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[Oct. 9th, 2008|11:40 pm] |
Seth Godin's article on effort as a choice made me think a bit about medical school and the suffocating feelings of insecurity within me. The article discusses outliers (those who are seemingly head and shoulders above everyone else intellectually, financially etc.) and the damaging feelings of self-loathing that result from constantly watching them; one quote that struck me from the article was:
"I think we've been tricked by the veneer of lucky people on the topof the heap. We see the folks who manage to skate by, or who get somuch more than we think they deserve, and it's easy to forget that:</p>a. these guys are the exceptions
and
b. there's nothing you can do about it anyway. And that's the key to the paradox of effort: While luck may bemore appealing than effort, you don't get to choose luck. Effort, on the other hand, is totally available, all the time. "
It's easy to find outliers in medical school - 100% of the people in a medical class passed high academic standards and worked hard to get there. It's easy for me to worry that I'm not studying hard enough or parsing my coursework correctly because there are so many people who have a demonstrated history of kicking ass. Even with luck involved, the outliers here succeed in no small part to long evenings spent impaling textbooks on their brainstems.
For me to whine about others' stellar performance is prodigal and gets me nowhere. The more medical students I talk to, the more I realized that they have the same dumb problems I do - passing their classes, worrying about groceries in the fridge, time management, being outshined by their peers. Even among the top performers I hear others talk the same talk I do - wishing that they had the intelligence or work ethic of their peers, constantly feeling like they don't belong. In reality, most of them are already there; they just need to listen to themselves.
I guess I'm not the only one. But for me to have thought that I was was an illusion in the first place.
***
This feels like the sort of entry I would have posted in high school, but then I realized - I've never really confronted myself on my own insecurities. I step around them carefully, a delightfully myopic waltz that brings them back every few years or so. I'm certain that this is a problem that will plague me for the rest of the year if I don't get it under control - and I think it can be channeled into something very productive. I need to stay humble, not let ego get the best of me, and (most importantly) keep my mouth shut.
I've got an entire museum chock-full of insecurities, though - and trying to deal with them all at once would tear me apart. Slowly. |
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| Man on fire |
[Aug. 16th, 2008|12:06 am] |
With a week to go before classes start, in an unfamiliar city, I'm numb and trying to figure out how to make sense of life. So I called my man David for a little help.
"You have a blank slate," He said.
It's true in so many ways. I've gone from gainful employment to unemployed, biking everyday to stagnating in front of my computer. I run with a crowd of nine hundred plus on facebook but don't have a single friend within a hundred miles. Et cetera, et cetera.
This is good - in time I'll build new connections, shuffle back into a rhythm, get my groove back. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|12:28 am] |
Missives
I wrote my mother this morning. Four months into the year and I have only written one letter! So, if any of you will post your address in the comments I will be happy to send you something: a letter and an accompanying photograph, drawing, postcard, sculpture etc.
Comments are screened. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 15th, 2008|12:31 am] |
Are You Tough Enough?
Fear is a feeling that sinks into my stomach four thousand feet above sea level, in the California sun blazing across the mighty Pacific ocean to the West and scorching the moisture from every square millimeter of my bare chest. Fear trickles into my knees with every thump-thump of my feet against potholed asphalt, turns my calves into jelly and makes me wish I'd never committed to being out in record high temperatures running down the side of a mountain with no water and only the gorgeous scenery as a reward. I run my index finger down my spine and feel no sweat, the radiation and heat sucking all moisture from my skin and leaving my body dry to the touch.
I didn't expect this.
The thought hits me as I'm halfway down the slope on mile four, my knees screaming in their sockets. I trained poorly. I worked hills into my regimen but only ran up, expecting the succeeding downhill to be easy. The truth is that I completely underestimated the combination of dust, heat and nerves and ran my miles in the cool mornings and evenings, convenience taking preference over reality. I imagined the course and then twisted it to my own biases, turned reality into a picture of my own perceptions and in doing so royally set myself up for punishment once the real task began.
Lesson learned, the hard way.
I finish the downhill and promptly empty a bottle of water, a good two thirds of it going onto my head and torso. I complete the last leg of the race, a rolling four miles filled with small hills and cow pastures, at a blistering pace and collapse onto the grass near the finish line, my body spent, my spirit august.
***
We finish tenth out of seventeen teams with a total time of nine hours and twenty-three minutes, a decent time for a bunch of first timers taking on a sixty-five mile relay race. Fast forward to this morning: I am currently in more muscle pain than I've ever experienced, courtesy of a delayed onset of cramps. The one thing I cannot stop thinking about is how I should have worked harder and anticipated the searing temperatures and steep grades of the Santa Ynez mountains, instead opting for flat runs and less headache.
For the rest of my life I will try to train for reality as it is, not as I wish it to be. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 24th, 2008|11:54 pm] |
Note to self:
Quit hating your job, you self-centered assclown. Rock that shyte. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 22nd, 2008|12:11 am] |
Directionless, Unfantastic
Life outside academia is a bitch. In school there are grades, metrics for determining ones performance. There are lesson plans, specifically chosen subjects and directed teaching - all one has to do is open a book and spend hours in study or research. Most things are directed - and learning, while requiring active participation, is done under a tremendous amount of direction with clear benchmarks along the way. I failed miserably during my first two years of schooling to get my ass in gear and finish the last two in near spectacular fashion. My GPA charts the courses of two very different people: the former lazy and embittered by an inflated ego, and the latter a more mature boy with a ruthless streak and a work ethic drenched in motivation.
It's been a year since I graduated and I feel like a spectre, a shadow of that former self. I used to be fiendishly busy - spending early morning to midnight either in classes, study or lab. My days were packed with activity, and each night I looked forward to sleep as the end to a formidably challenging day. These days that feeling has vanished leaving in its place a sense of emptiness that stagnates in my brain, a void where activity once was. Where I once felt powerful and full of energy, I feel listless and mediocre. Lack of managed direction has left me hollow.
Life, perhaps ironically, isn't like college. Life demands direction, management, zest that must come from within the self to push boundaries and excel. Living within the university framework made me, in hindsight, dependent on others to chart my way and feed me information. The real world offers little in this way. This is a bit unsettling - I now have to create my own projects and become more introspective, mapping my own progress and asking for help along the way. No one will tell me if I'm failing or exceeding expectations - there are none.
When the sun rises tomorrow I think I will find myself busy again, trying to find my own way.
***
In closing, readers, I give you Waltz in B Minor (for Ellaine) by Bill Evans - one of my favorites. Good night. |
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