Stuff two months livings worth
into one suitcase. This is what
you’ve always wanted, right?
Play it back until it runs right, and
the jitters shake themselves away.
Tomorrow, we’ll wake up on a paper
plane. Chase the sun to the other
hemisphere, and still fall behind.
I am cut up
to be stitched
The seams are golden now
but what was the point
And constant scars—reminders
of what it is like to know pain?
Maybe talk is our balm, or
our consolation. So, we repeat
to dull. Repeat
See, how (can)
reach into tomorrow
and (still) hurt me?
Why do we go and tell others?: Look! Here
is what our fellow creatures have done.
This is what we are capable of doing.
In half a year, I'll be done with medical school. Thinking back on the last five years overwhelms me. On one hand, so much good has happened: I've met wonderful, brilliant people; I've learned so much about the human body and how to approach a person with medical problems; I've been fortunate enough to watch a couple of friends get married, and have kids, and deal with everything in between.
On the other hand, I've forgotten how it feels like to get up in the morning without having a million things to do. I've envied friends who have been able to make plans on the fly. I've lost touch with all my old hobbies and all my old friends. I see my parents on free weekends, but fall asleep on the couch. I think about studying instead of church on Sundays.
When I mention that I've decided to take a break after medical school, the news is often met with shock and disbelief. Doing nothing and taking care of yourself is something we talk about as physicians, but it's difficult to do especially when you feel like you're at the tail end of the pack. My mentality was always: how do I fit everything I want to do within 24 hours? Maybe I'm not supposed to.
Arriving to this point has been a long journey of overwork and strained relationships. The best thing is being able to step back and confidently say that it's good for me to take a couple of months to rest.