I truly love my work so much that sometimes it almost feels strange to call it “work” — not because it isn’t hard (it definitely is!), but because it’s such a big part of who I am, of my identity.

And yet, during particularly busy, challenging times, when I am required to provide significant, more intense than usual containment of difficulties, suffering, secrets, true stories that surpass all imagination… during such times, when the day or week comes to an end, I organize the clinic, fold it up in preparation for Shabbat, look at what remains—the signs of the storm that took place here and only those who were in the room can understand. Now they are a faint, delicate shadow: a random smudge of paint on the sink, a pencil engraving that moved from the page to the table, marks of the chair on the floor. I look at all this, knowing we have made progress this week, that I did everything to improve, ease, and yet the sadness, the difficulty, the knowledge that the road ahead is still long and very hard, all these sometimes make me drift in imagination and think:

“If I had chosen differently—what would I do?”

I try to imagine a place without sorrow, a work routine that’s very simple, grounded, maybe even monotonous, filled with knowledge and a long-term outlook.

In my imagination, all of this usually translates into working in a flower shop. I see myself sitting for long hours, maybe alone, maybe with a partner (perhaps someone from a background similar to mine?), listening to quiet folk or indie singers on a really good sound system where you can hear the breaths before every phrase, weaving flowers, drinking tea, and talking—until it gets dark.

Sometimes someone comes in, and we give advice easily—after all, the dilemmas aren’t life-changing, and our experience in helping others (perhaps a bit too much) fits this kind of work anyway.

Sometimes I imagine myself in a candy store, or in a very simple, unpretentious bakery—not Instagrammable, just bread and challah.

I know these are just partial dreams, fantasies—like some high school crush you sometimes wonder about: ‘What would have happened if I had gone out with them? Maybe we’d have frozen time and still be like that today, just like back then?’

I know we wouldn’t. We would have grown up and realized we missed out on many things or other people. We would have compared who we were to who we became over time, and maybe that gap would have hurt us a lot. At the same time, I know that even in a flower shop, there’s wilting, decay, cleaning, suppliers, paperwork, end-of-year forms, and plenty of risks, expenses, and worries.

And still, the small, colorful flower shop stays with me—a kind of place in my heart that seeks simplicity and breath.

How do I create such a shop for myself within the existing routine — the hectic, extreme, dramatic one — but also the important, meaningful one, full of turning points and progress?

I hope to understand. I feel like I understand a little more each time, with time.

I’m glad I’m not alone in this, that just as I am part of the support system for my patients and clients, I also have a good and protective support system in my home and at work.

Does this sound familiar to you? The thoughts about that other thing you would do, that sometimes still comes up like a kind of wish? If so, I’d really love to read about it…