On offer, I try to be useful here. Each week, I want to deliver a payload of helpful perspective. To that end, I can’t afford to get lost on existential errands. But every so often, I find it necessary to unhitch the trailer and drive the damn truck to the top of the nearest mountain and get myself oriented, to remember where I’m driving the damn truck in the first place.
Lately, I’ve been wondering, “What’s the point of all this? Of finding oneself through work? Of never settling for a career that makes you less of yourself?“
I think—we didn’t cover this in medical school—that when we’re born, we know who we are and we know our job here. Then, report cards happen, conforming happens, fear happens, life happens. We slowly lose the grip on our essence, and the rest of our life is a trek to repossess ourselves. As to when I’m on the right path—to returning myself to myself—life’s given me one clue: a sense that I’m in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. That’s all I’ve got to go on. That’s all we need.
Trailer again hitched and payload stacked, I’m down from the mountain and back on the road without a doubt as to where I’m driving the truck.
To livin’ a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
(P.S. I sat down to write this newsletter and the opening sentences wrote themselves: “At one AM, I found myself floating in the sublimity of Oklahoma City’s championship” and “After everything, I was left to draw but one conclusion: Sam Presti is the way and the truth and the life.” Though, I made a promise—no more Thunder themed newsletters until next season. Yet, as Jaylin Williams put it Tuesday after the championship parade, and I can’t help but share here as postscript, “WE THE FUCKIN’ CHAMPS!” Thunder Up.)
