I had medical school orientation this past week. It was absolutely exhausting, something that I don't understand, considering that I expended only the minimal calories necessary to stay awake during the presentations. Monday was a solid day of presentations about all sorts of stuff, and although I'm sure the information was good, it was difficult to sit in the same room for that many hours, listening to mostly monotonous voices. Tuesday wasn't so bad - just CPR training and getting photos taken. Wednesday was an interesting day, a day of team-building activities. This will be discussed further in a few moments. Thursday was a day of presentations again, with a short respite in the afternoon in the form of an activities fair featuring the various clubs and groups on campus. Friday was a morning of introduction to classes and the infamous white coat ceremony in the afternoon.
Now, I'm not one to put much stock in symbolic rituals and ostentatious ceremonies. Frankly, they've always creeped me out a little bit. If I've done something that actually deserves recognition in the form of a ceremony, I figure I don't need the ceremony because what I've done has already given me the fulfillment I crave. If I haven't done anything ceremony-worthy, then I'm just drawing needless attention to myself. So, the white coat ceremony wasn't as a big a deal to me as it probably should have been. I know that it's supposed to be a symbolic transition into the field of medicine and the beginning of my commitment to serve humanity, but it was actually a wee bit boring, except at the end. After we donned our white coats for the first time and everyone clapped, the whole class recited the physician's oath thing (sorry, I don't remember the real name), and in my opinion, having 200+ people reciting anything in unison is a little frightening. I took my white coat off minutes after putting it on, but nearly everyone else left their coats on for the duration of the afternoon. I felt like a loser after a while, so I put mine back on too. The thing is that I feel really pretentious wearing a white coat when I have absolutely zero knowledge. I didn't have my parents fly out for the ceremony - I think graduation is a better time for them to come see me. I took a couple pictures with friends for fun, and that's about it.
The next thing is the team-building day on Wednesday. We all went to a forest preserve of sorts, just outside Chicago. There, we participated in various exercises in small groups of 10ish that were supposed to make us come together as a cohesive unit and turn us into something more than just a group of individuals. It was pretty fun, but I don't necessarily know that we've all become parts of highly effective teams after that one day. In fact, my biggest accomplishments of the day were to (a) get soaked by the pouring rain, (b) take a roll in the dirt because I'm too uncoordinated to balance on one foot, and (c) sit on the bus in my wet clothes, feeling miserable. I hate having wet pants. I can handle a wet top, but it's so uncomfortable to sit in wet pants. I came home and took a long, warm shower, and I honestly can't remember the last time a shower felt quite that good. I've done team-building exercises before, on multiple occasions actually (*cough* PLC). For some reason, I have a hard time getting excited about them. I see the value of the lessons that can be learned from the exercises, but was it really necessary to go do activities for that? Couldn't we have sat in a classroom and tried to solve world poverty or something? My point is just that at this juncture, most people in the group have probably done team-building exercises at some point, so we're all cognizant of the lessons that we should learn from them. I don't know how useful it is to repeat the activities. Then again, it was a whole lot better than hanging out in a classroom and trying not to fall asleep, so I really shouldn't be complaining.
One more thing I want to mention is that I am not good at interacting with large groups of people. There are nearly 170 people in my class, and through the blur of introductions, I probably don't remember more than 20 names. It's exhausting to me to be in groups that large, attempting to be sociable but failing miserably. Maybe I should just become that kid that never talks to anyone.
I may sound like a snob, like I think I'm better than all this "med school stuff," but that's not what I'm trying to say. I guess that I'm just apprehensive about the weight of the expectations that seem to be put on doctors. It makes me nervous to think that someone expects me not to be an idiot, because most of the time, that's what I am. I'm no miracle-worker, and it'll probably take an insane amount of work for me to be even a reasonably competent physician. I'm not worthy of a white coat that gives me the vestige of a medical professional (ha, me is a professional?). It's not that I have a problem with a new article of clothing being introduced into my wardrobe. I've worn white coats before, namely lab coats. Lab coats are different because they prevent me from burning off my extremities with concentrated acids and more importantly because they're not presented in a ceremony. I'm more comfortable with that sort of thing,using a white coat as a shield against my own clumsiness. Here, the white coat is not a shield, but a target, to the point that I may as well paint a dartboard on myself. When I wear the white coat, people will expect me to have answers, which intimidates me to the point that I feel as if I have to downplay its significance to keep the panic from overtaking my brain. For this reason, I took the white coat ceremony with a grain of salt. It's nice that the school wants to celebrate our accomplishments so far, but I personally don't feel like I've accomplished anything noteworthy. When I have, I'll be sure to let you all know, and we can a throw an enormous, ostentatious, pretentious party, and I'll be the most arrogant and obnoxious person I can be. I'll even wear my white coat to it. By that point, I might actually be deserving of it.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Authoress-in-training
I'm at the airport, sitting at the gate in anticipation of my flight. Of course, by the time I actually post this, I will probably n0t be at the gate, but that's a trivial detail. The last time I was at the airport was in June, when I ended up becoming very well acquainted with it because of a flight delay and a mess resulting from trying to fly standby on an earlier flight. At the time, I was struck with a sudden inspiration to turn my frustration into a short story.
I've always enjoyed writing. I think it's a great creative outlet, but I've never been very good at it. As with all things, I've never had the commitment to stick with any particular writing project until I can turn it into something worth reading. I've started plenty of stories. When I was younger, I used to write stories (or parts of them) and read them to my little brother. However, that stopped when he became taller than me, which was longer ago than I care to admit. In middle school, we had an assignment in English class to write a story at least 10 pages in length. I sat down (admittedly the day before it was due) and wrote 35 pages. My English teacher told me I should edit it and try to get it published, but I never got around to it. I'm still intending to do it, although it's been over 8 years. I've always wanted to write a full-length novel, and I keep telling myself that one day, it will happen. I don't know when that one day will come.
My family always says that the arts should be pursued as a hobby, not as a career, in my case at least, because I won't be able to make a living off of them. I think they're probably right, so I've never invested very much time in going through the entire writing process. Since I'm only doing it for fun, I tend to not take it very seriously. I think this is a bad approach though, because it means that my writing will never improve, and I'll eventually give it up because I'm frustrated with my inability to produce anything worth reading.
In an attempt to change my philosophy towards my hobbies, I finished the piece that I started writing at the airport. It took me over a month, but I actually managed to write through to the ending. It's a short story that's about 20 pages long, and it's probably the first piece I've finished since the middle of high school. I'd forgotten what it is like to finish a creative project. It was incredibly satisfying, and the high from that stayed with me for several days. I didn't write a piece of great literature; in fact, the genre might be considered sappy cliche romance that you wouldn't read twice. That's not the point though. The creating itself was a lot of fun, and since I'm not completely satisfied with it yet, I'm going to spend some time editing and polishing it.
This is the first time in a long time that I've written something for the pure fun of it. Normally, I write for writing contests, so I have rules and deadlines to guide me, motivate me, and sometimes restrict me. Non-goal-oriented writing is enjoyable too. Whereas before, there was usually some sort of monetary gain to be won, I am discovering now, slowly and a bit unsurely, the pleasure of writing solely for my own self-satisfaction. I'm thinking that I should write more often. Maybe I will tackle some of the more serious writing projects that have been floating around in my head. I'll put my full effort into writing and produce a story that is my absolute best creation. Hey, I've got to have something to laugh at when I'm older.
I've always enjoyed writing. I think it's a great creative outlet, but I've never been very good at it. As with all things, I've never had the commitment to stick with any particular writing project until I can turn it into something worth reading. I've started plenty of stories. When I was younger, I used to write stories (or parts of them) and read them to my little brother. However, that stopped when he became taller than me, which was longer ago than I care to admit. In middle school, we had an assignment in English class to write a story at least 10 pages in length. I sat down (admittedly the day before it was due) and wrote 35 pages. My English teacher told me I should edit it and try to get it published, but I never got around to it. I'm still intending to do it, although it's been over 8 years. I've always wanted to write a full-length novel, and I keep telling myself that one day, it will happen. I don't know when that one day will come.
My family always says that the arts should be pursued as a hobby, not as a career, in my case at least, because I won't be able to make a living off of them. I think they're probably right, so I've never invested very much time in going through the entire writing process. Since I'm only doing it for fun, I tend to not take it very seriously. I think this is a bad approach though, because it means that my writing will never improve, and I'll eventually give it up because I'm frustrated with my inability to produce anything worth reading.
In an attempt to change my philosophy towards my hobbies, I finished the piece that I started writing at the airport. It took me over a month, but I actually managed to write through to the ending. It's a short story that's about 20 pages long, and it's probably the first piece I've finished since the middle of high school. I'd forgotten what it is like to finish a creative project. It was incredibly satisfying, and the high from that stayed with me for several days. I didn't write a piece of great literature; in fact, the genre might be considered sappy cliche romance that you wouldn't read twice. That's not the point though. The creating itself was a lot of fun, and since I'm not completely satisfied with it yet, I'm going to spend some time editing and polishing it.
This is the first time in a long time that I've written something for the pure fun of it. Normally, I write for writing contests, so I have rules and deadlines to guide me, motivate me, and sometimes restrict me. Non-goal-oriented writing is enjoyable too. Whereas before, there was usually some sort of monetary gain to be won, I am discovering now, slowly and a bit unsurely, the pleasure of writing solely for my own self-satisfaction. I'm thinking that I should write more often. Maybe I will tackle some of the more serious writing projects that have been floating around in my head. I'll put my full effort into writing and produce a story that is my absolute best creation. Hey, I've got to have something to laugh at when I'm older.
List-mania
I really like lists. I don't know why, but they have a peculiar soothing quality. Whenever I am stressed out, I feel better after I make a list. It doesn't even matter what the list is about, as long as it's a list. I used to think that I was just a neurotic person who had a strange obsession with lists, and although this is probably still true, I have discovered that there are other list-oriented individuals out there! There is a website kind of like fb where people make checklists and monitor their progress, like reading lists and travel lists and life lists. Of course, I had to join. I'm working on a bunch of lists related to reading, music, and travel. It gives some meaning to my everyday activities, and more importantly, it amuses me when I need something to keep me awake in meetings and in lab.
I've tried to identify what it is that makes lists so fun, but I'm at a loss. Even when I'm bored in lab, I pull out a piece of paper and make a list of things that I want to do. Currently, I'm working on creating a life list. I think one of the fun things about that is that I get to dream of all of the cool things I could possibly do. Also, making a list gives me written goals, which makes it a little more difficult for me to be lazy and sit in my apartment all the time. I should note that although it's more difficult to be lazy, I usually end up being lazy anyway. I don't know why I like making to-do lists, because I rarely actually complete all of the tasks I write down. The therapeutic part is just in the making of the list though, not the actual doing. I'll share my life list when I'm done making it, but as previously mentioned, it's one of those things that may remain a work in progress for awhile.
As I've mentioned before, I enjoy traveling. There is a food and travel writer who made a list of his "wonders of the world." There are 100 gold medal wonders, 100 silver medal wonders, and 800 bronze medal wonders, I believe. I spent a day in lab looking through his list, trying to determine how many of these "wonders" I had visited. I'm only counting places I can remember, so I didn't count things like the Grand Canyon, which I've visited, but don't remember because I was young. By my count, I've visited 5 of the top wonders, the gold medal wonders. That's a poor showing. I need to step it up a few notches or I won't make it to all of them. Here's my record of the wonders I've seen.
Wonder #7: Machu Picchu
This picture was taken from Huayna Picchu.
This picture shows Huayna Picchu (the mountain) in the background.
Wonder #9: Iguazu Falls
This is the biggest waterfall in the world, by the volume of water flowing per second. It's called La Garganta del Diablo (the Devil's Throat).
Wonder #29: Easter Island
It's difficult to pick a single picture to show Easter Island because I have hundreds. This is a view of Ahu Tongariki, which has the most standing moai. The moai were restored, so it's not archaeologically special, but it's a pretty view.
Wonder #78: Stonehenge
This is Stonehenge + some random woman that I need to photoshop out of the picture.
Wonder #89: British Museum
There are a lot of fun things in this museum. I really should go back because I saw maybe 10% of it.
This was a fun excuse to look through some of the old pictures on my computer! I should do it more often, but because I'm me, I won't.
So, if you have been curious as to how I spend my days, now you know. I make a list, I check it twice. I don't do anything. The end.
I've tried to identify what it is that makes lists so fun, but I'm at a loss. Even when I'm bored in lab, I pull out a piece of paper and make a list of things that I want to do. Currently, I'm working on creating a life list. I think one of the fun things about that is that I get to dream of all of the cool things I could possibly do. Also, making a list gives me written goals, which makes it a little more difficult for me to be lazy and sit in my apartment all the time. I should note that although it's more difficult to be lazy, I usually end up being lazy anyway. I don't know why I like making to-do lists, because I rarely actually complete all of the tasks I write down. The therapeutic part is just in the making of the list though, not the actual doing. I'll share my life list when I'm done making it, but as previously mentioned, it's one of those things that may remain a work in progress for awhile.
As I've mentioned before, I enjoy traveling. There is a food and travel writer who made a list of his "wonders of the world." There are 100 gold medal wonders, 100 silver medal wonders, and 800 bronze medal wonders, I believe. I spent a day in lab looking through his list, trying to determine how many of these "wonders" I had visited. I'm only counting places I can remember, so I didn't count things like the Grand Canyon, which I've visited, but don't remember because I was young. By my count, I've visited 5 of the top wonders, the gold medal wonders. That's a poor showing. I need to step it up a few notches or I won't make it to all of them. Here's my record of the wonders I've seen.
Wonder #7: Machu Picchu
This picture was taken from Huayna Picchu.
This picture shows Huayna Picchu (the mountain) in the background.
Wonder #9: Iguazu Falls
This is the biggest waterfall in the world, by the volume of water flowing per second. It's called La Garganta del Diablo (the Devil's Throat).
Wonder #29: Easter Island
It's difficult to pick a single picture to show Easter Island because I have hundreds. This is a view of Ahu Tongariki, which has the most standing moai. The moai were restored, so it's not archaeologically special, but it's a pretty view.
Wonder #78: Stonehenge
This is Stonehenge + some random woman that I need to photoshop out of the picture.
Wonder #89: British Museum
There are a lot of fun things in this museum. I really should go back because I saw maybe 10% of it.
This was a fun excuse to look through some of the old pictures on my computer! I should do it more often, but because I'm me, I won't.
So, if you have been curious as to how I spend my days, now you know. I make a list, I check it twice. I don't do anything. The end.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Fulfillment of Unfulfillment
I made a goal at the beginning of the year, in January, when I was doing so much traveling that I inevitably had large amounts of down time at the airport. I decided that 2009 should be the year of unfinished projects. I wanted to try and finish all of the unfinished projects that I had been procrastinating for years. Now that we're a little more than halfway through the year, I've been reflecting on my progress.
The necessity of such a goal is an interesting reflection of my personality. It indicates that I have a propensity to leave things undone. Many would postulate that I have insufficient follow-through, or that I am simply irresponsible. Those are probably both correct observations of my motives, but I decided that some introspection was in order to figure out why this is.
I curse myself at least once a day for having such a mental block against finishing things that I've started, and I always vow to get better, but my self-betterment has turned into just another project that I refuse to finish. It's almost physically painful for me to make myself and finish something in one go. Most of the time, I lose interest in whatever project I'm working on and start a new project, only to lose interest in that shortly afterwards. This never-ending cycle is what put me in the rut of having a room full of unfinished projects, and at the beginning of the year, realizing that I was probably going to be moving soon for graduate school, I decided that I really needed to do something about them.
The first thing to do was to take stock of all of the unfinished projects I had lying around. Fortunately, I had more than enough time during my flights and weather delays (which may have consumed more time than the flights themselves) to remember what sorts of things were buried in various parts of my parents' house. The easiest things to list were my unfinished craft projects. Normally, I'm really excited about craft projects when I start them, but I usually run into problems somewhere in the middle, and not knowing how to solve them, I bag the project (put it in a plastic bag, tie it up, and toss it in the basement). On a sweater, it's usually after I've completed the back and front, but before I've completed a sleeve. On scarves, it's when I run out of yarn and realize that I shouldn't have made the scarf so wide. On embroidery projects, it's when I realized that I was a MORON for having picked such a complicated design to sew in the first place. It's not the fact that I need to troubleshoot that bothers me. It's the fact that I've put so much time and energy into the project and have to put in more time and energy because I was too stupid to keep myself from screwing up. At this point of frustration and self-directed anger, the projects disappear into the abyss that is my parents' basement, not to appear again for years. After crafts, I began to think about all of the writing projects that I've started and not finished. I have hundreds of half-written short stories and novels lying around, and currently, I can't find a single finished story anywhere on my computer or in my journals. Then there are all the books I've picked up and put down because I got distracted before I could finish them. You understand where I'm going with this - virtually no project that I've ever started has gotten finished. There are a few exceptions, like the baby blankets I knit/crochet and usually finish, the scarves I knit in a fit of productivity in high school, and the pillow I started before my brother was born and finished before he left middle school. Psychologically speaking, I would assess my problem to be a commitment issue. I can't make myself commit to any one project for a long enough time to finish it. This bodes well for my love life, doesn't it?
Since I had taken at least a year off from most of my unfinished projects, I figured it was safe to attempt to revive the commitment this year. I had started a crocheted sweater in Chile, and in my motivation to achieve my goal for 2009, I finished it this spring. I had also started a pair of wool socks and abandoned them, and I simply pulled out the yarn and balled it up, so now it's essentially an unstarted project. This might be construed as cheating, but it can't be called unfinished any more. I also pulled out a dress that I had tailored for myself in 2002 when I was in India. I've been doing ribbon embroidery on it on and off since then. I actually finished the dress and wore it for the first time! Of course, the fact that the dress still fit fine is kind of depressing. I feel like my body shape should have had some sort of change in seven years, but that is besides the point. I also made several scarves after I found out that I was moving to Chicago. I probably finished five and left two unfinished, so there's an addition to the basket of unfinished projects. I still have a dress that I have been embroidering since 2006 and a baby blanket that I just started and left in Colorado, as well as several of my older projects. I suppose I'm not faring too badly with the crafts. As for writing, however, the story is different. I started writing a novel sometime during interview season, to get back in the habit of writing. Then I decided that I wanted to write a short story so that I would have a quick finished piece to motivate myself. In the middle of that story, I started writing another story because the muse spoke, and now, I can still safely say that I cannot find a single completed story. I'm working on it though. I haven't finished any books that I had previously started, although I did start a few and abandon them in Colorado for good measure. There's also the issue of music. I haven't gotten past Lesson 2 in my mandolin book at any point because I stop practicing and then have to start all over again.
From this assessment, it would appear that I have just created more unfinished projects this year. I predict that this project of finishing unfinished projects will just become another unfinished project itself. I'm okay with it though. I like to think it gives me character, and I think perhaps there is another explanation for my mental block. Perhaps I am the type of person who likes being in the middle of things. I don't like finishing things because they signify an end. I like being able to work on things in increments and see constant progress, constant improvement. Who knows? It may be a metaphor for my life - I may be the type of person that is constantly seeking betterment and never calling herself a finished project. As with all of my projects, I may myself perpetually be a work in progress. Or this may just be me, once again trying to justify a laziness that I really need to conquer. Maybe I'll try again next year.
The day I got my mandolin, in 2007 - if I had any commitment, I would be able to play it by now
The necessity of such a goal is an interesting reflection of my personality. It indicates that I have a propensity to leave things undone. Many would postulate that I have insufficient follow-through, or that I am simply irresponsible. Those are probably both correct observations of my motives, but I decided that some introspection was in order to figure out why this is.
I curse myself at least once a day for having such a mental block against finishing things that I've started, and I always vow to get better, but my self-betterment has turned into just another project that I refuse to finish. It's almost physically painful for me to make myself and finish something in one go. Most of the time, I lose interest in whatever project I'm working on and start a new project, only to lose interest in that shortly afterwards. This never-ending cycle is what put me in the rut of having a room full of unfinished projects, and at the beginning of the year, realizing that I was probably going to be moving soon for graduate school, I decided that I really needed to do something about them.
The first thing to do was to take stock of all of the unfinished projects I had lying around. Fortunately, I had more than enough time during my flights and weather delays (which may have consumed more time than the flights themselves) to remember what sorts of things were buried in various parts of my parents' house. The easiest things to list were my unfinished craft projects. Normally, I'm really excited about craft projects when I start them, but I usually run into problems somewhere in the middle, and not knowing how to solve them, I bag the project (put it in a plastic bag, tie it up, and toss it in the basement). On a sweater, it's usually after I've completed the back and front, but before I've completed a sleeve. On scarves, it's when I run out of yarn and realize that I shouldn't have made the scarf so wide. On embroidery projects, it's when I realized that I was a MORON for having picked such a complicated design to sew in the first place. It's not the fact that I need to troubleshoot that bothers me. It's the fact that I've put so much time and energy into the project and have to put in more time and energy because I was too stupid to keep myself from screwing up. At this point of frustration and self-directed anger, the projects disappear into the abyss that is my parents' basement, not to appear again for years. After crafts, I began to think about all of the writing projects that I've started and not finished. I have hundreds of half-written short stories and novels lying around, and currently, I can't find a single finished story anywhere on my computer or in my journals. Then there are all the books I've picked up and put down because I got distracted before I could finish them. You understand where I'm going with this - virtually no project that I've ever started has gotten finished. There are a few exceptions, like the baby blankets I knit/crochet and usually finish, the scarves I knit in a fit of productivity in high school, and the pillow I started before my brother was born and finished before he left middle school. Psychologically speaking, I would assess my problem to be a commitment issue. I can't make myself commit to any one project for a long enough time to finish it. This bodes well for my love life, doesn't it?
Since I had taken at least a year off from most of my unfinished projects, I figured it was safe to attempt to revive the commitment this year. I had started a crocheted sweater in Chile, and in my motivation to achieve my goal for 2009, I finished it this spring. I had also started a pair of wool socks and abandoned them, and I simply pulled out the yarn and balled it up, so now it's essentially an unstarted project. This might be construed as cheating, but it can't be called unfinished any more. I also pulled out a dress that I had tailored for myself in 2002 when I was in India. I've been doing ribbon embroidery on it on and off since then. I actually finished the dress and wore it for the first time! Of course, the fact that the dress still fit fine is kind of depressing. I feel like my body shape should have had some sort of change in seven years, but that is besides the point. I also made several scarves after I found out that I was moving to Chicago. I probably finished five and left two unfinished, so there's an addition to the basket of unfinished projects. I still have a dress that I have been embroidering since 2006 and a baby blanket that I just started and left in Colorado, as well as several of my older projects. I suppose I'm not faring too badly with the crafts. As for writing, however, the story is different. I started writing a novel sometime during interview season, to get back in the habit of writing. Then I decided that I wanted to write a short story so that I would have a quick finished piece to motivate myself. In the middle of that story, I started writing another story because the muse spoke, and now, I can still safely say that I cannot find a single completed story. I'm working on it though. I haven't finished any books that I had previously started, although I did start a few and abandon them in Colorado for good measure. There's also the issue of music. I haven't gotten past Lesson 2 in my mandolin book at any point because I stop practicing and then have to start all over again.
From this assessment, it would appear that I have just created more unfinished projects this year. I predict that this project of finishing unfinished projects will just become another unfinished project itself. I'm okay with it though. I like to think it gives me character, and I think perhaps there is another explanation for my mental block. Perhaps I am the type of person who likes being in the middle of things. I don't like finishing things because they signify an end. I like being able to work on things in increments and see constant progress, constant improvement. Who knows? It may be a metaphor for my life - I may be the type of person that is constantly seeking betterment and never calling herself a finished project. As with all of my projects, I may myself perpetually be a work in progress. Or this may just be me, once again trying to justify a laziness that I really need to conquer. Maybe I'll try again next year.
The day I got my mandolin, in 2007 - if I had any commitment, I would be able to play it by now
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