The Heron at Lost Lake

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It’s 8 am, and she digs deep to extend a “Thank you” to the RTD bus driver. She exits wearily onto her aching feet and walks two blocks to her apartment building, the end of seven straight days of work as a surgical PA at Denver Memorial. Her cell rings with a call from her boss. “What the…?!” She hits decline. She grabs her mail before heading up to the apartment she loves so much. It’s all hers, no more living with roommates. And a view of the mountains that is never the same and always fills her with awe. She tells herself she has no right to complain. But she wrestles with an elusive desire for more. She tosses the mail on the coffee table, her bag on the floor and steps out of her Crocs. Her mind rehashes the week. Her insufferable boss, the punishing hours, the lack of real connection with the patients – but this is what she studied seven years to become. What else could she do? Grrrrrlunk. Time to eat. Or shower? Or just go straight to bed? She opts for a microwave burrito and draws a bath.

As she flips through the mail her muscles give way to the warm water. “Junk, junk, Cosmo…Oh! A birthday card from Mom. The big three oh. She always picks a card that says exactly what she feels but could never say herself.” Burrito in one hand and Cosmo in the other, she scans an article entitled “10 Ways to Find Your Passion.” It encourages her to “Follow the pull. The world you were made for is waiting.” She finds it cryptic and agitating. “Where on earth is this world? How do I get there?”

Her aggravation drives her out of the bath. She throws on some jeans, packs a day pack and heads to her favorite place, Lost Lake, to think. It’s a steep climb on the trail to the lake, and the exhaustion from the week catches up with her. Tired and cranky she gets lost in thought, unaware of the blossoming Columbine and Lupine that line the trail. “My boss makes me so angry. If he would just quit micromanaging me, I could relax a bit. And the hours. How am I supposed to have a social life and find love? And the whole health care system is just broken. Patients are treated like widgets on an assembly line.” Just then she comes to the end of the trail. An involuntary gasp causes all her thoughts to fall away as she takes in the beauty of the lake, crystal clear and reflecting the Indian Peaks that surround it. She settles down on her favorite sitting rock, finishes off a power bar and spots a great blue heron standing at the edge of the lake.

The heron is as still as still can be, with its powerful long neck in position to strike. Emily loses all sense of time and place as she grows still with the heron. She marvels at how the heron is perfectly built for fishing. It doesn’t wonder about its purpose. It just is. She takes a deep breath into her belly. Still entranced with the heron, her body begins to feel light, and a sensation comes over her that she can only interpret as truth. “This is my true self,” she whispers.

The heron snatches a trout and Emily returns to herself. Losing the trance-like state of her time with the heron, she now finds some distance between her and her thoughts and can see them clearly. “This is my true self! All the rest is choices. I have no one to blame but myself.” Her solar plexus grows tight as she laments the career path she has chosen. As she sits with the tightness it begins to soften, as does her heart. Her face lights up as she gently smiles with a new-found compassion for herself. “I made the best decisions I knew how to make. I followed my longing to help people heal and it led me here. But here doesn’t feel like healing. It’s time for a change, and that is within my power.”

Emily heads back down the trail, still physically tired but with an inner strength, an inner authority, that carries her forward. She chuckles to herself for having thought she was seeking a destination. The flowers catch her eye, their quiet bloom like an echo of her own. With each step, the earth feels more familiar. The spark that brought her here still burns—now pointing somewhere new. She considers her options, “I could continue to work at the hospital with this new mental shift. I could try to make improvements in my work environment. Or I could leave.”

Two days later Emily returns to work. Standing in front of her boss's office door, she sends gratitude to the heron and steps through. Feeling fully herself, she shares her ideas for the creation of an entrepreneurial role for her within the department that she’s previously been too afraid to voice, even to herself. She holds her breath while he reacts. And then, noticing how tense and constricted her body is, she plants her feet firmly on the floor and relaxes into the Earth’s support. Her boss is not interested. As she receives this, she is disappointed but not entirely surprised. It was a bold move. She thanks him for his time and a bit teary-eyed she heads down the sterile hallway.

Her favorite nurse, who has worked at the hospital for 20 years, sees her and immediately knows something is wrong. She shepherds her into an empty room and Emily shares what has been happening. The nurse takes her hands, and looking compassionately into her eyes says, “You are an exceptional woman, Emily. Give yourself the gift of time and distance. Get as far away as you can from all that is familiar and see who you are apart from here, apart from this role you are playing. Do a stint with Doctors Without Borders in Africa or whatever that looks like for you. You owe this to yourself.”

Emily’s face lights up, “Africa you say?”

If Emily's journey stirred something in you, I invite you to journal about what came up. And if you feel moved to share any reflections in the comments, I'd love to hear what resonated.