Med school pep talk, Part III (End)

I find it amazing that my life’s greatest indulgence is during medical training.

During my college years, I was filled with a burning desire to excel and reach my goals. I understood the template of how to be a good medical school applicant, and I unquestionably followed through every recommendation to the best of my ability.  I was possessed, and in large part that is how I was able to place in a percentile high enough to get into my program.

But at some point I changed. I want to make clear that this is not a critique on anyone and by no means am I implying that I am in a better place. My thoughts here are entirely personal. To be honest, as seen in of Part I and Part II, there is an infantile undertone to the kind of opinions I have now.

Medicine is not a job, but a calling. To enter medicine is to be part of a culture. Medicine is something you dedicate your life to. Medicine is something that changes lives. It is one of the oldest and most respected ways of life, and is accompanied with expectations and rules. The moment a fledgling medical student begins their training, they forever adopt medicine’s mantle of power and responsibility.

Maybe this is the reason that we, as medical students, instinctively want to do so well. But from the very beginning, I have felt a paralyzing sluggishness in excelling as medical training incites. Rather than dedicate myself with unquestionable fervor as I did prior, I have deviated and indulged myself.

I recognize the gravity and privilege of one day being a physician, the opportunity to help lives and improve the world. I also recognize the utter importance in being qualified and carrying myself with the quality that a patient deserves. But as if lured away by instinct, the path most trodden in medical training is not something I can easily follow. Yet in my lack of experience and expertise, the path that I want to follow is still not something I can put into words.

There is a voice that beckons me. Blindly I inch forward everyday, my hands touching the surface of dreams. With each touch my mind paints an image that towers into the sky, beyond anything I can fathom as of now. For an instance some small details coalesce, and I can’t help but smile and howl. For an instance I feel passion so intense, it endangers setting me ablaze.

But I don’t know what this dream is yet. And even though I won’t stop, I have to contend with the idea that perhaps it’s a fool’s dream. I have to accept the responsibility of straying from medicine’s optimally derived path. Despite my vivid claims I have to accept that I may end mediocre and empty handed. So it is my life’s irony that during these years of peak structure and expectations, I should decide to wholeheartedly give into indulgence and foggy dreams.