pretty sure

I'm pretty sure you exist out there, somewhere. I refuse to believe that a heart would be made to long for someone who does not exist.

I wish you'd introduce yourself soon. I'm getting tired of waiting for you, hoping I'll find you in the eyes of everyone I meet. There's little bits of you in all I see, in all the beauty of the world, in the stories I hear and the stories I tell to my own heart.

I'm looking forward to that moment when I look in your eyes and know that you see me, and that you've been looking for me too.

Until then, I guess I'll just keep my feet on the ground and my eyes to the stars, letting the bits of beauty in each moment overwhelm me.

38 years

I love that look you give him when he's telling stories about you. The way you roll your eyes and snort, telling us how someone's got to set him straight, after all. You've been married for 38 years now, with one son and more memories than you can remember anymore.

You told me that you're scared, and that you wonder if it's even worth fighting anymore. You're afraid that you'll suffer through all these treatments only to find that the cancer remains. All the pain, side effects, uncomfortable procedures--all for nothing. You're more afraid of false hope than anything, afraid of what will be left if the treatments don't work, afraid of the weight of broken dreams, afraid that your heart won't be able to take any more bad news.

But I don't want to let you give up hope. Every time I see you, I want to make you roll your eyes and set that cancer straight.

And I watch your husband tell your stories for you, reminding you each day of the fight you've always had. Every day, even when you refuse to eat or get out of bed or watch the sun go down, he's right there with you.

Yesterday we took you outside to feel the sun on your face and the wind in your hair again, for the first time in weeks. I watched you smile as I sat at your side. And I hoped for you. God, how I hoped for you.

The world's buttery sheen

Everyday, I try to find something to be grateful for.

Everyday, I try to create something to be grateful for.

My hiatus from medical school has been strange. I keep breathing in all of the third year emotions of my friends and former classmates: frustration, anger, joy, wonder, exhaustion. It's more negative than positive. Is medicine more negative than positive?

I realized today that if I had done either medicine alone or anthropology alone, I could have been better at them in that nauseating academic way. Sacrifice my soul for higher honors, spend more time in the ivory tower writing publications for 5 people to read and 10 people to skim.

For all my losses, for all my pauses, I am more human.

My sorrows have only led me to kindness, constantly trying to enact it, never knowing how, stumbling, fumbling awkwardly through my phrases and gestures.

Meanwhile, my buttery heart melts and oozes its contents all over my body.

These days, I like to breathe and wait for my thoughts to vanish.