First one-or-two-sentences-per-team NBA preview by me ever! Yay! (SEED #) for playoffs!

EASTERN CONFERENCE

ATLANTIC

New York (3) - If Baron decides he wants to play, great, but Amare’s knees scary in a short season.
Boston(7) – Cagey old vets on their last legs. Need some help.
Philadelphia (8) – Feel like they’ll tune out taskmaster Doug Collins at some point.
New Jersey – They don’t get Howard, but a full season of Deron Williams helps.
Toronto – Will steal a few games because of the short schedule and their depth, but this isn’t a good team.

CENTRAL

Chicago(2) – Will challenge Miami for the conference throne, Rip Hamilton should fit in nicely.
Indiana(6) - Made some nice moves the last couple of years, team on the rise.
Milwaukee – Have screwed up some moves the last couple of years, arrow pointing down.
Detroit - I like the new coach, but retaining the core of a terrible team is a head-scratching move.
Cleveland – Some potential, but needs more parts, and time.

SOUTHEAST

Miami(1) – Beasts of the east. Problematic if one of the stars gets hurt, but what team can’t say that?
Atlanta(4) – Going sideways, but still good enough for a 4-5 seed, I figure.
Orlando(5) – Assuming Howard stays the whole season, have not improved.
Washington – Cleveland again, mostly.
Charlotte – Might be better than the Raptors.

WESTERN CONFERENCE

NORTHWEST

Oklahoma City(1) – Best in the league from here. Continuity, youth, depth, and hunger, all in one.
Portland(4) – Snakebit with injuries, but still pretty good.
Denver(6) – Interesting to see if they can do a full season without a lead guy and still be competitive.
Minnesota – Should be exciting, might challenge for a playoff spot if everything breaks right.
Utah – Like Minnesota, going in the right direction, but need a few more pieces.

PACIFIC

L.A. Clippers(3) – That is a TERRIFYING team with Chris Paul running the point.
L.A. Lakers(7) – This has all the indications of a down year for them.
Phoenix – Nash doesn’t have nearly enough help.
Sacramento – Some intriguing pieces, but I don’t think they fit together well.
Golden State – Rookie coach with a no defense team. Yeah, that’s gonna go well.

SOUTHWEST
Dallas(2) – The champs, but they’ll miss Chandler.
Memphis(5) – Throwback team will bruise some folks in a short season.
San Antonio(8) – Like Boston, the clock is ticking.
Houston – Could make the playoffs with some breaks, or a trade that doesn’t get overturned.
New Orleans – Okay, so getting Gordon was better than the first trade, but they’ll still be awful without Chris Paul.

As with a lot of things, I’m coming to understand it more as I’ve gotten older, and tried to cherish those relationships I’ve made. I’ll admit to enjoying cards and letters I’ve gotten from people, though I don’t often opt for sending them just yet. Usually for people who are a distance away, who I can’t express things to in person.

For someone who writes like I do, writing is very personal and relational. I remember rolling my eyes at occasional stock “these are the great things that happened to us this year” kinds of letters, but those have their place. You want to retain that connection to your friends/loved ones. And people do that in different ways.

I (think I) am a closet sentimental type, and Christmas is a time of year that often brings sentiment. Not for everyone, but for a lot of people. Love, joy, excitement, any and all of these things in different combinations. It’s easy to get caught up in it- and why not?

I don’t always express myself well. There are so many people I want to wish a Merry Christmas to.  Maybe you’re family, maybe you’re a friend, maybe you’re someone I’ve never met but swapped witty quips with online. I want it to be personal, and meaningful. This is for all of you.

Merry Christmas, friends. I love you all, and wish for the very best for you in 2012. Thank you for reading, and writing back to me as well. Wherever you’re at, whether struggling or soaring, I hope you are blessed this season.

This was a line of thinking that had a genesis a few weeks ago, but came into clearer focus this week, when I picked one for a “coffee-esque beverage” meeting. One typically calls it meeting for coffee, but I don’t drink coffee. As it turns out, none of the people I’d met during my prolific Starbucks-based run did either. That made me feel better, somehow.

As a creature of habit, it was an easy choice- I’d been to that place before, and because it was familiar ground, the conversation came more natural, without overthought or analysis. I’d stayed until closing in that particular Starbucks twice, in recent meetings. We wouldn’t this night, since the gentleman in question had a later engagement. This drew an internal, sarcastic “rats” reaction from me, as if there was significance to this streak. There wasn’t.

I imagine I come across as a quiet person, but I enjoy connecting that way. It’s been a recent insight that relationships don’t get easier as an adult, they get harder. You don’t have the easy social circle of a school or a church to force interaction and friendship, for relationships to maintain. You need to seek it out, to work at it, and to make time for it. It’s not something I’ve been good at, historically.

I’ve written less the past year than I have in recent years, and that’s been good and bad. The good is that I’m pushing out in small ways, meeting people, and trying to be more open and honest, rather than internalizing and saving it for a long-winded blog post that no one will read. The bad is that, well, I’m not writing. I like to write. I just haven’t. Whether it’s work, or other things, it hasn’t happened.

During my “coffee-esque beverage” meeting this week, I was asked if I thought I was a leader. My immediate answer was honest, but thoughtful. I didn’t consider myself a leader. I COULD lead, were I engaged and believing and in the right situation, but in a general sense, I didn’t fit the mold. I’m not confident by nature, and not typically one who finds and forges a path for others to follow. I engender trust, which is part of what makes me good at my job. And I can get up in front of people and spin a good yarn. But a leader? Not me.

Speaking at length, this person thought I would be a leader, at some point- that he wanted to see me lead something. This intrigued me. As someone who can engage in things when I’m interested, it was something that stuck with me.

It was almost too bad that we didn’t get to close down that particular Starbucks, our conversation went through a great many topics, and was rewarding for both of us, I believe. But that thought was good enough to stick with me, I think. As someone prone to over-evaluating and being “uncomfortably self-aware”  (hat tip to Community’s Abed Nadir for that nugget), I think it’ll be rolling around for a while.

I’d say there’s a good chance that some of you reading that factoid don’t give a lick. I did, though. I watched it with Dennis, after an impromptu appearance on Mom and Dad’s curling team, while consuming unhealthy food at close to 10 pm. He’d taped what would be the final game of the series, and waited for me to watch it with him, even though I’d been called away and we had to start later.

I love sports. I love playing sports, though I indulge that less now than I would have when I was younger. It’s limited to frisbee in the spring/summer, curling in the fall/winter, and occasional forays into other ones when the mood strikes, or someone has the time to gather a large group of adults (which is, as Wash from Moneyball would say, “incredibly hard”). But I also enjoy watching sports. Professional sports, mostly; the quality of other levels is fun if I’m watching live, but I’ve little time to indulge that beyond passing knowledge.  I could engage someone in conversation about baseball, football, hockey, and basketball, and discuss it in some depth, depending on their interest.

I don’t have a lot of friends who are as into following sports as I am, which has earned the occasional friendly prod on the subject. It’s a huge part of why I’ve taken to Twitter- when games are on, it’s like a giant sports bar (without the high-priced beer), and I love being able to find people who are as interested in my teams as I am, and bantering with them as things are happening. I’ve gotten a lot smarter about how I view sports because of it, and met a lot of amazing people as well.

So how does someone like me, who fits the geek profile to a T, get interested in sports?

*****

The answer isn’t simple. There’s appeal in how they’re played, certainly. I like the grace and athleticism of basketball, and it’s free-flowing nature. I like the blend of power and speed that hockey has, and maintain that playoff hockey is the best of any sport. I like the strategy of football, and the admittedly visceral appeal of a well-executed tackle, when one guy beats the stuffing out of another. I like the tension and skill of baseball; as one smart person said, “Baseball is boring, until it isn’t.”

I can certainly credit my dad with instilling the love of sports in me. He watched and played baseball while I was growing up, and I fondly remember moments where Dennis and I were playing catch with him, or watching his softball games, and wondering why the ball for THAT was bigger than baseball. I remember those absurd socks we had to wear for little league baseball, and wanting to pitch but being too scared to raise my hand when the coach asked. Even now, I enjoy talking sports with him, telling him how my football picks are going (not good of late), or riffing on something the Jays did recently. One of my secret joys when we lived with Alex was when I was watching sports, and having him ask questions about rules or strategy, and me trying to explain how a particular part of it worked. I liked passing that on, and watching him understand (sometimes), as we were connected in that shared understanding.

There’s other reasons for other sports: Dennis and I developing an interest in basketball during our teen years and playing in rec leagues, drifting more into football and hockey later on, Twitter focusing my love for the Jays and giving it room to breathe, appreciating the strategy of curling after joining a team and learning the game, and how being in Calgary for the Flames Stanley Cup finals run on ’04 was an amazing experience as a fan, and one I’ll never forget.

But some of the reason I love sports- that ANYONE loves sports- is that anything can happen.

*****

Let’s bring it back to the Cardinals, who won the World Series. That’s the championship of Major League Baseball, for those unaware. They’re a great underdog story.

On August 24th, with barely over a month to go in the season, they were 10.5 games out of a PLAYOFF spot, of even contending for a championship, based on their record so far in the season. Most people had written them off, knowing they’d need to go on an incredible run to even have a chance, and they had struggled quite a bit of late. So they won a few games, made up some ground.

On September 13th, with two weeks to go in the season, they were still 4.5 games out, and still written off by most analysts as not having much of a chance of making it. And rightfully so, given how much time was left, and how much ground they had to make up. Them (and the Rays, in the American League) were almost making it almost interesting, but not quite there. The Red Sox and the Braves could, as the narrative went, start preparing for playoff games.

I’ve gotten a lot smarter as a fan in the last few years. Mostly with baseball, but I’m learning in all sports as well. The evolution of statistical analysis has changed how people watch different games, and how teams evaluate players. In almost any situation, in any sport, you can find a breakdown telling you exactly what you should do, and what’s mostly likely to happen given the players involved. In having this analysis, you can better position your team to win. It’s been a positive evolution, in my mind.

But even in that, there’s still room for the unexpected, for it to amaze us.  And that is some of why we watch.

September 28th, 2011, was the last day of the baseball season. The Cardinals had managed to tie the Braves for the final playoff spot in the National League, and the Rays with the Red Sox in the AL. They weren’t playing each other, but they might the next day, if everything fell right. I was at home, watching it all, delighted with the chaos that was ensuing. The Braves and Sox were collapsing. The Rays and Cardinals were surging. They’d made a show of it, despite the predictions of most involved.

It was an amazing night of baseball. Three of the four teams had games that went down to the wire. Sportsnet was smart, adjusting their programming so they could show highlights from all the games, flipping back and forth as they ended, and showing the incredible moments as they happened, with leads flipping back and forth late, as some of the games went into extra innings, and the tension mounted. It was, oddly enough, the future-champion Cardinals who were boring, shutting out the Houston Astros 5-0 to guarantee at least a tiebreaker game with the Braves for the last spot.

I don’t need to tell you how it ended, do I? All this talk about underdogs, and anything being possible?

*****

The Rays got bounced quickly, but the Cardinals kept on. Beat the heavily favoured Phillies in the first round. Beat the less-heavily favoured Brewers in the second. And beat the mostly favoured Rangers in the World Series to capture the crown.

So many things had to go right for them to get there, let alone to win it all. They beat Phillies’ all-everything ace Roy Halladay 1-0 in the deciding game of the first round.  Milwaukee’s pitchers self-immolated at the wrong time. They came back on Texas TWICE in game 6, and triumphed in extra innings. After that, game 7 seemed like a foregone conclusion.

There’s other reasons I watch different sports, obviously: I’m attached to particular teams/players, I enjoy talking about strategy or predicting what’s going to happen, or I like watching incredible feats of athleticism/skill. But even as much as I am a stats hound, and like seeing smart teams do things in smart ways, I know I enjoy the idea that in any sport, on any day, you never know what’s going to happen. And that can be fun, can’t it?

One of the fascinating baseball stories of the last month or so has been the Boston Red Sox. The Atlanta Braves could also be in there, but they don’t benefit from overpowering media coverage (even in this day and age), or a market that only has New York as it’s rival in terms of size and reach.

For those unaware of the story, the Red Sox (and the Braves) had a large lead on a playoff spot in the American League at the beginning of September. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone to catch them. And, sure enough, the Rays did- culminating in a final day of the season that was, to put it mildly, historic for several teams involved.

The aftermath has been unimaginable- the Red Sox have changed their manager and their GM, and columnists, bloggers, and analysts, are going through the season with a fine tooth comb looking for answers. And with the result having been the Sox not making the playoffs, what happened is getting taken apart.

As a Blue Jays fan, I can’t help but be delighted by the chaos. This can only be good for my team. As a fan of baseball- and someone whose fandom has taken a lean towards statistical analysis- it’s hard for me to be happy at what I saw. It was a 162 game season. If the Red Sox win TWO more games- or perhaps even one- this might have been avoided. Does that mean that all the supposed “problems” with the Sox didn’t exist? If they make the playoffs, do the manager and the GM still have their jobs?

*****

Let’s swing it off sports for a while.

My statistical thinking in baseball has taken a broader tack, as it may on occasion: the ideas of good process, and good results, and how one doesn’t necessarily equate to the other. At least, in baseball.

But let’s apply it generally, with a couple of important questions, at least for me:

1) If we have a result that we wanted, does that mean our process to get the result was good?

2) If we have a result we DON’T want, does that mean our process was bad?

There are obvious examples of where a seemingly good result doesn’t reward the process that gave it. If we were dishonest in achieving our goal, then it typically comes collapsing down like a house of cards once there’s any kind of review of that. I’ve had the debate with people, who asked if we lied to convert someone to the Christian faith, and THEIR faith was true, would that be something we should do? And my (seemingly pat) answer was that if we had a God who values honesty, he wouldn’t allow someone to have a faith that was based on dishonesty.

I’m someone who questions my own processes a lot, especially when the results aren’t what I expected.

I have a job that I didn’t think I’d have, and am advancing mostly because I’m intelligent and capable enough. It’s not a result I expected. I’m making the process up as I go along, essentially. I don’t really have a career plan (shhh, don’t tell my boss). But I’m there. And if you told me five years ago I’d be here, I’d have chuckled mirthfully, shook my head, and walked back to my computer to go play some more Out Of The Park baseball.

It’s a GOOD result. But not a repeatable process, or one I’d recommend to anyone.

I’ve been on a couple of dating sites the last year, after admitting to at least partial defeat on my own aptitude in finding women. Though that’s a rant in itself- I’m not going to date anyone at work, I’m not someone who’s going to go out and pick someone up, and my other circles are mostly lacking in available candidates. But there was one where I liked the process. It was thorough, thoughtful, and reasoned in how it “matched up” people.

I liked the process, though. I even met a couple of gals there, over coffee or drinks or whatever standards we’d set up. It didn’t work out, as evidenced by my continued griping on the subject. So we’re trying something different. But the lack of results there made me wonder if the process was good.

Baseball has moved in a direction where statistical analysis is as important or more important than a manager’s feel of a particular situation, and for the most part, that’s good. Sounder decisions are being made in the game, and people are learning a lot more about it. But there is value in knowing that for all the stats in baseball, it IS played by people- and that makes it unpredictable. Much like life itself.

They say that insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, but I don’t know if that’s always true. In a universe where people, places, and expectations are constantly shifting, trying a good process in a different spot might well get you a different result.

I’ve often mentioned that I live in constant fear that I’ll wake up someday and people will discover that I’m not nearly as cool or funny or talented as they think I am. And while that Is somewhat exaggerrated for comic effect, I do feel that way, to a point. A lot of my seeming confidence is bluster, covering insecurities that I want to keep at bay, or struggles that I don’t have the courage to share.

It’s something I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older about growing up: there’s not that magical moment where it clicks, and you figure everything out. I remember when I was a kid, and figured that when I turned 18 I’d be confident and assured and know what I was doing, like my parents did. Or seemed to, at least.

My thinking now is that the uncertainty doesn’t fully go away- the problems just get bigger, and our skills to handle them grow somewhat in proportion. I’m certainly more capable and confident than I was ten years ago, or five years ago, or even one year ago, but I think I’ll always be thoughtful and uncertain about anything I do. I believe this to be both a blessing and a curse: the humility to know that you’re not always right, the curse of not just jumping right in and doing something when you’re certain it’s the right thing.

But maybe we’re all that way, not as cocky or sure as we make ourselves out to be. That’s been part of learning, too, is realizing that maybe others have some of the same fears I do. And from knowing that, we can connect, and grow stronger.

I hope I don’t ever fully “grow up”. I want to always learn, to always grow, and will never be finished.

AFC

East

Patriots – The champs until they’re not the champs of this division, reload as well as anyone.

Jets* – I don’t like it any more than you do, but that defense will keep them in games.

Dolphins – No idea what to make of them.

Bills – Fitzpatrick is actually good, but he needs some help.

North

Steelers – Getting long in the tooth on D, still better than Ravens, weak schedule.

Ravens* –  See above. Need some breaks (possibly literal) to win the division.

Browns – Lurking once one of the higher two fall off. Colt McCoy can play.

Bengals – On the one hand, they can’t be much worse. On the other hand, they could be.

South

Texans – Leery of the bandwagon. But I think they get it this year.

Titans – Textbook ‘transition’ year.

Colts – This is where it ends, this is where it ends…

Jaguars – Garrard wasn’t taking them anywhere, but neither will McCown.

West

Chargers – Start awful every year, but again the clear favourite.

Chiefs – Figure last year was more ‘mirage’ than foundation, but not bad.

Broncos – Kyle Orton’s okay, Fox can coach. Now need some players.

Raiders – Fired a (modestly) successful head coach. That always works.

NFC

East

Eagles – I don’t think Vick’s the QB in 3 years, but he’s good for now.

Cowboys* – Set up for a nice rebound year.

Giants – Got sledgehammered by the injury bug in the preseason, and didn’t really improve.

Redskins – Rex Grossman went to the Super Bowl! He must be good!

North

Packers – Got unlucky with injuries, and still won the Super Bowl. They’re a terrifying team.

Lions – Stafford’s made of glass, but that defense will cover some holes.

Vikings – Is a washed-up McNabb better than a washed-up Favre? We’ll find out!

Bears – Lucky last year. Won’t be this time.

South

Saints – Improved enough to pass the Falcons…

Falcons* – …who should still make the postseason.

Buccaneers – On the upswing, though the record may not reflect it. Looming if there’s any injuries higher up.

Panthers – Brought back the core of a 2-14 team, added a shiny new QB. That’ll be good for what, four wins?

West

Rams – Not the Greatest Show On Turf, but still pretty fun to watch.

Cardinals – A lot hinges on whether Kevin Kolb is good. No one’s really sure.

Seahawks – Apparently won a playoff game. BOLLOCKS, I say.

49ers – Yeah.

I’ve written about work before, so here we go again.

*****

That trust is something I can never abuse in my position. I won’t “sell” something that doesn’t make sense for them. I believe that may be a detriment to me someday in a sales role. Comission-based sales (which we are not) breeds aggressive selling, but can also encourage the wrong kind of behaviour.

There were several options. I’d applied for a position that meant moving out of sales, and didn’t get an interview. Which was too bad, because I interview well. But I was still looking to move.As an analytical sort, I thought about why. I liked my work well enough. It had it’s frustrations, some of which would be present in any sales type position, and some which might have been avoided by moving up. I don’t know if this is my passion, but I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t necessarily need to be.

I’ve felt restless in a lot of ways of late, and that’s come across in not writing. That’s part of why I wondered if I could make it as a writer- I don’t focus well enough for good, long form narratives. I read novels where I can see when the writer ran out of steam, and I didn’t want this to be that. I wanted to be excited about writing, to relish in it, to not feel like it was the pressure to put food on the table. Does that make sense? I feel like it does.

*****

So, this work thing. Hash out spots, apply for one, get called for an interview. As before, I kept it quiet beyond a select few in my office. I felt like a heel, in some ways, getting dressed up for an interview, and being unable (or more to the point, unwilling) to tell others where I was going. An off-site meeting was the easiest excuse, without providing enough details.

My co-workers were happy for me when it was confirmed, of course- they would be. So why not tell them then? It felt like a betrayal, in some ways. I hold myself apart from them, even as I cherish them, in ways I don’t think I’ll ever admit. They’re family away from home. Some of them have watched me grow, from part-time, quiet teller to wisecracking PBO. Would they have felt like I did, so conflicted as I walked out that day to go interview?

I interview very well, and I came prepared thanks somewhat to the tremendous help I had around me. I felt like I had the job the moment I walked out of the manager’s office there, though I didn’t dare presume that in conversation. Like any reflective sort, I reviewed the interview, taking in my possible new surroundings as I walked out the door. It’s a nice, open branch. I like open floor plans. My office wouldn’t be next to the door- also a plus.

The branch itself wasn’t ideally located, tucked in a corner of a strip mall, in a parking lot where you’ve gotta pay. $25 a month, apparently. They thought to mention that right off the top, which made me chuckle.

I spotted a Wendys’ across the parking lot. Yeah, that was gonna be good for me.

*****

As I mentioned before, my compatriots were universally happy for me. Even our new manager, who joked about me having to find my replacement before I left. I’ve spent this week (and will spend next week) cleaning up my files, and letting the few clients I’d worked with a lot know that I was moving on. Haven’t quite figured out that part yet. I don’t want to be the guy who does it by letter, but those I don’t talk to directly will have to get that. I suppose it’s customary.

One of the tellers asked if I was happy, and I paused before answering. I felt restless then, as I have for a while, before replying, “yes”. I’m happy with my work. Am I happy with my life overall? Well, not yet. I would say I’m content. I’ve got nothing to complain about, certainly. But it feels like something is missing.

She said if I was happy, she was happy, which made me feel like a heel again somehow. I shouldn’t feel that way, really- I’m excited for this new position, even as it means me leaving a place I’ve worked for over three years now, and people I know very well. Soon, it’ll be a new group of people, and a new office, and new challenges.

Some had asked whether it was drawn from personal experience or mostly fiction, and my answer was that it is, as most of my work, a little of both. I’ve always maintained that we draw at least partially from our life experiences in writing, and that piece was no exception. I’ve been on both sides of similar conversations, and found myself thinking about it a lot.

It came up at our small group a couple weeks back, when our group was asked if there was something they could change about themselves, what would it be? My response was, “I didn’t want to be as cynical.” As much fun as a cynical wit can be, genuine cynicism can be very poisonous, and affect our outlooks in ways that we don’t always see.

It’s not easy. We’re in a cynical society, where assuming the worst is often the safest route for anyone to take, in so many paths of our lives. Genuine hope or optimism is met with mockery, and squelched before others can feel the same. And missed opportunities can lead to self-loathing, another acidic trait.

I know I’ve missed chances because of fear, or cynicism. But I can’t get stuck in that. We need to have hope, and be honest about ourselves. How else can we break the cycle, not get bitter or stuck where we are? How many are there who are afraid, secretly heartbroken but not wanting to admit to it, putting up a wall of apparent indifference?

His opposite was on the sofa, laying back, staring up, the man’s brow furrowing and unfurrowing. His breathing wasn’t audible, but it almost could have been. For someone the doctor didn’t know, it would have been more uncomfortable, more tense, but they were familiar now. It had taken a while to get there. There was no discomfort, even in the quiet. Any distance in age or experiences, differences in their lives were nominal; the distance in the room was more accurate.

He had his notes, a pen and paper, but wasn’t writing. He hadn’t needed to- it was mostly for show, to give himself a moment to consider what had been said. His notes would come later, in the real silence. The doctor’s mind was the notepad he’d need right now.

“I don’t know,” his patient finally replied, as if the question had just been said, and considered. “I’m conflicted. Is that normal?”

“Do you think it is?”

A smirk, almost a smile from the patient. He didn’t look like a patient; at least, not what one might have expected a man visiting a psychologist to look like. ”I hate when you answer a question with another question.”

“Irritating, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” There was another silence, shorter, and the ’patient’ turned his neck slightly, meeting the doctor’s gaze. “I just thought it would be different.”

The doctor nodded slowly in response, his own brow furrowing, his voice kind, but encouraging. “Different how?” he asked.

His patient looked back up again, his hands clasping on his chest. “We grow up thinking we’ll figure it all out, that nothing’s beyond our reach, right? And that’s a good thing to have,” he said. “You don’t ever want to crush dreams, or tell your kids they can’t have or do something. They need that, to believe in that idea. That there’s good in the world. Because there is.”

He nodded, slowly. He didn’t break the silence, sensing his patient- his friend- had paused intentionally, and was collecting his thoughts to continue.

“But it’s not always that way,” the other man continued. His voice was slower, tinged with sadness, experience. “We don’t always get it all. We get there, and find out it wasn’t what we thought. We get hurt, watch people get hurt, and-”

He stopped again, his expression tightening, frustration coming across his face and leaving in a moment, even as the tension stayed and he continued.  ”-And it kills me. It absolutely eats me alive. I hate watching people get hurt, and being able to do absolutely nothing about it.”

“That’s a part of life,” the doctor reminded him kindly. “Things happen, and people and situations change, often well out of our control. You don’t need to solve everyone’s problems.”

“I know that,” the patient responded, with some resignation, and a slight sigh. “I just… I worry about how I’m reacting to it.”

“How’s that?” the doctor asked.

There was a breath- audible, and drawn out, the patient’s mind working behind eyes that stared straight up again. “Because I’m not doing anything,” he said.  “I feel like I’m getting numb to it.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed. He’d put his notepad down, hands clasping on his lap, taking a breath and letting it collect inside him before exhaling, using the time to order his thoughts. “We talked about that,” he said, gently, again, ”How you can’t solve everyone’s problems.”

“You think I don’t know that?” the patient responded, angrily. His muscles were tensing, fists clenched. The tension in his mind has transferred to his body. “It’s just… frick, I feel like I’m failing them all, sometimes. Here’s me, in the middle of all of it, doing fine, watching it all burn around me. I should be helping,” he insisted.  His voice was quieter, his breathing uneven, his anger having morphed to sorrow and helplessness. ”I should be helping them.”

“Maybe you are,” the doctor said, firmly, but still kind.

“But what if I’m not?” the patient asked, his voice barely a whisper. “What if it’s me, getting harder, getting to the point where I can’t feel anything, where I don’t WANT to feel anything? When I see people go through it all, and I just don’t care?”

The doctor took a breath. He’d had this conversation a few times, with a few people, and it never got easier. He let the silence wash over them for several moments, wanting the immediate tension to drain, for his words to command his friend’s full attention when he spoke again. His own belief was firm, as it had to be.

“You’re here,” the doctor said, slowly, kindly. “You do care, sometimes too much. And that’s a good sign.”

There was a sigh. The patient took a breath, resting his hands on his chest again, letting them rise with his breathing, composing himself. “Yeah. I just wish I knew, somedays.”

There was silence, for a time. The doctor, he took his breath deliberately, and exhaled. “We all do,” he said. “We all do.”