Fightmaster MD Audio

“Ask yourself”, my ninth-grade football coach called through the evening roar of early autumn secadas, “Have I emptied the tank today?”

He’d ask the question with one “gasser” left in the conditioning portion of practice; sun already set, us already spent. The whistle would shrill, and I’d give it everything I had for the next thirty seconds, almost blacking out upon crossing the finish sideline, scared to death at not emptying the tank. Why? Our coach would always ask us afterward, not punitively but curiously, “So, did you really empty the tank today?” I always knew. Some days I had, and the peace was amazing. Other days I hadn’t, and it haunted me, until I vanquished it at the next chance to empty the tank.

It was regret.

Last week a reader commented on one of my articles, asking:

If you could go back to the few months before starting medical school, with what you know now, would you still do it?

While considering the question, I found myself back in the turmoil of that mid-twenties time, where I was drowning in ambivalence and confusion, strung out across a war zone of individuation.

Take a scroll through social media’s mental health offerings, and you’ll see advice centered around how to control your thinking, likely inspired by cognitive behavioral therapy’s ascent to domination in the therapy world. But, there’s a distinction worth noting: we cannot control our thoughts. Yes, we can reframe our thoughts and test cognitive distortions—an invaluable practice—but the original thought is out of our purview.

I can’t go back, but I remember.

I do not wish to be 25 again—changing the past is a drug I’ve kicked—but I wish to make amends with that part of me that lost what I again hold now: hope. I write this letter for delivery during the summer of 2014.

Surfing was the vanguard of my soul. It stood in opposition to medicine’s capitulations. It was my last stand… and it wasn’t enough.

Two weeks ago, I was asked an intriguing question:

“What’s the difference between being burned out or being on the wrong path?”

I received the question from a reader after sending out a newsletter. Context was provided; her husband was a physician, and she noticed his colleagues’ lack of enjoyment in medicine. They were no longer energized by their work. “What gives?”, she wondered.

All I can proffer are the subtleties understood while living in both distinctions, in many places, across years.   

I resigned Thursday September 22nd, 2022. After a ten-minute walk to the post office, I dropped the envelope in the metal box and meandered home, wondering, Did I really just do that? The response from within was immediate: I did and it was time. Emotion descended from the mountain tops; gratitude and grief consumed. A part of me had wanted to walk away, get off the train tracks, and out of the woods, for eight years; it finally happened

“People go to medical school for one of three reasons: altruism, power, or money”, he declared, with a certain boldness. The room was silent; we were gathering which defined our motivation. Weren’t we all altruistic?

Our life is a ship, sailing through the seas of experience. When we make a decision of consequence, our mind creates a parallel “other ship” sailing alongside—a means to keep alive our “what if”s and “could’ve been”s. No matter where we sail, if in fractured living, the “other ship” follows.

Ever wonder if you’re on the right path? Deep down you know, like we all do, but if you need extra convincing, try out my go-to tuner of convictions: The Bar Introduction Test.