A First in Many Moons—The Hunt Stops

To tire (v): feel or cause to feel in need of rest or sleep, lose interest in; become bored with, exhaust the patience or interest of; draining of one’s strength or patience.

---

For the better part of two years, I’ve invested my energy into understanding.

Why did I go to medical school? Why did I stay for eight years? Why couldn’t I leave sooner? How can I prevent this from ever happening again?

Whatever the number of days is since I left medicine, each day I’ve hunted those answers like prey. They had to be found and killed.

I stalked through grassland, picking off ticks as I kept the scent; I climbed into high mountain plateaus, undeterred by the altitude; I scanned the rocky beaches, watching tracks trace in and out of erasure by the waves. And I got what I sought; I killed a few of those fangled beasts.

More answers though, remain loose in the wild, evading my best traps, and if I ever hope to locate them, I must change my tactics.

Because right now, I don’t care to find them. I’ve lost their scent and my interest.

[convertkit form=3846822]

To live without those answers, for the past decade, meant risking another obliteration, another mid-life crisis, another medicine-identity falsification. If I rested, shit, maybe it would happen again. Maybe it would be worse!

But now, back at my base camp, I’m not scared of my past. I’ve learned what I can from the hunt. And if I repeat my mistakes, it won’t be for lack of effort.

What happened happened. It’s over. I’m here. And I’m okay—what I always wanted.

---

Yesterday, during lunch, I talked on the phone with a residency classmate. It was one of those conversations that shores you up, connecting who you were with who you are. After all, he and I, along with our other seven classmates, became psychiatrists together. For me, that bond feels most close to the relationship I have to my friends from middle school: deep. A relationship built on knowing of before and after.

Sharing a year or so of life updates, we caught up. I heard about his recent move, about how he and his wife are expecting, and how the seeds he planted during residency are sprouting. Then, he asked me about the furniture business, where I told him it’s been a gloriously horrific entrepreneurial journey, and in the freedom to free associate that comes with fellow psychiatrist conversations, my mind unwound a bit, as I heard myself say, “You know, if you would have slipped into my life, anytime throughout residency, and told me that this right here was my life, I would have taken it every single day, gratefully.”

“That’s pretty cool,” he said.

“I suppose it is huh?”  

For the past eight years, I’ve been afraid to pause, scared to rest, and reticent to enjoy. Unconsciously, I knew I couldn’t bear the risk. But now, I consciously understand I must.

Until the next hunt comes, I’ll be here next to a crackling fire, looking out across the dense forest, knowing long-sought-after beasts still roam free. I’m content; because for the first time in many moons, I’m done hunting the past.

---

This week, I finally released the audiobook version of my first book 32 Lessons from 8 Years Lost in Medicine. Available on Audible, iTunes, and Amazon. If you’d like a free copy, drop a comment below and I’ll comment back with the promo code.