Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Mask of Loneliness
Of all the ways to express loneliness, why have I chosen a picture of the empty park bench above? The world around it is bright and sunny, the trees and grass a luscious green, people and life moving about in the background. Precisely because it's the kind of loneliness I'm experiencing . . . and have been all along.
That bench is like my Mask of Loneliness. It sits there, alone, in a vibrant world waiting for someone to occupy it and linger for a while. To a passerby it doesn't appear "sad" or "happy," it simply is. Only when one takes pause to notice and contemplate the situation can one appreciate the loneliness. And so too it is with me. My Mask of Loneliness often appears invisible, even when worn directly in front of you. I'm surrounded by friends and peers. I have few enemies and I get along with most anyone. I wear my Mask of Smiles even when I don't feel like it. I can now interact and blend in so flawlessly that you'll probably never notice that I'm alone.
But I notice. I feel the Mask of Loneliness on my face. I'm painfully aware that several of my friends are now married, at least one of whom now have kids. Though I don't show it, I'm actually rather awkward when I'm one of maybe 3 people in a group who're single. And though you don't notice it, I don't really care to hear about your relationship problems with your girl/boyfriend/spouse.
And no matter how much I tell myself that we all go at our own pace, how I still have time, how my busy-ness is only "for now," I can feel this Mask begin to harden on my face. It is, after all, partly my fault. I don't make a particularly concerted effort to "get out there." And the longer I wait, the more excuses I make and the easier it becomes to make them.
Lately I've begun to feel that I'm "undatable." I hung out with Drew on Sunday (he's seeing someone else now, figures) and it was . . . rather awkward. Neither of us had any particularly good conversation topics. We were just on two completely different pages the whole time. I felt like I had become so one-dimensional as the conversation topics I brought back either drew from a subset of things I knew well or otherwise drifted towards the medical. Even I wouldn't date me.
Lol, I suppose I've become more like that park bench than I thought. At first glance, I'm just made of wood - one-dimensional. But if you happen to come closer, you'll see the words etched into that wood and read the stories of my past, present, and future. And it's not like I'm intentionally hiding, I'm right here in front of you! I hope you linger a bit and keep me company, and take from me my Mask of Loneliness.
Until then, may this quote ring true:
That bench is like my Mask of Loneliness. It sits there, alone, in a vibrant world waiting for someone to occupy it and linger for a while. To a passerby it doesn't appear "sad" or "happy," it simply is. Only when one takes pause to notice and contemplate the situation can one appreciate the loneliness. And so too it is with me. My Mask of Loneliness often appears invisible, even when worn directly in front of you. I'm surrounded by friends and peers. I have few enemies and I get along with most anyone. I wear my Mask of Smiles even when I don't feel like it. I can now interact and blend in so flawlessly that you'll probably never notice that I'm alone.
But I notice. I feel the Mask of Loneliness on my face. I'm painfully aware that several of my friends are now married, at least one of whom now have kids. Though I don't show it, I'm actually rather awkward when I'm one of maybe 3 people in a group who're single. And though you don't notice it, I don't really care to hear about your relationship problems with your girl/boyfriend/spouse.
And no matter how much I tell myself that we all go at our own pace, how I still have time, how my busy-ness is only "for now," I can feel this Mask begin to harden on my face. It is, after all, partly my fault. I don't make a particularly concerted effort to "get out there." And the longer I wait, the more excuses I make and the easier it becomes to make them.
Lately I've begun to feel that I'm "undatable." I hung out with Drew on Sunday (he's seeing someone else now, figures) and it was . . . rather awkward. Neither of us had any particularly good conversation topics. We were just on two completely different pages the whole time. I felt like I had become so one-dimensional as the conversation topics I brought back either drew from a subset of things I knew well or otherwise drifted towards the medical. Even I wouldn't date me.
Lol, I suppose I've become more like that park bench than I thought. At first glance, I'm just made of wood - one-dimensional. But if you happen to come closer, you'll see the words etched into that wood and read the stories of my past, present, and future. And it's not like I'm intentionally hiding, I'm right here in front of you! I hope you linger a bit and keep me company, and take from me my Mask of Loneliness.
Until then, may this quote ring true:
"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for." ~ Dag HammarskjoldYes, I've used that quote before in this post (if you recall).
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Mediocrity
mediocrity by ~seven20 on deviantART
In grade school (K-12), I was always at the top of my class. I was pretty good at everything (except gym) and the world was full of endless possibilities. In undergrad, I understood that few people are truly Renaissance men. I learned where my strengths were and I knew where my limits were, in some cases hitting that unmovable wall. In grad school, the world - while more limited - was still full of potential. I learned what I loved and I learned what I could excel at.
In med school, I am mediocre. During M1 and M2 years I did pretty average on exams. Actually, no, I often did below the class average (though, my end grade was "average"). Even the classes that I had a solid background in and did above average I usually was still not among the top. But this didn't deter me as I had come to learn that grades don't necessarily equate with how well you know, understand, and appreciate the material. Then on the USMLE Step 1 exam I did below national average. While this was a hit, I eventually shrugged it off because I still passed, which was what truly mattered. Plus, since I would likely be going into pediatrics (or possibly internal medicine or both), it didn't matter SO much as long as I passed.
Surely come M3 year, with largely subjective evaluations, I should do better! Alas, it appears that I'm still relegated to being mediocre. It seems no matter how hard I try, how hard I study, how excited and motivated I appear, how much I care for my patients, I am only "mediocre." I am only "average." And this befuddles me. Here I am compared against my peers, many of whom I KNOW do not care for their patients in the same way that I care for mine, and yet we end up with the same grade (and sometimes they do better than me). What gives?!
I'm kind of afraid. I really really wanted to excel on my pediatrics rotation. I've mustered every ounce of excitement, enthusiasm, motivation, genuine care for my patients, willingness to do scut work (aka, the residents' bitch work), willingness to receive feedback to improve . . . and yet I'm not sure I can make it out with more than "average." I'm afraid that no matter how hard I try I will remain in the same place.
I am tired from my months on medicine and surgery. I've worked my ass off in hopes that I'm able to mask my exhaustion and put on a face of enthusiasm. And I honestly did care for my patients. I don't know what else I could do, I don't know what other well of strength I can draw from.
As I talked to my friend, he said the following to me:
In med school, I am mediocre. During M1 and M2 years I did pretty average on exams. Actually, no, I often did below the class average (though, my end grade was "average"). Even the classes that I had a solid background in and did above average I usually was still not among the top. But this didn't deter me as I had come to learn that grades don't necessarily equate with how well you know, understand, and appreciate the material. Then on the USMLE Step 1 exam I did below national average. While this was a hit, I eventually shrugged it off because I still passed, which was what truly mattered. Plus, since I would likely be going into pediatrics (or possibly internal medicine or both), it didn't matter SO much as long as I passed.
Surely come M3 year, with largely subjective evaluations, I should do better! Alas, it appears that I'm still relegated to being mediocre. It seems no matter how hard I try, how hard I study, how excited and motivated I appear, how much I care for my patients, I am only "mediocre." I am only "average." And this befuddles me. Here I am compared against my peers, many of whom I KNOW do not care for their patients in the same way that I care for mine, and yet we end up with the same grade (and sometimes they do better than me). What gives?!
I'm kind of afraid. I really really wanted to excel on my pediatrics rotation. I've mustered every ounce of excitement, enthusiasm, motivation, genuine care for my patients, willingness to do scut work (aka, the residents' bitch work), willingness to receive feedback to improve . . . and yet I'm not sure I can make it out with more than "average." I'm afraid that no matter how hard I try I will remain in the same place.
I am tired from my months on medicine and surgery. I've worked my ass off in hopes that I'm able to mask my exhaustion and put on a face of enthusiasm. And I honestly did care for my patients. I don't know what else I could do, I don't know what other well of strength I can draw from.
As I talked to my friend, he said the following to me:
"Don't feel defeated, you passed and you are a bad ass med school person. You're like, proving yourself beyond 99.9999% of all people in the world. Can't get too upset about that last 0.00001%."I always loved him for his perspective on things.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Welcome To Life
Welcome to this thing called life. Open your eyes and see the love that brought you into this world. Sleep in the arms that embrace you, linger in childhood while you can, but grow up strong and healthy. You are full of the world's hopes and potential - you can become anything! What will you choose to be? You won't remember me, what with me prodding and poking you. But I hope my thoughts are etched into your heart: I wish you the best on this journey called life and I hope you are equipped with the love and the help to get through anything.
-----
I just spent the last 2 days in the newborn nursery. I had the opportunity to examine a baby less than 48 hours old. The mom handed him over to me, trusting me unequivocally that I wouldn't hurt him. He peeked at me through suspicious eyelids and went back to his tenuous sleep. Of all the people to have examined him in his brief existence, he tolerated me the best. I believe there aren't many people who have "the touch," or the ability to connect with babies in a way that they tolerate you poking and prodding them (they're still not happy, but they'll tolerate you); I'm hoping that I've got it. Really, there was only one baby who didn't tolerate me, but that was because he was fairly sick.
There is something about holding a newborn. It's the feeling of holding unadulterated potential in your arms - something so fragile and yet resilient. I mean, come on, the childbirth process is rather traumatic (for both mother and child).
And so it is that I thought the above in my head as I laid him in his bassinet next to his mom and left the room. The odds of me seeing him are next to nil, but all the same - welcome to life.
-----
I just spent the last 2 days in the newborn nursery. I had the opportunity to examine a baby less than 48 hours old. The mom handed him over to me, trusting me unequivocally that I wouldn't hurt him. He peeked at me through suspicious eyelids and went back to his tenuous sleep. Of all the people to have examined him in his brief existence, he tolerated me the best. I believe there aren't many people who have "the touch," or the ability to connect with babies in a way that they tolerate you poking and prodding them (they're still not happy, but they'll tolerate you); I'm hoping that I've got it. Really, there was only one baby who didn't tolerate me, but that was because he was fairly sick.
There is something about holding a newborn. It's the feeling of holding unadulterated potential in your arms - something so fragile and yet resilient. I mean, come on, the childbirth process is rather traumatic (for both mother and child).
And so it is that I thought the above in my head as I laid him in his bassinet next to his mom and left the room. The odds of me seeing him are next to nil, but all the same - welcome to life.
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