In The Elements of Style, E.B. White writes, “… the true writer always plays to an audience of one.” This, I believe, is the only viable way to keep our aliveness.
For the year or so before I left medicine, I thought daily about quitting. When I gave it serious thought, I felt guilt. How could I walk away from helping others? How could I leave the noblest profession? Isn’t it my duty to help people heal? What about my responsibility to the countless teachers, attendings, patients, and taxpayers who invested in my education?
When I finally left, it was because I realized something that made me to laugh out loud: if I stay in psychiatry, putting other people before my needs, I will need a psychiatrist.
This pending reality helped me see the absurdity of continuing to practice medicine. If I quit, yes, I will no longer be helping my patients. Yet, if I quit, I myself will avoid needing psychiatric services. At time, it seemed a fair trade.
I wondered if I’d one day regret my choice. I wondered if I’d feel like a quitter. So far, that day has not arrived; I don’t regret it and don’t feel like a quitter. But I feel a different kind of responsibility than I used to feel for my patients. I feel responsible for making the most of this opportunity. I feel accountable to something higher than my insecurities. And as long as I keep playing for an audience of one—trusting if I work hard with felicity—perhaps, I’ll be more helpful to others than I was as a psychiatrist.
To livin’ a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
(I’ve made it to 30 reviews. If I can make it to 50 reviews—I am essentially a telethon host—I pledge to stop sending emails asking for Amazon reviews. If you have a minute and drop in a review that says, “Great read!”, here’s the link. Buying the book isn’t required to leave a review. Thanks everyone.)
