I have a vocation that regularly drives me nuts. But knowing myself for 52 years now, I wonder if any vocation would do that to me. I have a compulsive need for order that has a hard time yielding to reality. As my favorite singer/songwriter Jason Mraz says, life (and love) is a beautiful mess and you’d better find your balance. Otherwise your panties will always be in a bunch. Your blood pressure will rise, your stress level will go off the charts, you will die sooner. Although my apartment is divine chaos, my workplace must be orderly. Every writing utensil is in its place, I know if you have walked away with anything that belongs on my desk, my post-its are in an orderly pile, my chaos-infused projects are housed in rigid bright yellow folders and I insist that Chaos become Order. I can plan myself out of a paper bag, I’ll come up with a To Do list, I’ll work on a cooperative multi-national team, everyone pulls their weight. I’ll go the extra mile(s) when needed and I’ll do it without fanfare. Yes, every place has its pockets of insanity. No one or thing is perfect. Ever. But I need a change. I want to choose a new brand of disorder. I want to go to graduate school, I want to answer a suicide hotline, I want to help a patient with A.D. and his/her family, I want to facilitate a group therapy session. I want to bring some comfort, some order into someone’s chaotic world.