The Cycle of Desire
My mantra: “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” ~George Eliot
Try as I may, I cannot permanently quench my desire to someday become a physician–and believe me, I’ve tried really hard. Ever since I began working full time again, I have given full attention to an experimental form of therapy that I like to call “denial.”
Here’s how it works: I wake up in the morning and drive to work. I sit down at my desk, sip on a cup of coffee that I never finish, and give my daily to-do list a once over. At lunch, I either eat out with my coworkers or hide away in my own private corner and do some writing. At the end of the day, I drive home, kiss my wife and my 2-year-old daughter, watch some television, do some freelance work, and go to bed.
Notice anything missing? That’s my defense mechanism. In order to avoid thinking about medical school, I keep myself as busy as possible, because I know that if I give myself the opportunity to dwell on it, my situation will become unbearable. This may sound the slightest bit depressing, but it actually works pretty well most of the time. Overall, I’m a very happy person. I find great joy in coming home to a wife who loves me and a child who dotes on me. It suits me very well. And for the most part, I even enjoy my job.
But inevitably something happens to turn my attention back to what I might have been. This past Friday evening, my wife and I rushed to the hospital for a joyous occasion: the birth of my brother’s first child. But as soon as we pulled into the parking lot of Centennial Medical Center, I felt a familiar tightening in my chest. It was the same feeling I get every time I go to a doctor’s office or a hospital–a sense of purpose mixed with despair. It’s a strange dichotomy of feelings, but it’s always there. The despair hits the hardest as I reflect on all of the poor financial decisions that have hindered me from doing what I so passionately desire to do. But the sense of purpose that lies beneath the surface does more than I can explain to temper the despair.
That sense of purpose becomes elusive when I try to put words to it. I imagine it’s sort of an idealized manifestation of the sense of purpose an actual physician might feel when he or she has made a significant impact on someone’s life. As I pass doctors in the hall, I feel that sense of purpose as though I were already one of them. I like to think that this feeling is some kind of subconscious indicator that I haven’t really forgotten about my dreams and that it’s only a matter of time before I’m able to fulfill them.
I’m sure that when I go back to work tomorrow, my usual coping mechanism won’t work so well. But hopefully that sense of purpose will keep driving me, even after the despair wears off.
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In case you’re curious, the delivery of my niece went without a hitch. It was a long labor, but Natalie is perfectly healthy and absolutely beautiful.
