My school year consists of three terms, each being three months long. Although I am only a little over half way through my second term I have quickly discovered a pattern. The first month of the term is nice as you're just getting into the swing of things, and you go to all your classes, and you feel motivated and invigorated. Then the second month hits you. And it's like a punch in the gut from someone you thought was your best friend. Suddenly, you're overwhelmed by exams and somehow you convince yourself that attending class is your "break time" from studying. As midterms approach, you begin to question every life choice you have ever made that has brought you to this point. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the second month is over. You enter the third month realizing that clearly you can conquor anything and actually look forward to finals week, even if only because it has become synonymous with Spring Break. That is where I am right now.
Luckily, I'm quite good at picking fantastic friends and I owe much of the sanity I've retained to their unfailing support and cheer. Last night, as I was settling in for a movie night with one such friend, I ran across this poignant blog post written by another brilliant friend and was again reminded how blessed and grateful I am to have my village filled with such incredibly intelligent, provocative people.
His post also caused me to reflect on something I've been meaning to blog about for a while now (blasted Second Month). I am taking a class entitled Cultivation of the Practitioner. When I first saw this course on my schedule I assumed it would cover subjects like motivational interviewing and the doctor/patient intereaction, and I suppose to some extent it has, albeit with a hippie healing twist I hadn't expected. What I hadn't expected was the intrapersonal component, where we delve into our deepest mental/emotional/spiritual recesses to see what we can find. The idea behind this is we cannot expect to heal our patients, physically or otherwise, if we ourselves are in a place of turmoil and uncertaintity. We must find a place of peace within ourselves before we can impart it to others. This doesn't necessarily mean we must be perfect or rid ourselves of every burden, we must simply be aware of our inner obstacles... as my professor so eloquently puts it, "know thy shit."
That being said, I have really struggled with this class, which, of course, also has a lab component. Talking about my feelings and embarking on a path of emotional enlightenment is not my thing. It's not even anything close to my thing. I was even a little offended at what seemed to me, to be a bias towards emotionally driven living being a higher road. As I may have mentioned before, I was once described by a friend as a "hollow shell of a person" because of my lack of emotion-infused responses. This is not to say that I am completely emotionless. Of course I have emotions, everyone does. However, although I am aware of and acknowledge them, they are in no way my motivating force nor do they drive my decision making process. I'm much to practical and reasonable a person for that. I like things that are logical and make sense, two descriptives that can almost never be applied to emotions. So as you can imagine, being forced to dig deep and not only give my emotions the spotlight but also determine the source of those emotions can, for me, only be equated to nails on a chalkboard.
In what can only be described as self-preservation, I have come to an agreement with this course and we have managed to coexist. I've managed to respect for the course for what it is and go with the flow. (Although yesterday, as we were sitting in a circle meditating and exchanging energy, I found myself alternating between nodding off and deciding what I would do if I won the MegaMillions.) I've even found myself looking forward to the class as a respite from the cerebral monotony that is medical school. It's become like a hug in the form of a class, which works out well because real life hugs often make me uncomfortable. If nothing else, it's given me a deeper understanding of myself and the source from which my motivation as a human being comes. By default, it has also provided me with an avenue for deeper connections with and understanding of those with whom I interact. It has enlightened me to different ways of living and perceiving the universe.
As someone who self-describes as reasonable to a fault, I discovered something some time ago that has helped me cope when I can't seem to find a logical explanation for another's words or actions. The idea is that given my particular set of knowledge, experience, and opportunities, I am living my life the best way I know how. It would be unfair of me to assume otherwise of anyone else. We are all trying to do the best we can with what we have. Our vastly different backgrounds frequently guide us to make differing choices, which all too often lead to misunderstanding and judgement when viewed without context.
Living in a city whose mantra is "Keep Portland Weird" has only solidified these thoughts. Portland is a place where every type of person can be found. The beauty of this is that Portland is not only accepting of both extremes and everything in between, it thrives on it. It has redefined, I suppose you could say "cultivated," my perspective on good and evil, better or worse, and brought clearly to the forefront the idea of different. There are an innummerable amount of paths to take in life, all equally sound... just different. And there is nothing wrong with that.
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