Living the life I've imagined...

My name is Desta and I am from Virginia. Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. Except, of course, for a brief period during my formative years when I wanted to be the next Katie Couric, with the romantic, if not naive, idea that I’d only report on positive news pieces. However, as the younger version of myself thought about sitting behind a desk reporting on the evening news more and more, I realized that a lot of the success of Katie Couric (whom I may or may not still have an autographed photo of safely tucked away in my closet) type figures comes from a lot of hard work, some talent, and a couple of those lucky “big breaks.” You know… the ones that come when you’re in the right place at the right time and seen by the right person. Now for my type-A, control freak personality, the idea of luck playing any part in how successful I am did not sit well with me. (I know, I know, how sad is it that I was already well aware how I needed complete control over my situation and potential at the ripe old age of 12?) So I crossed “World Famous Journalist” off my list of things to be when I grow up. The fact that I even had that list and was systematically working my way through it to find my best option speaks even more to my logical and practical nature…

When I decided on doctor I knew I had hit a homerun... grand slam even. The idea resonated with me. It was the perfect confluence of everything I wanted out of a career; the ability to set my own course with my success directly correlated to the effort I exerted, tempered by a component of humanity and the opportunity to interact with those around me in a meaningful way. I was sold. Every major decision thereafter was made with that end goal in mind. I did all the right things, took all the right classes, and volunteered with all the right organizations. I took the MCAT and eagerly filled out endless, ridiculously expensive applications to all the right medical schools. After a decade of planning and years of preparing… I didn’t get in. Boy, was I disappointed. (I originally typed “devastated” but that seemed a little dramatic. I once had a friend ask me if I was more devastated than I seemed after being dumped by an old boyfriend. I reasoned that the AIDS epidemic in Africa was devastating, Hurricane Katrina was devastating, it would be ungrateful of me to claim being dumped by my boyfriend as devastating… Anyway, I digress.) After the initial denial of not being accepted wore off, I did what I always do and what I’m good at, I made some lists and formed a new plan to reach my goal.

For the sake of not making this the longest blog post in the history of the universe I will spare you some of the details here. Suffice it to say I went through a stint in my life that could only be described as stressful and confusing with alternating layers of heartache and frustration… like a giant, exasperating parfait. I owe a lot, and by “a lot” I mean an astronomical amount that I could never even hope to repay, to my absolutely amazing friends during this time for keeping me grounded and always encouraging me, even when I was being a big baby. They were, and still are, a constant source of inspiration and for that I am eternally grateful.

During my “Dark Days,” (ok… so I appreciate a little drama.) I started a Master’s program in Human Nutrition. It changed my life. (More drama… so sue me.) It got me started on a path and train of thought that I think is underrated in America… The healthy lifestyle. I loved the holistic and natural approach to nutrition my program espoused and each new class I started was like a brownie sundae, the kind with sprinkles and strawberries and lots of hot fudge… and yes, I do realize the irony of that statement. However, I was still sticking to the plan and, given my ridiculously over the top fascination and love of all things pregnancy and birth, had more specifically decided on midwifery, so I was talking to schools and filling out more applications to go in that direction.

One night, as I was working on some nutrition assignments, which really means I was googling everything under the sun to avoid doing the actual assignments, I noticed that my professor’s title was Dr. So-and-so ND. Seeing as how I had no idea what “ND” meant and I was quickly running out of things to google I made that my next query. That search opened up a whole new world to me while at the same time completely validating all that time I spent in high school honing my procrastination skills despite my Mom’s obvious disapproval. Double win. Sorry Mom. It turns out “ND” is the degree earned by naturopathic doctors. What are naturopathic doctors you ask? I don’t want to encroach on a planned future blog post, but they are basically doctors who practice in a very holistic way and focus on healthy lifestyle as a means of preventative medicine while fostering the body’s inherent ability to heal itself. Now you’re probably thinking, “Wow, that sounds like it would be right up Desta’s alley, and perhaps what she’s been looking for all along and all of the road blocks and obstacles she’s encountered up to this point, no matter how frustrating and disheartening, have led her to something she can really be passionate about, something that she feels in the very core of her being.” You would be exactly right. For my Mormon friends you’ll understand the allusion when I say I had that “This is the place” feeling.

In a whirlwind of research on schools and options, applications, and interviews, I was accepted to a naturopathic medical school in Portland, Oregon called National College of Natural Medicine. I quit my job teaching special education, finished up my Master’s program, endured countless “witch doctor/ crazy hippie” jokes as I explained where I was going and for what, and then I packed up everything I hold dear… sadly not everyone… and made the trek from Virginia to Portland, from genteel, southern charm, to eco-friendly, hippie liberalism.  And yes, I very much consider traveling across the entire country, even if it is in the comfort of my new, orange Jeep Patriot equipped with air conditioning and an auxiliary output for my iPod listening pleasure, a “trek.”

And so here I am, creating a blog to document my adventures as a transplanted, mormon girl from The South, learning the ways of “hippie healing.” As I sit in my not-even-close-to-put-together-yet living room, about to start my first day of medical school classes tomorrow, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling any trepidation whatsoever, but on the whole I’m excited and ready… Ready to begin a new chapter in my life… Ready to “Go confidently in the direction of my dreams, and live the life I’ve imagined,” as Thoreau would say.