Graduating

I walked down the stage, shook the swine-flu-hazard hands, and took hold of the cardboard-stiffened envelope bearing the sacred single sheet that declares me a doctor.

It's a paralyzing feeling: to have the most vivid memories behind me and the most blankest of slates ahead. For the intensity of what has trespassed here, I have alarmingly little to say about it. Perhaps it is something I'd prefer to say with a wink or a sly smile to he and she who was here, as though it is our little secret. Perhaps it is something I've been saying all along here on the page, and I am drained dry. Perhaps it is something that I'm afraid to lock down into a cliché, or exaggeration, or idealism. Perhaps it will just take time for the lack thereof it to settle in before I know what it ought to be called.

If someone asks me what this was all about, I would say 'searching.' I searched for success, purpose, heroes, faults, love, challenges, and friendship. Sometimes I found something, most times I just learned. Perhaps what I learned most was to be patient with searching, as I finally promised to myself that it will never be done.

If someone asks me how I feel, I would say 'lucky.' Lucky for the 'how are you doing?' at morning lecture, the 'we're meeting at Whiskey's at 10' on Friday nights, the 'talk to me' when I would first hold back, the 'I'm here if you need anything' when Dawn passed away.

I congratulate myself for stumbling upon the profession that will save lives, particularly my own. Like the boy next door, I've realized it's much more perfect for me than I had originally thought. It humbles my narcissism, redirects my selfishness, fortifies my wobbly self-worth, and focuses my fickle passion and purpose. Most of all, it surrounds me with the warm, steady hands of those who have chosen to give a little more than take from the world and each other.

Yes, I trust them with my fragile heart.