Eugene Bidau, Le Printemps, 1896
“Suddenly I become filled with a consuming impatience to be gone.”
— Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front
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“Why does one begin to write? Because she feels misunderstood, I guess. Because it never comes out clearly enough when she tries to speak. Because she wants to rephrase the world, to take it in and give it back again differently, so that everything is used and nothing is lost. Because it’s something to do to pass the time until she is old enough to experience the things she writes about.”
— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
“If you’re romanticizing ‘difficult’ you’re going to get over that quickly, I promise you. I promise you. Everyone forgets how difficult ‘difficult’ really is.”
— B.J. Novak, One More Thing
In medical school, I learned that FOMO = fear of missing out.
In residency, I’m learning that FOMO = fear of mediocrity and ostracism.
History of presenting thought process: on the competitive dance scene, you were always, always comparing yourself to other people. Sometimes this was in constructive ways, because you could be inspired and uplifted by the people around you who loved to do what you loved to do. Sometimes this was in destructive ways, because it didn’t matter how hard you trained or how many hours you spent in the studio, your legs/feet/back/shoulders/hands/etc. would never look like that other dancer’s, and someone would always be better than you.
It was utterly inescapable–when you weren’t at competitions vying for accolades against a bunch of other teams, you were in the studio vying for accolades (or certain parts/positions in the choreography, or selection to be in certain pieces, or selection for a solo, or…) against your teammates. No matter where you were, you were competing; at the barre, in the centre, on the floor, on stage, and, perhaps most dangerously, in your head.
The other competitor that you don’t often think about (but who is always present): yourself.
Because every second, every breath, every step is a competition with the previous one you took. It’s a struggle against the mirrors, the cameras, your body and what it does versus what you want it to do and what you want it to look like. You are always trying to beat the dancer you were yesterday, last week, last month, last year.
And a lot of the time, whether its against yourself or your teammates or your peers, you lose.
Now, in medicine, you are simultaneously trying to fit in and stand out. You are trying to keep yourself afloat, support your colleagues in keeping their heads above water, and also not allowing yourself to drift too far behind them. You’re trying to find your sense of belonging but also trying to somehow be noticed by sub-specialty programs, prospective employers, research grant committees, and so on and so forth. Meanwhile, you’re trying to shoulder some of your patients’ suffering so they can breathe a little easier while you can barely find your own breathing room.
You are comparing yourself to your colleagues, who might make it seem easy; they all seem like they do much more reading/studying than you, and that their base knowledge is much more than yours, and that they’re a tighter-knit group without you. You feel like you’re playing an impossible game of catch-up; before, it was trying time and time again to nail those triple-quadruple (or more) pirouettes, and now it’s trying to keep up with the number of guidelines and recent evidence that everyone has somehow read except you. They’re all impressing the staff/attendings and casually talking about interesting cases they’ve encountered and you feel like you need to Google 90% of the things they just tossed in their anecdotes without a second thought. They rant about call shifts and how they saved the day and you’re internally hyperventilating because if you had been in that position, you wouldn’t have known what to do.
Everyone else is en pointe and you’re struggling to climb up to their standards. They’re involved in 1209384720+ extracurriculars, they have multiple research/QI/QA/advocacy projects ongoing, they’re doing additional degrees while in residency, they’re Olympic athletes on the side, they’re music virtuosos, they’re running not-for-profits that build houses for homeless children in developing countries, they’re changing the world around you and meanwhile, you are treading quicksand that seems to get closer and closer to blocking your airways. The weight of everyone else’s CV is crushing you and your measly CV doesn’t stand a chance against those never-ending lists of awards and accomplishments.
Mayday! Mayday! It’s just like the studios and competitions and other rat races in life, because you feel like you’re coming in dead last.
If you have ever felt like this–whether it’s because you also were involved in competitive sports/arts, or because you have also gone to medical school and clawed your way through into residency (and beyond), or because you’ve done literally anything else with your life–I want you to know that you are not alone. You are not the only one. Your struggle is valid, the tears and frustration and disappointment and anxiety and insecurity are all valid and you aren’t any weaker for them.
Next, I want you to take a deep breath. As you exhale, I want you to think about this:
The people who love you don’t give a shit about what’s on your CV or your resume. If someone starts by quoting the awards you’ve won, the grants you’ve received, or the degrees you’ve earned when they’re delivering your eulogy, then you spent too much time focusing on those things and not enough time invested in the people that matter.
And one person who is always there for you, but you will often forget about, is yourself. You matter, too.
Ultimately, you don’t have to be perfect. Seriously, no one expects you to be perfect–they say “practice makes perfect”, but this should probably be revised to “practice approaches perfect because perfect is an asymptote”. You will always have things you can work on and areas where you lack proficiency; the most important thing to do with this information is to re-frame your perspective. Instead of letting it drag you to the precipice of your perceived accomplishments as you look down into the pit of your failures, let it illuminate the direction in which you can continue to grow. These are not your shortcomings or your limitations–they are your springboards and your starting lines.
You will still want to be perfect, especially for your patients. You will want to make the right diagnosis 100% of the time, and you will want to make mistakes 0% of the time. But this will not be the case; they’re great goals to strive toward, but you’ll never quite achieve them. (More asymptotes.)
What’s probably more important is to care. Don’t let your fear of missing out or your fear of mediocrity and ostracism prevent you from caring. Don’t reserve all your caring for your patients; remember to keep some for your family, your friends, and yourself.
Care about your patients. They will remember that you laughed at their jokes or asked them how their loved one had been doing. They will remember you listened to them when they were struggling. They will remember that you smiled at them, cried with them, reached out to them when they needed you, and maybe when they had no one else.
Care about whoever it is that you call your family. Let them carry you when you need someone to lean on, and stand beside them when they’re the ones in need. Make the time to go to those birthday celebrations–your textbooks will always be there, but 25th, 50th, 75th birthdays (and all of the ones before, after, in between) are once in a lifetime. You can always catch up on your readings but you can’t get back the time you could’ve spent with your kids as they grow up, with your parents as they grow older, or with your partner(s) as they experience the growing pains (and the growing joys) with you.
Care about your friends, the ones that stuck by you through the good and the bad and loved you anyway. Call them, email them, message them, visit them or have them visit you. A good friend will always be worth more than any accolade you could ever receive.
(Care about yourself. Eat your vegetables, exercise, do your laundry, pay your taxes, clean your room, see your own doctor…)
At the very last moment, none of your patients, your family, or your friends will have the faintest clue whether you won this award or that grant or had the highest licensing exam score in the world. They will not know how you stacked up against your colleagues. They will not remember how many lines were on your CV.
They will remember the depth of your love, your empathy, and your compassion. They will remember the time you spent with them. They will remember that you cared. Whether you finish first or dead last in whatever competition you think you’re contending in, what really matters is how you made people (including you) feel along the way.
It’s time to learn that FOMO = finding oneself moving onward.
“It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart.”
— Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay
“Sometimes, carrying on, just carrying on, is the superhuman achievement.”
— Albert Camus, The Fall
Quick doodle because I’m so bored and I should be studying 🌚🤦🤦
#doodle #floral #wreath
#day124 #watercolours #floral #wreath
#day122 #watercolours #floral
Amen…
gayeiraknightley