I've got to say it was pretty odd re-reading my blog posts now. 7 years is a long time, a lot has happened and frankly I've changed a lot, for better or for worse! It definitely invoked a sense of nostalgia. I can't believe I typed like that, or spoke like that; it feels like a lifetime ago. I had almost forgot what me at 22 was like. The overuse of exclamation marks, the prolific typos, the running together of words, my general relentless optimism and my "uber" levels of over-excitement.
The sentimentalist in me almost couldn't bring myself to remove the blog, particularly given comments on there from close friends, some who I don't see much of any-more. However, the old must give way to the new, life moves on, time stops for no (wo)man, and other such platitudes. Fundamentally I'm a different person now (though perhaps rediscovering older traits- more on that later), and I've made my peace with that. While it's important to recognise where you've come from and what's shaped you, let's not indulge in it.
That said, given this is a transitional post, I'll made some concessions to the Crapbabble. Firstly I'm aiming for this new blog to be more topical, a combination of personal commentary, academic analysis and debate provoking nonsense, but for one time only I'm planning on reflecting on my personal life. I guess after 7 years it's worth re framing my lens. The second concession is naming my blog post after song lyrics and splicing in the relevant YouTube link. Yes, I was that guy. And no, I won't promise it won't happen again!
With that pre-amble done, let's press on. What have I done in the last 7 years you ask? The answer is not a whole lot, at least not on paper. After spending many trying years at medical school, and struggling with the final few academic years over several chronological years, for many reasons I shan't discuss explicitly here, I finally left in 2012 without my professional qualification. The following year or so was difficult, I had to come to terms with the fact my medical training was wasted and the effort I had put in to that point essentially for naught (in a very concrete sense at least). There was a whole lot of stress, a continuation of varying degrees of anxiety and depression, a mountain of guilt, and as-well as plenty of strained relationships to boot.
However, after a suitable amount of time, I drew a line under it, realised the world had in fact not ended, dealt with the fallout and moved forward. Let me clarify, as painful as this period was, it was invariably the best thing that could've happened. I don't say that in the way sometimes people do, in order to deal with terrible things, I genuinely mean it! I'm not a medic, I don't think I ever was. Medicine is not just a career, it's a lifestyle. I have every respect for my former colleagues who are still in the field, but it's not me. You have to live, love and breathe medicine; your closest friends are likely to be medics, you might even marry a medic, you will certainly talk case notes down the pub. It's such a taxing and sadly, unthankful job that I honestly don't think it's sustainable unless it's your calling, your definition- at least in the UK. It took me far too long to realise this, and it was definitely better for me to get out when I did, learning some valuable life lessons along the way.
Over the next year, I got myself a series of pretty normal jobs of variable quality which I'll discuss in no great detail. The important thing is I switched off, stopped worrying, learnt to enjoy myself and redefined myself in the context of this. Work became just a way to establish my financial independence and security; it was rarely challenging or engaging, but that was OK. My non-work time was my own, I got to spend it with friends doing things I enjoy. Indeed, I was happy enough. I could have possibly done that for the rest of my life, but eventually something was amiss. It was important that I got to indulge in that, to regather myself and reshape it. Still, I had restless feet.
It was the disconnection of work from the rest of me. It's not that I needed to do something that mattered, but I wanted to. I wanted to be able to express myself through my work. The career hunt was on. Initially the plan was teaching. It was a good fit, I enjoyed working with young minds, imparting knowledge and my love for the natural sciences had persisted. Yet I was reluctant to jump back into yet another intensive profession, and Michael Gove's regressive educational policies gave me pause for thought. The Tory win in the general election in May sealed the deal for me, I knew I wouldn't be able to comply with Conservative Educational Policy daily.
Meanwhile as the months rolled by I found myself becoming more preoccupied with both politics and Politics. Social justice and humanitarian issues predominated my reading material. After many late nights reflecting on this, re-assessing my priorities and remembering the stimulation of my BSc in International health, I decided to go back to university.
One application and several months later, here I am studying Global Development and Education at the University of Leeds. Frankly my free time is non-existent, my social life has been seriously curtailed, and I couldn't be happier. The thing is this; this time I'm here for me. I have no idea how people manage to commit to something at 18 and get it right, but it seems like the odds are stacked against you. I chose medicine because I could, not because I should. I wanted to be successful, meet my potential, prove myself and meet everyone's expectations- not least of all my own. All noble goals right? They were all the wrong reasons.
Everybody's experience is different, and I'm not here to preach, but for me at least, the most valuable thing about failing to become a doctor was just that. Failing. Such a colossal life changing failure, it feels like there would be no way back. Indeed there wasn't, but there were infinite ways forward. Up until then, a fear of failure had been a dominating driver in my life. I didn't fail and couldn't fail, it wasn't me. Success defined me, and anything less was terrifying. Now? I know success is relative and frankly not all that important. Don't get me wrong, I want to do well, but my reasons are entirely different, Regardless I'll survive and move forward, and if I don't for whatever reason, I can take solace in the fact I'm trying.
The pressure to be something isn't overwhelming, I am something and something I'm happy with. Not that there isn't room for improvement. The process of striving to be better is a choice, a choice I'm willingly undertaking, not because I feel I ought to reach an arbitrary endpoint, but because I value the process itself. The drive is intrinsic, not positional. Honestly, I feel more engaged that I remember. I've always cared about politics and humanitarianism, but when I was younger I took too much on myself. Even though rationally I knew the world's problems could not be solved by a teenage boy, emotionally that fear of failure crept in- every injustice was a potential failing of mine.
Medical school stripped me of the emotional will and time to invest in anything other than my immediate life. Post-medical school involved becoming reacquainted with myself and a shrugging away of responsibilities. I have no regrets in doing so, and feel like I was being true to me, just a differently modulated version of me- not worse, simply different. Insular and cocooned. Now I get to study and discuss things I care about everyday, challenge my intellectual frameworks and engage with complex concepts. I can't remember feeling quite this connected. It's almost like I had put a section of myself in sub-storage as it wasn't needed. Now I'm re-greeting an old friend who I didn't know I missed, and it's beyond liberating. This is the version of myself I want to be going forward, and I never want to go back.
Sure it's more difficult, and more complicated, but I don't care. The important thing is I'm engaging, not that I get it right, nor that I'm settled. I'm proud of me for that, and I like myself better for it. Committing to the dialogue which may (or may not) lead to progress beyond my own sphere of influence is what feels important. Efficacy of outcome is desired, but egotistically I know that is not what lies at the heart of my own happiness. Pushing forward, asking questions, striving for better, re-assessing myself without that crippling self-doubt or paralysis of defeat- how could you possibly feel more alive than that? I'll likely fail, but I'll learn and I will always have the potential to succeed.
The people closest to me will always be my priority They're my personal reality, and pragmatically I know they're the people I have the most potential to affect. Yet opening myself up to a wider reality, and involving myself in broad concepts of justice, fairness and equity is oddly liberating in itself. No longer a problem to be solved, but a conversation to stick my nose into. Adding my voice to the chorus calling for change. Content with discontentment.
Whilst I definitely enjoy painting myself as more cynical and pessimistic than I used to be (certainly that's how it often appears!) perhaps there's a fundamental misunderstanding. My relentless optimism always used to concern the outcome. Maybe I actually feared the process? Things had to be OK, because I didn't know where to start, and there's no way I could afford to fail with the stakes this high. Now I've shifted to an optimism of process. Let's get stuck in because that's all I can do, it probably won't do anything, but I know I've tried and that's the point. I'm trying, and that is who I've chosen to be. I'm more self assured about how I want to travel on my journey, and less worried about my destination. I'll get somewhere eventually after all.
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