Melancholia

If this post's title reminds you that you never got around to watching the film of the same name starring Kirsten Dunst and Alexander Skarsgard, please do yourself a solid and KEEP forgetting to watch that movie, because it blows. Seriously. Like, Pittsburgh-bar-hoppers-on-St. Patrick's-Day blows. But in a funny and weirdly unexpected way, of the movies I have seen recently, it has had the biggest impact on my life.

To spoil the movie's ending (Here I'm playing fast and loose with the word "spoil," as that would imply there was something good to be spoiled. Which there isn't.) the world ends. No joke. Kirsten Dunst and her annoyingly forgettable sister and her almost cute nephew are sitting in the grass, holding hands, hiding in a circle of sticks when the planet Melancholia crashes into earth and both of the planets implode. Boom. Game over. Once the movie was over, while I was mentally chiding myself for such a gargantuan waste of a Friday night, my friends who had also endured the movie were making comments that pretty much boiled down to a lot of, "Guys, that could seriously happen," "Now I'm not going to be able to sleep for days," and "That's honestly one of my biggest fears." And I couldn't relate to any of those remarks. Not a one.

Without much thinking, I responded in my head to their worries and woes of potential calamity with the simply reply, "That's not what has been planned for this earth. Since the beginning of time there has been a promise and story and it does not end in some stupid rogue planet crashing into this one."

Later when I was driving home that night I was struck by the realization that there was a disconnect between my beliefs and my life, and there had been for some time. This past year I got a little lost. And a few weeks before my first year of medical school ended, I figured out why. It's because I was sitting in the grass, surrounded by a circle of sticks, wanting it to be some special secret cave that would protect me from catastrophe (seriously, please don't watch this movie), all the while knowing that it wasn't enough.

We all have our own circle of sticks. Something that makes us feel safe and secure. My circle of sticks historically has been school. I hide in my books and busy schedule and list of never ending exams because it makes me feel safe and in control. And while I know what I believe, my life this past year has not really reflected that. The more lost I felt, the more sticks I added. I put my faith in things of this world, instead of putting my faith in Jesus. While I am grateful for school, and while it will get me to where I want to be career wise, it cannot be the thing I go to for security. It can't be where I place my faith, find my purpose or derive my identity. Reviewing the movie and comparing it up to my life made me realize  that my own ambitions and goals and dreams can't save me from the pressures of this life anymore than a circle of sticks could save Kirsten Dunst from the planet Melancholia.

So my challenge to myself this year is this: to not let school become the thing I believe in most. To place my faith in Christ alone and be filled with His joy that does not depend on the circumstances of my life.

And, to pick better movies to watch on my nights off. :)

Next to Me

I'm always thankful for the time we get to spend together. I know we don't see each other much now that I'm a country away. And I know I don't call you nearly as much as I should.

But when we are together, I'm always reminded (and humbled) by how much faith you have in me. It used to frustrate me because every time I called to tell you about some huge exam or whatever else was troubling me, you'd always immediately respond with a simple "You can do it" or "You'll get through it." I used to think that you just didn't understand whatever it was that I was going through. That it was easy for you to say that I'd get through it because there was no way you could comprehend how big "it" was. And maybe you didn't, and still won't. But I realized these past few days that it wouldn't matter to you anyway. Your response would still be the same. And it's because you have this awe inspiring, anxiety crushing faith in me. Which is something I'll never be able to thank you enough for. I can think of few gifts that matter more than the gift of a parent whole heartedly supporting their child. And that is what you have always given me.

I know our relationship hasn't always been sunshine and rainbows. We have had our fair share of highs and lows. But I've always known this to be true: that you have always and will always believe in me.

So thanks, mom. If every child had a parent who believed in them half as much as you have believed in me, the world would be a much more beautiful and loving place.

A year ago today

I am 19 days out from starting my second year of med school. This is both exciting and scary. I'm excited to get back into my school routine and see my friends. I'm also nervous about starting year 2 of an intense med school curriculum, which culminates (a little less than a year from now) with my first board exam, the dreaded "Step 1." Eeshk.

I keep flashing back to what life was like last year at this time. Exactly one year ago today, my dad and I left for Pennsylvania with my packed truck and U-haul trailer in tow. I was feeling pretty much the same way  I am now: excited and scared. Last year, the unknowns of the upcoming year were the source of my anxiety and excitement. This year it's the opposite. I know what this year will bring. I've done it once before.

This year will bring excitement and joy.
And frustration and stress.
I'll freak out.
I'll geek out.
I'll go for days getting barely any sleep.
I'll take post-exam marathon naps.
I'll be thankful for my PA family.
I'll miss my family and friends back home.
I'm going to make mistakes.
And then I'm going to make more mistakes.
I'm going to disappoint myself.
I'm going to be proud of something I've accomplished.
I'm going to look like an idiot in front of a faculty member/clinician.
I'm going to mess up case presentations.
I'm going to forget to ask a basic question in a patient interview.
My handwriting will become increasingly illegible.
I'm going to put my stethoscope on the wrong way.
There will be moments I think I made a mistake going to medical school.
There will be moments I know I am exactly where I'm meant to be.
I'll drink more caffeine in one day than the American Board of Cardiology recommends, times 8.
I'm going to feel like I know nothing.
I'm going to feel like passing boards is impossible.
I'm going to call my dad in tears.
I'm going study more than I ever thought possible.
I'm going to pass exams I think I've failed.
I'm going to get through it.

A wise friend told me that I need to make a list of everything I've done that seemed impossible before I did it. She told me to then hang it some place I'll see often to remind myself that difficult things always seem impossible before they're done. Getting through last year would definitely top that list. It was the most challenging thing I've ever done, for many reasons. But I got through it. And I look back at everything I learned from last year - both inside and outside the library. And I'm so thankful for each of the experiences I had and the valuable (sometimes painful) lessons I learned.

So, one year to the day after I started this crazy adventure, here's to another year full of ups and downs. :)