Hurrying to Find Quiet
Interviewers sometimes ask you hard questions that you answer as best as you can in the moment, but that still leave you thinking even after the meeting is over. In Seattle, the resident who interviewed me was very persistent to know how I handle stress. "What do you do when you get overwhelmed?" I'm thinking that I rarely feel very overwhelmed these days. I have been in such perpetual overdrive that I seem to have adapted to the speed and stresses that it brings. I am numbed to feeling "overwhelmed" anymore. I just keep going--over, under, or just whelmed.
As I'm thinking this, she kept pressing. "What about when you have a really frustrating day at the hospital?" I think to what I do to unwind. "I go to the studio. I read my novel. I work out. I spend some alone time to recollect myself so I can return the next day." She nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. She does some of the same things--at least the work-outs. I find that she has done some of the same triathlons that I have (Danskin); that is what helps keep her sane in her very busy intern year. A year which awaits me somewhere in just about eight months. I'll have to remember my answers; I'll have to remember to balance myself so I can learn and grow and somedays just survive.
It has become harder and harder these past few years to relax. It really becomes an effort to stop and just sit and not think about anything. My mind races before I fall asleep. I find it increasingly difficult to work out without music or reading or studying or some sort of other stimulation. I cannot simply go for a drive without feeling like I need to be doing something else to maximize my time. I should call my grandmother. I should listen to NPR and catch up on the rest of the world. I should listen to music at least. Everything just keeps going so fast.
I remember when I was in college and thought about going to med school. I knew then that I was working hard and putting in many hours as an undergrad, but I also knew that I could do more. I knew I could spend more time and be more efficient, as I assumed I would have to once I got to med school. I was right.
Those first two years of studying here, every second had to be maximized. I could not do dishes without being on the phone or listening to my lectures on tape. Every sense had to be utilized or I could not get everything done. And still things had to be cut. Grocery trips were taken only when absolutely necessary and now required a list. Even time eating was spent with the books. I stopped doing ceramics for a while. I did manage to stay in touch with my family at least--I could multitask that on the phone with the workout or dishes or cleaning.
When I visited London last year, it took me days of alone time ambling around the dripping streets to even slow down a little. There was so much I wanted to see and do. I started by planning several activities each morning. I generally accomplished most of them--and enjoyed them. By the end of the short week, my task list had just begun to give way to my waunderlist. I felt myself just beginning to build in that quiet time--the time that ebbs and flows with your mood or desire. Free time to enjoy just in the moment. One day I bought chocolate pastries for lunch and sat in a discovered park to eat and watch the rare February London sunburst. A Scottish man sat down and asked me why I was smiling. "Was I?," smiling now consciously, "Just enjoying the sun." And the peace.
With three years of being revved up, it takes usually takes days to weeks for me to calm down to how I seem to vaugely remember I used to feel. I remember some peaceful place inside me that was much more accessible than it is now. Perhaps it's hidden down some rarely trodden overgrown path hidden by responsibility and worry. I know it's still there, somewhere; I hope, sometimes, I have a few quiet moments to wander down that path.
As I'm thinking this, she kept pressing. "What about when you have a really frustrating day at the hospital?" I think to what I do to unwind. "I go to the studio. I read my novel. I work out. I spend some alone time to recollect myself so I can return the next day." She nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. She does some of the same things--at least the work-outs. I find that she has done some of the same triathlons that I have (Danskin); that is what helps keep her sane in her very busy intern year. A year which awaits me somewhere in just about eight months. I'll have to remember my answers; I'll have to remember to balance myself so I can learn and grow and somedays just survive.
It has become harder and harder these past few years to relax. It really becomes an effort to stop and just sit and not think about anything. My mind races before I fall asleep. I find it increasingly difficult to work out without music or reading or studying or some sort of other stimulation. I cannot simply go for a drive without feeling like I need to be doing something else to maximize my time. I should call my grandmother. I should listen to NPR and catch up on the rest of the world. I should listen to music at least. Everything just keeps going so fast.
I remember when I was in college and thought about going to med school. I knew then that I was working hard and putting in many hours as an undergrad, but I also knew that I could do more. I knew I could spend more time and be more efficient, as I assumed I would have to once I got to med school. I was right.
Those first two years of studying here, every second had to be maximized. I could not do dishes without being on the phone or listening to my lectures on tape. Every sense had to be utilized or I could not get everything done. And still things had to be cut. Grocery trips were taken only when absolutely necessary and now required a list. Even time eating was spent with the books. I stopped doing ceramics for a while. I did manage to stay in touch with my family at least--I could multitask that on the phone with the workout or dishes or cleaning.
When I visited London last year, it took me days of alone time ambling around the dripping streets to even slow down a little. There was so much I wanted to see and do. I started by planning several activities each morning. I generally accomplished most of them--and enjoyed them. By the end of the short week, my task list had just begun to give way to my waunderlist. I felt myself just beginning to build in that quiet time--the time that ebbs and flows with your mood or desire. Free time to enjoy just in the moment. One day I bought chocolate pastries for lunch and sat in a discovered park to eat and watch the rare February London sunburst. A Scottish man sat down and asked me why I was smiling. "Was I?," smiling now consciously, "Just enjoying the sun." And the peace.
With three years of being revved up, it takes usually takes days to weeks for me to calm down to how I seem to vaugely remember I used to feel. I remember some peaceful place inside me that was much more accessible than it is now. Perhaps it's hidden down some rarely trodden overgrown path hidden by responsibility and worry. I know it's still there, somewhere; I hope, sometimes, I have a few quiet moments to wander down that path.
posted by S. at 4:56 PM
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