Quarter-life Crisis
While it is true that I have not reached a quarter of a century nor do I even have legitimate problems in my life to have anything close to a life crisis, here I am freaking out over the rest of my (hopefully long) life.
For the majority of my life, I have always known what I have wanted, career-wise. In some ways, I can say I am blessed to have discovered my passion so early on in life. In other ways, I could just be plain - closed-minded and idiotically stubborn. There was nothing else in the world that I wanted to be but be a surgeon. No one could persuade me otherwise. It was that or die.
Extremist, I know. But I guess it has always been a good thing to be so certain of something you love.
While it may have been a good thing, I see that my stubbornness and my single-minded goal towards this has partly been to the fact that I have never really had any other substantial experiences to show me other opportunities out there. I often see things as black or white with very clearcut lines dividing all categories. There was science and humanities. Within science, there was medicine and research. I chose medicine because I did not think I was qualified or would like research at all.
Somewhere in my mind, though, I always knew that things were never so simple, so naive. While I loved the sciences, I have always loved writing, too. As if that was not enough of a contradiction to my own extremist views, I found that research was exciting and rewardingly-challenging in its own way during my college years. It was a surprise to me as I gradually began to see research not as something I could never do, but rather as something that I would like to do one day in the future, whether with or without medicine.
Waiting works strange chemicals to your brain. It gives you time to reflect and breathe - to mentally draw up a chart of the important milestones of our lives.
To force us to dig into ourselves and re-evaluate what really is important and what - is not.
After having mental meltdowns and conflicting struggles about what I really want in life, I still come to the same conclusion that medicine comes first, research second in my amygdala. Although the displacement is essentially zero, and I have only come to the same conclusion I have held for the last twenty-so years, it is not quite the same. This conclusion is not entirely the same due to the clauses of thoughts that have been attached to it. My reasons have become more solidified and more justifiable other than "well, this is simply what I want to do."
Thinking about the why's when it comes to myself has always been a very difficult subject.
And it hardly really makes sense other than a childhood attachment as well as a fondness for physical dexterity that I am passionate about surgery. I have never been able to connect with normal people well, and I have never really liked interacting with strangers - both key components in being a good physician. And while I highly respect the human body, and I do find the love/need to help others, showing compassion and empathy has never been a forte of mine. I know that as a physician (assuming that I do get in and survive the insane MD curriculum), I would be probably fine in the knowledge requirements. It is the bedside manners and interaction with patients that I worry will drive me insane. Or my patients.
Or somebody. Who knows.
And he has told me on countless occasions that I can still help others and participate in science as a research. There are many opportunities to do so. An antisocial, probably slightly autistic person like me suits the research setting far better than the cutthroat, homo sapien - interactive medical setting.
Think about all those strangers.
Who are sick.
And will probably throw some sort of illogical tantrum at you even if you are doing your very best.
And the disappointment.
Oh god.
I already feel overwhelmed and crazy just thinking about all the patients I will fail one day.
But after all this obsessing, when I go into the operating room, and I watch whomever I shadow that work his/her way through the operation, I know this is what I want to do. I know that even after all this stress and insanity, the reward of being able to accomplish something like that and help just one person creates some sort of meaning in my life. And with that sort of uncertainty and all these befuddling concerns that I have each and every day, I am still waiting.
Applying and waiting.
Fingers crossed.
EDIT:: Geesus, what a long post. I ramble. Apologies.
For the majority of my life, I have always known what I have wanted, career-wise. In some ways, I can say I am blessed to have discovered my passion so early on in life. In other ways, I could just be plain - closed-minded and idiotically stubborn. There was nothing else in the world that I wanted to be but be a surgeon. No one could persuade me otherwise. It was that or die.
Extremist, I know. But I guess it has always been a good thing to be so certain of something you love.
While it may have been a good thing, I see that my stubbornness and my single-minded goal towards this has partly been to the fact that I have never really had any other substantial experiences to show me other opportunities out there. I often see things as black or white with very clearcut lines dividing all categories. There was science and humanities. Within science, there was medicine and research. I chose medicine because I did not think I was qualified or would like research at all.
Somewhere in my mind, though, I always knew that things were never so simple, so naive. While I loved the sciences, I have always loved writing, too. As if that was not enough of a contradiction to my own extremist views, I found that research was exciting and rewardingly-challenging in its own way during my college years. It was a surprise to me as I gradually began to see research not as something I could never do, but rather as something that I would like to do one day in the future, whether with or without medicine.
Waiting works strange chemicals to your brain. It gives you time to reflect and breathe - to mentally draw up a chart of the important milestones of our lives.
To force us to dig into ourselves and re-evaluate what really is important and what - is not.
After having mental meltdowns and conflicting struggles about what I really want in life, I still come to the same conclusion that medicine comes first, research second in my amygdala. Although the displacement is essentially zero, and I have only come to the same conclusion I have held for the last twenty-so years, it is not quite the same. This conclusion is not entirely the same due to the clauses of thoughts that have been attached to it. My reasons have become more solidified and more justifiable other than "well, this is simply what I want to do."
Thinking about the why's when it comes to myself has always been a very difficult subject.
And it hardly really makes sense other than a childhood attachment as well as a fondness for physical dexterity that I am passionate about surgery. I have never been able to connect with normal people well, and I have never really liked interacting with strangers - both key components in being a good physician. And while I highly respect the human body, and I do find the love/need to help others, showing compassion and empathy has never been a forte of mine. I know that as a physician (assuming that I do get in and survive the insane MD curriculum), I would be probably fine in the knowledge requirements. It is the bedside manners and interaction with patients that I worry will drive me insane. Or my patients.
Or somebody. Who knows.
And he has told me on countless occasions that I can still help others and participate in science as a research. There are many opportunities to do so. An antisocial, probably slightly autistic person like me suits the research setting far better than the cutthroat, homo sapien - interactive medical setting.
Think about all those strangers.
Who are sick.
And will probably throw some sort of illogical tantrum at you even if you are doing your very best.
And the disappointment.
Oh god.
I already feel overwhelmed and crazy just thinking about all the patients I will fail one day.
But after all this obsessing, when I go into the operating room, and I watch whomever I shadow that work his/her way through the operation, I know this is what I want to do. I know that even after all this stress and insanity, the reward of being able to accomplish something like that and help just one person creates some sort of meaning in my life. And with that sort of uncertainty and all these befuddling concerns that I have each and every day, I am still waiting.
Applying and waiting.
Fingers crossed.
EDIT:: Geesus, what a long post. I ramble. Apologies.
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