

“Fantasy:  the power or process of creating especially unrealistic or improbable mental images in response to psychological need.”

if only I would have been realistic.  I would have seen she wasn’t real, that she was incapable of understanding the realities of my life and incapable of doing something real for someone else other than herself.  She wanted to be a fantasy, a happy thought, but nothing more.

“If you could have dinner with anyone, real or fiction, who would it be?”  “Dr. Emmett Brown.”

First-year writing, the name of my first class of my first day of college.  Along with the usual formalities, the professor made it clear that we were to do a lot of writing throughout the semester.  At first intimidated, I look back four and a half years to joyfully revel in the words of my young mind as I sit here now, with eyes propped open from to many cups of tea, and a notebook flipped open to the first page.  On the cover of this notebook, a green and white composition notebook, are the word’s “Saji’s Writing Notebook,” and inside I find words that make me think, laugh, cry, and remember.

“The first page.  I find this one the most difficult to write.  Perhaps it is because I don’t know where I am going that I find it so hard to start.  Then again, does anyone know where they are going? Of course there are times that you know you are going to a certain destination: work, the park, the garage, the bathroom.  But where does one go. . . after the bathroom?  Where could have one been if they hadn’t chosen to go to the bathroom?  So, this is why we travel.  We search out places that could be where we want to be.  Exotic places, common places, or smelly places (like the bathroom).  As we travel, we search for clues that hint to us that we’ve reached our destination.  Maybe it’s an intriguing coffee shop that says, “You’ve made it. . .now come inside for some caffeine.”  Maybe it’s a special someone, that perfect, one-in-six-billion match.”

My first page of my writing notebook is actually very revealing.  It seems at first that my thoughts are random and juvenile as I consider the bathroom to be a suitable place for a life to settle.  But I feel as if I still know exactly what I was thinking and feeling all those years ago when I first wrote those words.  I was feeling restless, scared, and possibly a little worried that I was in the wrong place.  There are so many places in the world that one could be, how are we to know that we are in the right place? or doing the right thing?  I look back at these words with self-admiration, as I still consider this a problem all people face in life.  I didn’t know, then, what the solution to this problem is, but I almost figured it out as I stopped writing and hurried off to class.  In my last sentence, I wonder if one can find stability and certainty in another person, “a special someone.”  For some, the answer is yes, most definitely.  For others, no.  I feel the same as I did back then.  Call me dumb, but I still want to believe that a special someone to share life’s mystery with, is the best thing that can happen to a person.  Even though this idea of mine has failed miserably in the past and caused me a lot of pain, the thought of a new someone is rejuivinating, motivating, and simply calls me to explore the world ever more.  It makes sense, to want someone to rely on to give you that feeling of reaching your destination.  It’s not a feeling of accomplishment, not something to be proud of, per say, but it’s a good feeling that can only be described as calming.  Calming, because no matter where you are in life, “work, the park, the garage, or the bathroom,” you don’t have to feel worried that you are in the wrong place doing the wrong thing.  As long as you have that calm feeling created by a special someone, you can relax and enjoy the ride that is life.  Is it naive to think that you can wholeheartedly trust and rely on someone else? Yes.  After all, they can always change their mind, lie, cheat, and desert you.  But we grow wiser as we grow older, we learn how and who to trust.  And with an initial leap of faith, we can stay young, take chances, and have fun.  Why are relationships so fun when they are young?  Because that’s how a lifelong relationship is supposed to be.  Ciao

I sometimes think hollywood is just like real life, but with all the boring parts taken out.  After all, boring doesn’t sell movie tickets, boring doesn’t keep viewers coming back, and boring doesn’t win you a positive review.  We watch TV when we are bored, because we crave conflict, drama, and suspense.  We constantly want something to stir up emotions in our mind.  

What happens when the emotions stop?  when life is just, boring?  Does that make life bad?  What is it about being bored that makes us search for something new, even when what we have isn’t bad?  It’s good, but it’s boring.  Why is drama so fascinating?  What causes our sick desire for conflict and tension?

Thanks again to all of the cooking writers out there who donate their wonderful recipes to us wannabes.  I’d especially like to thank the persian cooks who have helped me connect with another part of my heart that I feel I sometimes don’t have the opportunity to visit.  Tonight I made ghaymeh.  Absolutely one of my favorite persian dishes, one I ask my grandma to make for me every time I see her, as I did just two weekends ago.  

For the first time in twenty years, I watched my grandma cook.  She wouldn’t let me help though.  Iranian’s like to do things themselves.  But I watched, and listened to her explanations with the help of various English speaking relatives.  I wished I could’ve asked her questions, like my 4 year old cousins were doing.  I also helped my grandpa pick fresh basil from his garden.  My grandpa builds a garden wherever he is living.  Like my dad says, “and there’s Grandpa, with his love.”  After we picked the three foot tall basil stems, we sat together on the patio furniture under a cool, seventy degree sun, and proceeded to pick the basil leaves from their stems.  It didn’t take long before our finger tips were covered in basil essential oils and two giant fruit bowls were filled with basil.  Persian’s eat basil, mint, parsley, chives, and radishes by the handful at every meal.  It’s an acquired taste, but it really is refreshing to wash down a mouthful of umami from the rice and meat, with fresh herbs and leaves filled with water, monosaccharides, and hints of natural oils.  It’s sort of like the sensation of waking up with morning mouth and popping an altoid in your mouth.  To non-persians, parsley, basil, and mint are usually thought of as garnishes and often ignored on the dinner plate.  But that day, like everyday, our dinner table had a platter full of fresh greens as if it were a course in itself.  

It took me twenty years to sit down with my grandparents and observe the simple customs that I can only define as “Persian.”  There, with my three uncles, three aunts, father, and grandparents, we ate, took pictures, played cards, ate again, drank chai, ate cake, watched persian music videos, and ate some more.  It’s not that I hadn’t done these things with my relatives in the past, but after twenty years, my mind, my definition of myself, who I am, where I’m from, have finally come together to form a satisfying image which I proclaim as “Me.”  Luckily, it didn’t take me longer to realize how my Persian blood influences my American life.  That same weekend, my 88 year-old grandpa, baba bozorgh, flew back to Iran, to where he was born, where he had seven children, farmed sweet potatoes, wheat and pomegranates, and where he wants to die.  

Esfahan, Iran, the second largest city in Iran, is home to half of my family, yet I have never been.  Of course it’s a hard country to visit these days, but I feel that there is more to my family, my heritage, than eating and cooking.  There is a way for me to visit and explore.  I’m half done with my application for an Iranian passport which will allow me to enter the Islamic Republic and stay for up to three months.  I can’t wait to soak up the ancient history that is around every corner in Iran.  Privy to a first hand look at the political situation and the social dynamics of an Islamic, but democratic government, will allow me to answer for the first time the question I get every time someone asks me where my family is from, “So how do you feel about Iran?”  Well, to this day, all I can say is, I have no idea, I’ve never been there.  I do know its people and their hidden suffering and yearning for many of America’s freedoms.  I know of the mentality and personality that can only be attributed to a life of social fear and insecurity.  But Iran, I don’t know it.  I know of things Iranian, but not Iran.

It seems to be the reoccurring theme of my life, but I tell myself, “Someday.”  Someday this, someday that.  Someday, someday soon, I’m going to Iran.  I’m going to learn how to read, write, and speak Farsi.  I’m going to pick a pomegranate from a tree.  I’m going to walk on the palace stairs at Persepolis, the very steps that King Xerxes the Great once climbed.  I’m going to walk with my grandpa amongst his fields.  I’m going to shop in the great bazar and buy a silver tea set, a hand-woven, persian rug, I’m going to read on the steps of the Khaju bridge.  I’m going to swim, and maybe scuba dive!, in the Caspian Sea.  I’m going to risk my life by walking across the street (#mce_temp_url# ).  But most importantly, I’m going.  

I went online earlier today to find the exact recipe for ghayme.  My grandma never uses any standard measuring devices to cook, so I needed more of a guide than mere intuition to come up with something edible in the end.  I’ve visited this woman’s blog (#mce_temp_url#) in the past to make other Persian dishes and it must’ve been fate to visit the site again tonight to find her latest post be a recipe for the very dish I was craving.  While my dinner didn’t taste like Grandma’s without the basmati rice and zereshk that always accompanies her food, I am content.  So very full, and content.    Growing up, my dad and I never had very much money to afford fancy things.  But we always ate well.  Fresh fruit, meat, fish, buttery rice, milk, and ice cream.  Food is love in my family, and there’s a whole lot-a food.  Thank you again to the cooking writers out there for helping me to learn how to cook and how to love.  I also enjoy your stories that are folded in amongst the onion and garlic, stories I have also begun to write from my own family meal time experiences.  Bokhor!

it feels so good, feeling needed.  Knowing it is you who can give help gives you a purpose.  The sense of pride in the service you give motivates you to be better and work harder in every moment.  You feel strong, powerful, and in charge.  It doesn’t matter that you’re not 100% confident in what you are doing because people will inevitably trust you, no matter what, because they need you.  No matter what you do, they will still come back to you, begging, asking you to give them what you gave them last time.  They need it, not you.

Then, once they have it, they forget you.  You start to feel less and less important the more and more you give.  Pretty soon, it is you who needs what you have been giving away.  Left with nothing and no one, you desperately search for someone that can give you something to make you feel strong again.  Four unanswered phone calls later, you realize it’s your fault everyone is gone.  You gave them everything they needed from you.  Unless it is you they actually need, why would they stay?  

It’s sad to think, maybe that’s why I want to be a doctor, just so I can feel needed.  It won’t matter that I never develop a real connection with people because all they really want from me in the first place is my medical opinion.  I can get my “feeling needed” fix, one person at a time.  Story of my life.   But this isn’t who I am.  I want friends, people to like me, understand my complex personality, want to get to know me, want to listen to my stories and my adventures.  But that’s too much work in the real world.  No one has time for that.  That’s why our parents just go to work everyday, come home, and go to bed.  Sure they have “friends” that they eat lunch with at work, that they see at holiday parties, and that give them a call when they have an extra ticket for the game.  But all those other times, without a specific someone in this world, you are likely to be alone.  That’s when your innate strength and power have to pull you through.

and when that fails?

The worst mistakes are the ones you don’t know you are making.  Before you know it, you’ve done more harm than you intended and it’s harder than ever to admit to yourself that you are making the worst mistake.  So what are the signs?  How can we diagnose a mistake from early on before it’s too late?  

I wish I had a personal polygraph machine in my head.  I need to know if I’m lying to myself, giving myself false hope.  What I’m about to do, they say, requires complete dedication and commitment.  Yet here I am, going back and forth, as regular as the moon, changing my shape, changing my size, changing my color, changing my mind.  But for the moon, it is normal and accepted.  But for me, I am left to hide my uncertainty and fain sureness through the clouds that are in my mind.  

Am I making a mistake?  Should I remain hopeful?  Does being hopeful ever work?  The worst mistakes reveal themselves if we are hopeful without thought.  

But can’t we also recover from the worst mistakes?  Reflecting on our mistake should reveal a way to move on, smarter, more confident in the next decision.  How did you do it?  So easily, so quickly.  Where did you buy your personal polygraph machine that allowed you to be honest with yourself?  Could you, perhaps, use your machine on me, and help me?  Would you be willing?  No, you don’t have time.  It was hard enough for you.  Why would you want to do it again for someone else?  

Alone, I’m left to wonder how the north star stays true, while I revolve with the moon.

Monday’s season premiere of House emphasized a point.  We need to move past what has been holding us back.  We need to move past the bad things that inevitably happen.  We need to move past whatever it is that we’re going through in order to continue on to things that could be better.  

Dr. Daniel Amen, a clinical neuroscientist and psychiatrist, attributes the ability to move past to a healthy brain, specifically, a properly functioning anterior cingulate gyrus and deep limbic system.  Overactivity in the ACG, he states, is like a car that is stuck in gear and won’t shift to new tasks, new thoughts, and new directions.  Unlikely to forgive, one with an overactive ACG is probably stuck on past harms and tragedies and can not seem to recall the many wonderful memories that outnumber and outweigh the hurts in actuality.  The science behind this overactivity revolves around imbalances in critical neurotransmitters.  Serotonin deficiencies, he notes, are likely in such patients.  Similarly, low serotonin levels also correlate with overactivity in the deep limbic system, along with lower dopamine and norepinephrine.  A healthy DLS produces a general happy, positive, and high spirited individual who draws people in and creates significant positive memories that will last into the future.  Including parts of the brain such as the he amygdala and hippocampus, it is no wonder that a healthy emotional center is essential for the maintenance of an optimistic and motivated mind.  But when there are deficiencies, something which approximately 10% of American adults experience, the result is a range of depressive disorders which can be debilitating and deadly.  

The limbic system, the emotional center of the brain.  When it doesn’t work, we’re sad.  Sadness, it’s a disease.  More common in adults than the “common” cold.  I would argue that it’s even more contagious.  It certainly doesn’t foster health, personal growth, and interpersonal interaction.  But fortunately, they say, it’s treatable.  SSRI’s, TCA’s, MAOI’s, SNRI’s.  OMG!  Drugs scare me.  I want to be a doctor, but drugs scare me.  

Or at least, they used to.  I don’t know if it was the ending of the House season premiere, or just my exposure to the medicine of medicine in that last months.  But for some reason, I dreamt a good dream last night.  It was all there, from the beginning. Every good thing, the beach, the canoe, the trees, the smell of caramel, the naps, the wine, the scooter, the lemonade, the Bob Marley, the snow, the manicotti, the very first dance, it all came flooding in from the deepest parts of my DLS.  But, it was a dream of memories, of things that are done and over.  Not a premonition and not an optimistic outlook like the one love can nurture.  

I have to move past this.  Like House, I must move past not only past hurts and failures, but past my own unwillingness to move past.  

The truth is, I know I want to forgive.  But I’m so stuck on angry.  I don’t like it.  All I can do right now, all I have time to do, is to ignore my faulty brain, ignore my thoughts, ignore myself.  Somehow that makes me better, or at least good enough until I move past.

I thought I should get out of bed to write this stuff down.

I think one of my biggest personal weaknesses is my tendency to be interested in a lot of things and my desire to pursue too many paths at once.  While for some people this tendency is a good thing because they are able to multi-task and work towards satisfying many goals at once, for myself, who can not multi-task even if given the time to do so, this tendency usually results in honest yet half-hearted attempts to invest my interest.  I don’t believe anyone can do everything they want to to as full extent and great of quality as could be achieved by doing just a couple things they really want to do and doing them really well.  Thus, this is problem.  I do many things, but I may not finish or achieve the result that could be expected from someone else who is more focused on the same task.  Or I appear weaker, slower to develop in a certain skill set or knowledge area in which others are excelling because I am occupied in other tasks at the same time.  I have some examples.

I’ve always been interested in science and frequently find myself struggling with what aspect of the broad field of science in which I’m truly excited to pursue.  I know I want to help people by directly influencing their well being, however this in itself could entail hundreds of different professions that may or may not have anything to do with science.  But I like medicine, I think mainly because I’m fascinated by the human body, and mind, and the relationships we build between bodies, and minds.  So when I think of specialties of medicine that could be fulfilling for myself later in my career, I think about issues of psychiatry and in particular disorders which entail symptoms of mood disorders such as depression and anxiety.  And then stemming from these mood disorders are intriguing aspects of how to cope with the social implications of living in current society with these clinical diagnoses.  These are of personal interest for many important reasons and I hope to explore these topics in depth during med. school.  

But I’m also a very mechanical and technical person.  All of my hobbies involve working with my hands to manipulate tools, devices, instruments, and techniques to construct or explore things that would be unattainable without significant investment of time in learning the necessary knowledge and skills.  For example, I SCUBA dive; climb rock, trees and mountains; work on cars; work on trees; woodwork; work on boats; play the piano; play the guitar; ski freestyle; play soccer; and cook.  As a chemist, I spend more time pipetting, preparing samples, and setting up instruments and procedures than actually thinking about the data that results from all of this manual work.  So another area of medicine that would naturally appeal to me is surgery.  Whether it be reconstructive and cosmetic surgery which would be like working on the old, rusty cars and rotting boats that I’m used to, or clinical surgery, the idea of using my hands to operate tools, tools similar to the ones in which I’m already enjoying using, to fix a problem with the human body and directly someone’s well being, what a satisfying job that would be.  

But I also like teaching.  I don’t know if it’s the kids or the fact that I’m smarter than them that makes me feel like I’m doing something important and I’m doing it well, but I think it’s a little bit of both.  I like sharing the knowledge I have with people, listening to where they have problems or questions, and responding with a resolving answer.  I’ve spent over 100 hours as a teacher’s assistant in the classroom with elementary and high school students and have enjoyed every minute of watching students illuminate the light bulbs in their head.  Whether it was the 5th grade minority students who were the majority at an inner-city school with low funding and high teacher turnover, or a classroom lacking any ethnic minority and the students were thinking more about their hormones than the formulas, I felt as if I could relay the importance of the education I was giving and invoke a stronger sense of responsibility for one’s own education in most of their young minds.  I like to think of myself as more cultured than the average person from the midwest, and I enjoyed using this facet to connect with as many students on a personal level where I could instill a feeling of mutual trust and respect in order to improve classroom dynamics.  To bring this back to the medical profession, for which I hope to apply this interest in teaching, I also think it would be personally rewarding to either work with children in my practice as a pediatrician, or to one day teach courses in medicine in med school or at the undergraduate level.

But then there’s that other part of me, the one I think we all have but actively contain because we know it just wouldn’t be right, that thinks that if we are already satisfied with where we are at, “why not just stay here and do this for the rest of my life?”  I’m working in a lab, using my hands, I have free time after work and on weekends to enjoy other hobbies, I make a decent wage that could support myself and only myself for a modest lifestyle, I’m doing something related to science, I may be able to move up in the company chain, I could meet someone someday and start a family when the time is right.  I’m happy with these thoughts.  So then what’s the problem?  Why is this not right, but wrong for me?  If my current lifestyle satisfies so many of my interests, then why would I want to give all of this up to pursue one of these interests in more depth?  Firstly, interests change.  At our heart, there will always be those other interests.  But in reality, our interests are determined by the relative importance of other things in life, other new and different things.  Right now, what is important to me is learning, helping, and responsibility.  I want to learn the depths of a medical topic, to be an expert that can be utilized by my fellow Americans who seek compassion, honesty, and quality.  I want to help people as I have in the past in order to see that healthy glow on their face, whether it comes from the activated light bulb above their heads or the their clinical treatment.  And I these are important because responsibility is important.  There is a sense of professionalism in medicine that comes not only from the work that we do, but from who we are as people and a citizen of a community.  I have a responsibility to give back and serve others, for I have been given a mind, body, and spirit with health and a positive outlook.  Too many times in our society do people offer their service only when they require something in return.  I don’t require anything right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a responsibility to offer my service right now.  

Through medicine, I hope to turn my weakness of having many diverse interests, into a strength in which I can become an expert at what has always been important to me.  I am ready to turn these underlying interests into passions, not for personal gain, but for society’s gain.  I know medicine is not another interest that will be indulged half-heartedly because, for me, medicine has the ability to combine all of my interests into one passion for which I will one day call, “My job.” 

-to be continued

-3:00 a.m., the morning after my MCAT and a night of drinking, I never thought I’d be getting out of bed to write the beginnings of a first draft of my personal statement

the rest of my life begins

my mind will be ready and focused

i will breathe with confidence

great things will happen to me

i will surpass my goals and overfill all expectations

i will move on towards my dream

they will be proud

Rough economic times means doctors around the nation are being forced to worry about balancing costs to turn a profit.  The problem is, doctors are not trained to be businessmen in medical school, nor should they be.  As a result, the average physician has made extra efforts to increase the quantity rather than the quality in their day to day work.  This not only sacrifices quality of care and the the sanctity of the doctor-patient relationship, but this also results in wasted time, expenses, and limited resources as doctors fail to effectively communicate with other healthcare workers to achieve a better end.  

I work in a large hospital and diagnostic clinic that receives thousands of patient samples each day to our laboratory division alone.  I run one test daily which requires one tube of whole blood from each patient.  Each day, I find at least one mistake made by a physician as they attempt to increase the quantity rather than the quality of data to aid them in their care of a patient.  Usually, it’s the case of a physician who orders the same test multiple times for the same patient.  This means, that the doc wrote on the patient’s chart that the nurse should draw one tube of blood for the test.  This nurse then picked up the chart later that day, noted the doctor’s request, and proceeded to stab the patient and remove some blood.  The tube is then sent.  Later that day, nurse #2 notices the same physician test order and without asking the other nurses, the doc, or the patient if the blood had already been drawn, proceeds to stab the patient again.  So where did the communication break down?  Where is improvement needed?  Of course nurse #2 could have questioned the status of the test, but just as importantly, nurse #1 could’ve noted the test bad been completed.  But it also is up to the doctor to initiate the all important dialogue between the patient and his staff to prevent the chances of such easy mistakes to occur in the first place.  Instead of hurrying off to the next patient, the primary physician should be focused on ensuring that not only the patient understands the tests that are to be performed and why they are necessary, but to ensure that the test is necessary in the first place.  This is the second most common mistake an ordering physician makes when he requests that tests be done on patients.  Many docs simply rely on process of elimination to get to their final answer and hope that there is only one answer left after all of the choices that can be eliminated are crossed out.  When this happens, what I see in the lab is three different tests ordered for the same patient that all tell the physician the same thing.  The physician does not know the purpose of the tests and that while the tests utilize different processes along the way, they all report the same result in the end.  This is not only a lack of care and precision from the primary care giver, but it is also a failure in interphysician communication.  The primary doc should be able to call and ask a specialist why there are three tests that result the same and which is the best choice for their patient.  This dialogue would save the patient additional stress and discomfort, hospital time and money, and laboratory time and money.  And when there’s a saving of time and money all around, everybody wins.  But the focus should be on the patient.  How can we make sure the patient wins every time?

President Obama addressed the American Medical Association on Monday saying that “you did not enter this profession to be bean-counters and paper-pushers.  You entered this profession to be healers, and that’s what our healthcare system should let you be.”  To best heal America’s chronically ill, to treat acute disease and injury, and ease the ever present pain and suffering of emotional stress brought on by financial burden, healthcare needs to make a coordinated effort with all of it’s many faces to first improve the quality of care for the patient, and second to reduce cost.  It is my belief that through a coordinated or holistic approach that fosters dialogue amongst specialists, nurses, and patients, the second objective will be fulfilled as a consequence to attention to the first.  

I have been a team member most of my life, and am now looking forward to the opportunity to excel as a team member as a physician.  I have worked for a small businesses owned and operated by a midwestern family man for over thirty years, and I have worked for an up and coming large business that sells product on an international scale.  In both cases, I worked every day with only two or three other people.  As a small team, our efforts were incorporated with other small teams all to coordinate the success of the company.  Each small team is a vital part.  Just as it is in the care of the patient, when there is usually only 2 or three doctors, 2 nurses, and one patient and their family, by effectively working in each small team, our healthcare system should be able to cut costs by first improving the quality of patient care.  We owe it to our patients.  There is no room for error when the cost is someone’s father, someone’s aunt, someone’s sister, someone’s cousin, someone’s life.  

I urge you all to slow down and practice effective communication skills in your workplace.  The key word here is practice. . . and effective.  If your company or employer does not invest in this critical skill set, ask a supervisor to consider setting up a weekly meeting or debriefing.  There is always room for improvement.  Start with bettering yourself, then your team, and ultimately, the world.