This year, I discovered some things about myself. Some of these discoveries were useful, like figuring out I don’t care for yogurt. When I open the fridge to make breakfast, I no longer consider anything fermented. It’s clarifying. Other discoveries have been humbling, like how quickly I turn into a child when I sleep less than eight hours. Sad, yes, but also simplifying. I’m a better person when I sleep eight hours, so I aim to sleep eight hours.
But one finding, revealed as a mid-life crisis, career catharsis, and cross-country move stripped my life to the studs, has freed me from the straitjacket I’ve known for most of my life.
That discovery is this: I do not have to have it figured out.
I’m getting better at recognizing back-handed compliments. It takes time to see the comments for what they are. I used to think these compliments were signs I was doing good, that I was living right.
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“Ryan, you sure have it all figured out, huh?” This is one back-handed example. I heard this from older adults starting in high school. Now, I see this as an odd thing to say to a young person. No one has it figured out. No one has that power. My best guess, as an adult who could now say this to a teenager, is that they were expressing concern about my overachievement habit and my good-guy reputation. I was hiding, and they said something about it. But I loved these appraisals, taking them to my heart’s vault and locking them away as proof that I did indeed have things figured out. By making good grades, saying the right things in social situations, and doing what was expected of me, I was in control.
This, of course, is a tragic way to live, substituting the external to satisfy the internal. This philosophy led to me becoming a board-certified psychiatrist when I never wanted to be a doctor. But here’s the even crazier fact: even after those eight years of medical education and eight years of being lost, I still believed I had it all figured it out. I believed I had it under control.
Before I could leave medicine, something I had been wanting to do since the day I started medical school, I had to get my ducks in a row. I needed a job that paid an equivocal salary. It had to be something I was already good at, that lined up with my work experiences, and it had to be a logical leap, not a cliff jump. In short, before I could act, I had to have it all figured out. Because I’d always had it all figured out.
So, after residency, I found a great gig with flexible hours, so I could find the perfect escape from medicine that would also provide meaningful work. This was the safest route, where I’d work and make good money, then find the right opportunity. I thought it would work.
In my spare time, which was definitely more than what was afforded in residency, I tried to build out a real estate business. I looked into consulting gigs. I kept searching for the perfect escape, a risk-free opportunity. I didn’t consider writing—something I did want to do—because it didn’t pay. Plus, if everyone (including myself) was to continue believing I had it all figured out, I needed a great job. It had to look good.
On this went for a few months, as I kept searching and kept waiting. And as it goes when you play the game without putting skin in the game, not a damn thing happened. Except I got depressed again.
I was forced to review the last eight years of my life, and thoroughly analyze the outcomes of my choices.
- I went to medical school, graduated top of my class, and gave our class’s commencement speech. Along this path, I became depressed. Throughout most of it, I was unhappy, although there were very meaningful memories and tons of personal growth.
- I got into a competitive residency program on the west coast, where I could surf—an activity I loved—any second I was outside of the hospital, and I once again became depressed. There were, again, incredibly meaningful memories and tons of personal growth.
- I landed my dream psychiatry position, with ample flexibility to once again surf and find my perfect escape, and I became depressed, while experiencing meaningful memories and personal growth.
It was clear: I had absolutely nothing figured out. My plans had not led me closer to fulfillment and purpose. If anything, my choices kept leading me back to the same darkness. I was not in control.
So, finally, I was forced to have faith. Just because I didn’t have it figured out, didn’t mean I couldn’t go figure it out. I had to get on my knees, grapple with uncertainty, and trust that answers would come.
The reason I stayed in medicine as long as I did was that it took eight years to learn how to surrender. In not having it all figured out, I am getting to figure it out. And that ability, that understanding of how life works, has made 2023 an awesome year, alongside more sleep and a lot less yogurt.
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