No one every really needs a writer. Thank God.
I was at my children’s swim meet this weekend and one of the swimmers must have been hurt, because the announcer comes on the loud speaker and says, “If there are any doctors here today, could you please report to the clerk of the meet. We need a doctor as soon as possible.”
Two or three men promptly rushed toward the young man sitting in a chair, I believe he had ice on his head. I watched for a moment and then returned to the action in the pool, but I did wonder what it would be like to be…needed in that capacity.
To be the person in a room full of people that has a particular skill set to assess or improve someone’s well being. That’s a doctor. I have never really wanted to be a doctor, but for one brief, egotistical moment, it seemed like it would be wonderful to be the one person in a sea of many that could answer the call. Clearly not a reason to become a doctor, but it must be nice to be so clearly defined.
It would be like the announcer instead saying, “Attention, we are having a hard time with our newsletter and it must be to the printer within the hour. If there are any writers out there, please report to the office immediately.”
There are some differences in the second scenario.
The majority of the people that would stand up and report are people that think they are writers, or want to be writers. The people that actually write for a living, or have whatever jumble amounts to qualifications, would be sitting there wondering…”Am I really the right person for a newsletter?” or “I’m sure some other writer has already helped, a better writer, I’m actually feeling quite stuck right now.” or “I take offense to being so rigidly defined as a ‘writer’.” or “My last book was absolute crap, I’m not feeling like a writer at all.”
I’m sure the boy with the ice pack was happy that “doctor” is a much more definitive title.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Please Lie Down.