I passed. I learned yesterday that I scored a 212 on that Step 1 exam. Passing was 192 (bumped up to 194 a week after I took it) out of the 280 questions. The clinical dean at my previous school would be so disappointed in me (we were trash if we made below 230, and we were not allowed to celebrate anything until we became chief residents).
I cannot even comprehend it. This is the major hurdle that was holding me back from being recognized as a real medical student in the States. And I can apparently start rotations at the end of each month, so by March, it looks like I will be moved to Houston and working/studying in hospitals.
I had viewed it as this unbeatable goal, this behemoth that I would never have the chance to stare in the eye, much less defeat. It grew larger as time went on, swathed in misty unknown as months floated by. I could never beat it, but I could watch the months drift on. A critical aspect of my recent success has been that I acquired a social life once a week. Life on the island had convinced me that medicine did not allow for such, and the loneliness brought about by isolation became what I understood to be a necessary aspect of this life. Maybe it is not exactly so.
I watched Blood Diamond last night. Set in western Africa, it featured many aspects of Africa that I knew from my past visits to Kenya and Uganda. Unlike my experiences, it also featured the violence and cruelty that comes with political instability (notably the child soldiers). It reminded me of why I am doing this whole medical thing: I desire to visit these countries in need and be the change. Syrian refugees, the conflicts in Yemen... every time I see a headline, I want to go. Once I become a doctor, if I can find the right organizations, or found my own...
It also reminds me of why I am known for being so "picky" when it comes to dating. After all, I am looking for someone else who would, at least sometimes, be my partner in crime on these trips. Though that movie also reminded me of how crazy dangerous it can be for a pretty lady.
Anyway, hopefully someone kills me first.
Thursday, January 18, 2018
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Write More
(Mostly rambling, maybe a few helpful things in here.)
Point being that my vocabulary has decreased to a noticeable degree, and if I pass this exam, then perhaps it will be time to do some recreational reading once again. After all, no love in life does more to one's world than a book. No, shut up, you've been drinking.
In reality, I just want to keep writing. If ever there was a catchphrase at my employment as a medical assistant, it was "document document document" (as a verb). Not mentioned in my previous post, my youth pastor from times past mentioned how quickly life seems to pass by, and considering how many years of my life seem to have slipped through my grasp (seemingly maybe at the behest of the Lord of Hosts), I have been feeling the urge to record my thought processes and ideas more than usual. Though, if the various me's within myself are honest, "usual" is an incredibly relative term at this point. I feel as if I should be recording more video, more audio, attempting to capture whatever I am now due to the fleeting nature of such. I rarely mentally settle for a given state, always yearning for whatever is beyond where I am, whether in regard to creativity or spirituality or anything else...
Maybe that is a New Years resolution, to record more of life. Perhaps I should carry a video camera with me again (iPhones do not have the storage capacity for my world). Just gotta run into a couple thousand dollars to buy a new Macbook Pro and Final Cut Pro to edit the videos.
Genuine Conversations
Ah, the day before the exam scores are released maybe. But maybe I have grown slightly more mature since last week, since I am, to some extent, "over it". I am suspicious of hopeful words, even if they seem to resonate with my own spirit, but a friend said at New Years that this year felt like it would have positive changes, and I agreed. Regardless of test scores, I suppose.
Today, I had lunch with my youth pastor from a decade thence. It was relieving to talk to him in more concrete terminology, rather than the last time we spoke, when my mention of morals or spirituality was so very relative. And honestly, I was mostly just venting at him that time, just frustrated with what the elections had done to ruin the perception of Christians in America, to the point that I had stopped attending church.
This time, we seemed to be on the same page, though he was careful in his delving to find that out. Both of us were frustrated with the church's handling of, well, anyone who is not the standard cis straight concept of a person. Even though we are both white cis straight and only fall short of being as fat as a perfect American, we do not hold everyone else to the same convictions. As I put it, and he seemed to agree, there is the understanding of where our convictions personally lie (in which it would absolutely be a sin for me to be homosexual), and then there is a separate understanding of everyone else's convictions. Some people interpret passages of the Bible differently, and I have been wrong before, so I do not hold anyone else to my own perceptions. Though I admitted that the primary reason I feel this way is that I judge my gay friends heavily if I believe that homosexuality is a sin, and I do not wish to hold onto that judgment if I do not need to do so.
Through all of this, I was once again emphasizing the evangelistic view of "being all things to all men" (1 Corinthians 9:19-23), which, on a very surface level interpretation, is essentially just being likable to everyone in the hopes that they recognize that likeability and the Christ in you as having a causal relationship. That is the first step, getting people open to the idea of liking Christians and what Christ could do, and possibly getting them to try to seek out more. But the next step, that "more", was admittedly an unknown for me. We know that we want to change the perception of Christians from key words like "racist" or "Republican" or, well, anti-science, but what that looks like is essentially a mystery to yours truly. Good thing God gave me my own set of issues upon which to work.
Anyway, the friend I know through karaoke was kind enough to go for coffee with me this afternoon. She reminds me of what people said about me toward the end of high school and throughout college, identifying some "it factor" that few people manage to achieve. She hits that right combination of smart, pretty, and funny, and musically talented that you rarely see in anyone either single or married these days. Though I have known her somewhat since January, I did not know that she too was Christian until this last weekend, because (and this is how clever my brain is) I was afraid to ask in case she was not Christian. That and the associations I recognize between Christian and Republican and, therefore, Trump. I have perhaps tread too lightly over such concerns. In any case, she is finding herself in a place not unlike my own, wherein she needs to work on herself with God and not on finding a significant other. KINDA WEIRD THAT THAT TREND HAS BEEN REMARKABLY CONSISTENT ON MY END FOR SO MANY YEARS, GOOOODDDDDDD.
Why is everyone in their late 20's dealing with so much? After returning from the island in 2016, I genuinely tried to reflect on more, to deal with myself and my world, but I found myself unable to do so, certainly not to the extent that I have over the past few months. Was it just the election? Does this happen to everyone at this point in their lives? Is this like a mid-life crisis, in which it has earned some nickname due to its established regularity? Is it a millenial thing? Is it an educated thing? Is it a Christian thing?
Whatever the reason, I am genuinely relieved to not be the only one going through some form of spiritual, social, and whatever other form of reevaluation. I am alone so very often in so many areas of life that it seems improbable that anyone else could relate on a level that does not feel as if it is trying hard to reach. Reachy...? Regardless, the hope therein is usually in finding someone who, for the smallest of moments, appears to be stepping in time with myself.
This entry has gone on for too long, which I suppose is a side effect of actually living life the tiniest bit. Here is a screenshot of the background on my phone which maybe, just maybe, should change soon, despite how many years I have had it and how incredibly jolly it is. It is a passage from Dr. Seuss's Oh The Places You'll Go!
Today, I had lunch with my youth pastor from a decade thence. It was relieving to talk to him in more concrete terminology, rather than the last time we spoke, when my mention of morals or spirituality was so very relative. And honestly, I was mostly just venting at him that time, just frustrated with what the elections had done to ruin the perception of Christians in America, to the point that I had stopped attending church.
This time, we seemed to be on the same page, though he was careful in his delving to find that out. Both of us were frustrated with the church's handling of, well, anyone who is not the standard cis straight concept of a person. Even though we are both white cis straight and only fall short of being as fat as a perfect American, we do not hold everyone else to the same convictions. As I put it, and he seemed to agree, there is the understanding of where our convictions personally lie (in which it would absolutely be a sin for me to be homosexual), and then there is a separate understanding of everyone else's convictions. Some people interpret passages of the Bible differently, and I have been wrong before, so I do not hold anyone else to my own perceptions. Though I admitted that the primary reason I feel this way is that I judge my gay friends heavily if I believe that homosexuality is a sin, and I do not wish to hold onto that judgment if I do not need to do so.
Through all of this, I was once again emphasizing the evangelistic view of "being all things to all men" (1 Corinthians 9:19-23), which, on a very surface level interpretation, is essentially just being likable to everyone in the hopes that they recognize that likeability and the Christ in you as having a causal relationship. That is the first step, getting people open to the idea of liking Christians and what Christ could do, and possibly getting them to try to seek out more. But the next step, that "more", was admittedly an unknown for me. We know that we want to change the perception of Christians from key words like "racist" or "Republican" or, well, anti-science, but what that looks like is essentially a mystery to yours truly. Good thing God gave me my own set of issues upon which to work.
Anyway, the friend I know through karaoke was kind enough to go for coffee with me this afternoon. She reminds me of what people said about me toward the end of high school and throughout college, identifying some "it factor" that few people manage to achieve. She hits that right combination of smart, pretty, and funny, and musically talented that you rarely see in anyone either single or married these days. Though I have known her somewhat since January, I did not know that she too was Christian until this last weekend, because (and this is how clever my brain is) I was afraid to ask in case she was not Christian. That and the associations I recognize between Christian and Republican and, therefore, Trump. I have perhaps tread too lightly over such concerns. In any case, she is finding herself in a place not unlike my own, wherein she needs to work on herself with God and not on finding a significant other. KINDA WEIRD THAT THAT TREND HAS BEEN REMARKABLY CONSISTENT ON MY END FOR SO MANY YEARS, GOOOODDDDDDD.
Why is everyone in their late 20's dealing with so much? After returning from the island in 2016, I genuinely tried to reflect on more, to deal with myself and my world, but I found myself unable to do so, certainly not to the extent that I have over the past few months. Was it just the election? Does this happen to everyone at this point in their lives? Is this like a mid-life crisis, in which it has earned some nickname due to its established regularity? Is it a millenial thing? Is it an educated thing? Is it a Christian thing?
Whatever the reason, I am genuinely relieved to not be the only one going through some form of spiritual, social, and whatever other form of reevaluation. I am alone so very often in so many areas of life that it seems improbable that anyone else could relate on a level that does not feel as if it is trying hard to reach. Reachy...? Regardless, the hope therein is usually in finding someone who, for the smallest of moments, appears to be stepping in time with myself.
This entry has gone on for too long, which I suppose is a side effect of actually living life the tiniest bit. Here is a screenshot of the background on my phone which maybe, just maybe, should change soon, despite how many years I have had it and how incredibly jolly it is. It is a passage from Dr. Seuss's Oh The Places You'll Go!
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Living Out Of Established Timing
I thought that I would get my scores on Wednesday of last week, but such was not the case. Hopefully this Wednesday will tell me my future. The last test felt as borderline as it turned out to be, with one point of difference deciding the outcome. This one felt significantly better. Even so, I awoke on Wednesday at 8:05 without setting an alarm and my apprehensions were unfortunately not met with any real sort of relief.
This has been a significant lesson for me all through last year, a lesson that I have taken far too long to even begin to learn, namely that I cannot set my life to an academic calendar. I tend to think that once I pass this exam, once I move on from this phase of academic life, I can finally once again acclimate myself to a social life or ministry, or even real personal development. My perceptions of myself, my family, and my friends, therefore, tend to be defined by whatever phase I find myself within my studies. And this, dear friends, is a poor excuse to avoid living life properly, particularly when you are stuck in a given phase for an extra year or two.
It is a strange thing now. The better version of me is tugging once again, but without being immersed in ministry, I do not know how to engage again.
I often look to the life of Jesus (WOW, SO SPIRITUAL). He did not start ministry until He was 30. I am circling nearer that age with every passing year (and have been since I was born). I often ask Him how He managed it. He has not been very talkative on the matter. I suppose that His approach was not so far off from my own, just studying and, when I am being less stupid, trying to be shaped by God into whatever manner of creature He wants for His works.
His first miracle was sort of the most casual, the closest thing to a party trick. Try being Jesus for a second. You have been studying the Old Testament and talking super closely with God for all your life. You recruit a few disciples who call you the Son of God, and your cousin has a similar sentiment to share. Pretty cool week. That weekend, there is a wedding. You, your mom, and your disciples are invited. You are just there trying to enjoy your time, perhaps a little apprehensive about having just begun the journey that would lead to your early death in an effort to save all of humanity from burning in hell. Your mom walks up to you with that look in her eye that recognizes that you can get things done and says "they have no more wine". "Woman, why do you involve me? My hour has not yet come."
But your mom has already turned to the waiters and told them to do whatever you tell them. Ugh. Classic mom, even when you (and she knows that you have a direct line to God in heaven) specifically told her that it was not time. You were going to get the word out a little, build up a reputation and a bigger crew of disciples, and avoid letting it be a whole hype thing. But you do not want to piss your mom off, so you look around and notice a half-dozen huge jars normally used to wash up to be ceremonially clean. That's only enough for 150 gallons of wine, but beggars cannot be choosers. So you have the waiting staff fill them up with water, and the water is of course turned into wine, and good wine at that, according to the master of the banquet who got the first sample. So now you have been pressured into starting your ministry before you intended, but you can skip over mincing words with your disciples because they already believe you. You can shoot straight with them about who and what you are. Fine, thanks mom.
This has been a significant lesson for me all through last year, a lesson that I have taken far too long to even begin to learn, namely that I cannot set my life to an academic calendar. I tend to think that once I pass this exam, once I move on from this phase of academic life, I can finally once again acclimate myself to a social life or ministry, or even real personal development. My perceptions of myself, my family, and my friends, therefore, tend to be defined by whatever phase I find myself within my studies. And this, dear friends, is a poor excuse to avoid living life properly, particularly when you are stuck in a given phase for an extra year or two.
It is a strange thing now. The better version of me is tugging once again, but without being immersed in ministry, I do not know how to engage again.
I often look to the life of Jesus (WOW, SO SPIRITUAL). He did not start ministry until He was 30. I am circling nearer that age with every passing year (and have been since I was born). I often ask Him how He managed it. He has not been very talkative on the matter. I suppose that His approach was not so far off from my own, just studying and, when I am being less stupid, trying to be shaped by God into whatever manner of creature He wants for His works.
His first miracle was sort of the most casual, the closest thing to a party trick. Try being Jesus for a second. You have been studying the Old Testament and talking super closely with God for all your life. You recruit a few disciples who call you the Son of God, and your cousin has a similar sentiment to share. Pretty cool week. That weekend, there is a wedding. You, your mom, and your disciples are invited. You are just there trying to enjoy your time, perhaps a little apprehensive about having just begun the journey that would lead to your early death in an effort to save all of humanity from burning in hell. Your mom walks up to you with that look in her eye that recognizes that you can get things done and says "they have no more wine". "Woman, why do you involve me? My hour has not yet come."
But your mom has already turned to the waiters and told them to do whatever you tell them. Ugh. Classic mom, even when you (and she knows that you have a direct line to God in heaven) specifically told her that it was not time. You were going to get the word out a little, build up a reputation and a bigger crew of disciples, and avoid letting it be a whole hype thing. But you do not want to piss your mom off, so you look around and notice a half-dozen huge jars normally used to wash up to be ceremonially clean. That's only enough for 150 gallons of wine, but beggars cannot be choosers. So you have the waiting staff fill them up with water, and the water is of course turned into wine, and good wine at that, according to the master of the banquet who got the first sample. So now you have been pressured into starting your ministry before you intended, but you can skip over mincing words with your disciples because they already believe you. You can shoot straight with them about who and what you are. Fine, thanks mom.
Sunday, January 7, 2018
2017 Reflections Part 5 (Actually Reflecting Rather Than Just Narrating)
So what lessons to we take from this last year, and what words do we hold onto for the new year? My perception will undoubtedly be based at least somewhat upon the test scores that I am to receive in a few days, but that could hardly manage to have a profound impact on lessons learned overall.
In college, I learned about the value of denominations that differed from my own. Over the last year, I have learned to apply that knowledge to my own selection. I no longer wished to attend a church like the one in which I grew up. As counter-intuitive as it may seem, a church with a very simple sermon and unenthusiastic worship, along with a small and friendly congregation, has turned out to be a good fit for the moment. As someone who struggled to force himself to attend church, a fight to stay awake during a sermon was a relieving battle in comparison to the spiritual and intellectual complexities that other churches offered in their messages (whether or not those difficulties were presented intentionally).
The thing is, though the worst of the identity crisis seems to be over, I do still wonder how to reconcile my past self with the trappings of the more recent selves that I have acquired. If I were doing ministry, I could stay in one world and one mindset. That perception is significantly easier, I think. But I am this duck, arguably meant for the sky yet living on water and land, and therefore only occasionally finding a good fit. I am a Christian but also a scientist, conservative with regard to myself yet liberal with regard to anyone else, a caricature of a person but also anchored into a world of reality. Having such opposite parents surely exaggerated these qualities and the struggles that accompany them.
When it comes to dating (not the carbon variety), these struggles seem insurmountable. I am a careful equilibrium, and the idea of finding another that God is similarly shaping into an ideal shape of a complementary human, with feet in multiple worlds, just seems unlikely. But so does my success in medical science, such as there has been thus far. So did Abraham having a son.
As always, the more I open myself up to change and direction from God, the less I care to bother with the world of dating, particularly because I do not really believe in casual dating. We had a guy die on a cross and come back to life and fly to heaven so we could have a direct line to God, so why risk making friendships weird or obtaining an ex if our buddy upstairs can tell us what to do about it? Of course, that does tend to also require a submission of a lot of other aspects of life outside of dating.
In college, I learned about the value of denominations that differed from my own. Over the last year, I have learned to apply that knowledge to my own selection. I no longer wished to attend a church like the one in which I grew up. As counter-intuitive as it may seem, a church with a very simple sermon and unenthusiastic worship, along with a small and friendly congregation, has turned out to be a good fit for the moment. As someone who struggled to force himself to attend church, a fight to stay awake during a sermon was a relieving battle in comparison to the spiritual and intellectual complexities that other churches offered in their messages (whether or not those difficulties were presented intentionally).
The thing is, though the worst of the identity crisis seems to be over, I do still wonder how to reconcile my past self with the trappings of the more recent selves that I have acquired. If I were doing ministry, I could stay in one world and one mindset. That perception is significantly easier, I think. But I am this duck, arguably meant for the sky yet living on water and land, and therefore only occasionally finding a good fit. I am a Christian but also a scientist, conservative with regard to myself yet liberal with regard to anyone else, a caricature of a person but also anchored into a world of reality. Having such opposite parents surely exaggerated these qualities and the struggles that accompany them.
When it comes to dating (not the carbon variety), these struggles seem insurmountable. I am a careful equilibrium, and the idea of finding another that God is similarly shaping into an ideal shape of a complementary human, with feet in multiple worlds, just seems unlikely. But so does my success in medical science, such as there has been thus far. So did Abraham having a son.
As always, the more I open myself up to change and direction from God, the less I care to bother with the world of dating, particularly because I do not really believe in casual dating. We had a guy die on a cross and come back to life and fly to heaven so we could have a direct line to God, so why risk making friendships weird or obtaining an ex if our buddy upstairs can tell us what to do about it? Of course, that does tend to also require a submission of a lot of other aspects of life outside of dating.
Friday, January 5, 2018
2017 Reflections Part 4 (Christmas and New Years)
I am going to skip a few events since I became much more inspired to write following the events of the road trip, and my thought processes have therefore already been documented here.
I took that test and felt good about it. It is a lot easier to drop stress and give it up to God when you have already failed at the thing before. The following day, I went to karaoke with my sisters and saw those friends that I had made at karaoke during the study program. Sunday was Christmas Eve, and we celebrated at my mom's house with some presents and whiskey provided by yours truly, which is a delicacy about which my mom has only recently begun to learn. The real present for each of us was a cruise in late January, which happens to also fall on my mom's birthday. Every year.
The following day, we went to my dad and stepmom's house for Christmas. Mimosas were flowing and everything was fairly laid back. Because of my recent months of studying in isolation, I was happy to converse with humans, and the step-family introduced a nice change from the usual conversations. Little cousins arrived in the afternoon and, much to all of our surprise, they were not all so little anymore. The oldest of this batch of cousins was now looking at colleges. I made a pitch for her to attend my alma mater and assured her that I knew the admissions counselors, so my word could carry some weight. Another cousin is a freshman who kept making his insecurities known. It caused me to remember how I overcame or, just as often, ignored my own insecurities. You change what you can and put your best foot forward with what you cannot. The youngest cousin is in her preteen years, just now spotting up with acne, but she is the favorite because she is crazy, and I am hers because, well, maybe I have both a patience and an appreciation for the crazy. I remember when my crazy was perceived as something to deal with, to suppress, when I was in junior high, when really I just felt like I was filled with unused potential that just needed appropriate outlets, if only someone would give me the opportunity.
I spent eleven hours with family that day, hours after my siblings became bored and went to see a movie. I went from family to meeting with that nonbinary friend in Dallas, since they and their boyfriend were visiting their family here. The boyfriend, a Jewish fellow, asked me if I was very religious. And given that I was raised to dislike the term, I replied that I read my Bible every day. I suppose that I am religious if I try to go to church regularly, but it does not seem overly religious if I just talk to God. I was going to use a comparative simile here, but nothing comes to mind. "Religious" hardly seems like the correct term for something that you cannot turn off because He does not turn off.
A couple days later, I went to Arkansas for my doctor friend's surprise birthday, and also to see a few other friends in the area. The trip was relatively brief, but I did meet a few other residents at the party, which made it a very professional trip. That and the several drinks I downed that evening. The following morning, I made the drive straight from Northwest Arkansas to our family's lake house, where I was to host a New Years party.
Most of those that I invited could not make it, but that turned out to be for the best. I caught up with some of my closest friends from middle school onward, one of whom had since acquired a spouse. I learned that I was not the only one who with an identity crisis of some kind on their hands; a number of us had individually been hit with such a need to reassess and retrace their spiritual life up until now. I left the year comforted by the thought that though 2017 was pretty bad, 2018 was going to be a considerable step up. Having undergone so much failure, been stopped short at so many obstacles, it is tempting to only view a new year with objective skepticism (as a side note, Star Wars Episode 8: The Last Jedi seemed to be very much in tune with the mood of the past year). But there is a reason for this spiritual awakening in all of us. God is moving, separately but congruently within all of us, to bring about a change. We are all relearning how to be Christians, attempting to strip off the excess burdens of a religious culture and holding onto what makes this faith change us and our world for the better.
2017 Reflections Part 3 (Canada, Milwaukee, Chicago)
I left NYC and enjoyed the beautiful drive through the rest of New York to Canada. It was during this border crossing that I learned that my southern toll tags had not been working in the northeast. I am still receiving unpleasant reminders of this in the mail. I stopped by Niagara Falls and got a few pictures with my GoPro, then made it later that night to my medical school friend's family's house outside of Toronto. He had recently received his passing grade on the exam that I had just taken, but had the proper level of encouragement for me, which was "if you think about it, you failed".
For my second night in Toronto, this friend of mine, whose Polish roots were fast becoming apparent, invited me to join him and a couple relatives (one whom he called "uncle" but explained that it was not an accurate term) for sausage and drinks over a bonfire. Shortly after entering the home, there were calls for shots of vodka, and this theme would become pervasive throughout the evening. After chopping wood and getting a fire going, we roasted sausages and conversed. Since they spoke mostly Polish and little English, it was a pleasant, relaxing feeling. Once again, I was in a land and language not my own, but with a friend who would translate when necessary. And fortunately, alcohol speaks volumes (milliliters) in a variety of tongues. Shots were called for occasionally throughout the night, with myself and "uncle" being the only consistent participants, until the count reached something around 8-9 shots. Aside from the need to chug water afterwards, there were surprisingly no ill effects. No hangover the next day. The Polish are onto something.
I departed Canada and ventured on to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where a friend I had made over the summer in Arkansas had recently moved for work. And there was also a lady there from JBU that I had met with again in the summer, and with whom I was interested in reconnecting. With the former friend, I went bar hopping. It was Friday the 13th in October, so there were some wonderful promotions going on that evening. At one stop, I sang at a piano bar, which marked the first successful attempt I had made at such an endeavor. I only assume success because the pianist asked me to sing another. But I had already had enough to drink to dehydrate me considerably, so I did not trust my vocals for anything beyond the song "Oh Darling" by The Beatles. The night wore on and we drank with some Irishmen, which of course led to pain the following morning. Since I drink with more control than most other bar hoppers, I was still functional enough the following day to get coffee with the lady friend. We discussed faith and politics, but mostly faith, and the struggles revolving around it and living in this age and the dating world. It is relieving to know that there are others who struggle appropriately in such an age. It can feel like each of us is the only one. I went on a distillery tour with my host the following day, and then left that Monday for Chicago, which was only a few hours away.
Fortunately, it turns out that my cousin lives just outside of Chicago. Unfortunately, he is a staunch Republican Trump supporter, MAGA hat and all. Given that we are family, and he was hosting, conversations were fairly open when the evening wore on. He had one son and two new twin boys. Given my limited experience with such little critters, it was nice to have my cousin refer to me as the "baby whisperer" when the babies kept going to sleep while I held them. The trick, I told him, was to go months without ever moving a muscle while studying.
Chicago was a very photogenic city. GoPro and iPhone were both busy capturing much as I walked the streets. I only spent a day walking the city, but aside from an improv show that had already sold out, there was nothing fun enough for me to want to pay for it beyond a locally brewed beverage. That night, mere hours away from receiving my score, I pictured the score in my mind as being 175. In the morning with no need for any alarm, my arms violently trembled as I struggled to type in usernames and passwords to access my test results. Eyes hovering above my phone's screen because my contacts and glasses would be too much of a delay in such a moment, my eyes scanned the PDF document searching for the words "PASS" or "FAIL" or a number indicating my score. Eventually, I found it. 191 was the score I found. A passing grade was 192. Fortunately, it was above the 175 that I had settled upon in my mind the night before.
I had other plans to visit Arkansas and Oklahoma on the way home, but I instead left Chicago and drove straight to Texas to take a day or two off before beginning my studies again.
For my second night in Toronto, this friend of mine, whose Polish roots were fast becoming apparent, invited me to join him and a couple relatives (one whom he called "uncle" but explained that it was not an accurate term) for sausage and drinks over a bonfire. Shortly after entering the home, there were calls for shots of vodka, and this theme would become pervasive throughout the evening. After chopping wood and getting a fire going, we roasted sausages and conversed. Since they spoke mostly Polish and little English, it was a pleasant, relaxing feeling. Once again, I was in a land and language not my own, but with a friend who would translate when necessary. And fortunately, alcohol speaks volumes (milliliters) in a variety of tongues. Shots were called for occasionally throughout the night, with myself and "uncle" being the only consistent participants, until the count reached something around 8-9 shots. Aside from the need to chug water afterwards, there were surprisingly no ill effects. No hangover the next day. The Polish are onto something.
I departed Canada and ventured on to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where a friend I had made over the summer in Arkansas had recently moved for work. And there was also a lady there from JBU that I had met with again in the summer, and with whom I was interested in reconnecting. With the former friend, I went bar hopping. It was Friday the 13th in October, so there were some wonderful promotions going on that evening. At one stop, I sang at a piano bar, which marked the first successful attempt I had made at such an endeavor. I only assume success because the pianist asked me to sing another. But I had already had enough to drink to dehydrate me considerably, so I did not trust my vocals for anything beyond the song "Oh Darling" by The Beatles. The night wore on and we drank with some Irishmen, which of course led to pain the following morning. Since I drink with more control than most other bar hoppers, I was still functional enough the following day to get coffee with the lady friend. We discussed faith and politics, but mostly faith, and the struggles revolving around it and living in this age and the dating world. It is relieving to know that there are others who struggle appropriately in such an age. It can feel like each of us is the only one. I went on a distillery tour with my host the following day, and then left that Monday for Chicago, which was only a few hours away.
Fortunately, it turns out that my cousin lives just outside of Chicago. Unfortunately, he is a staunch Republican Trump supporter, MAGA hat and all. Given that we are family, and he was hosting, conversations were fairly open when the evening wore on. He had one son and two new twin boys. Given my limited experience with such little critters, it was nice to have my cousin refer to me as the "baby whisperer" when the babies kept going to sleep while I held them. The trick, I told him, was to go months without ever moving a muscle while studying.
Chicago was a very photogenic city. GoPro and iPhone were both busy capturing much as I walked the streets. I only spent a day walking the city, but aside from an improv show that had already sold out, there was nothing fun enough for me to want to pay for it beyond a locally brewed beverage. That night, mere hours away from receiving my score, I pictured the score in my mind as being 175. In the morning with no need for any alarm, my arms violently trembled as I struggled to type in usernames and passwords to access my test results. Eyes hovering above my phone's screen because my contacts and glasses would be too much of a delay in such a moment, my eyes scanned the PDF document searching for the words "PASS" or "FAIL" or a number indicating my score. Eventually, I found it. 191 was the score I found. A passing grade was 192. Fortunately, it was above the 175 that I had settled upon in my mind the night before.
I had other plans to visit Arkansas and Oklahoma on the way home, but I instead left Chicago and drove straight to Texas to take a day or two off before beginning my studies again.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
2017 Reflections Part 2 (New York)
I quickly learned why no one drives within New York City as I traversed the roads to Brooklyn, where friends I had made in medical school were currently living while they did clinical rotations. I had heard enough offhand jokes from comedians about not taking right turns at red lights that I was second-guessing myself throughout, and was thankful that I kept having a car in front of me that tended to go in the same direction. I did what anyone visiting New York does on the first visit by going to the most tourist-laden area of Times Square. It bore a striking resemblance to the pictures I had seen.
"New York City" by Among Savages played in the background as I walked the streets. There are many things to be said for NYC, but perhaps my favorite was just how much of a culturally diverse place it was. Central Park was the place I frequented most, and as I strolled through the green hilly areas with buildings scraping the upper edges of the thickets, I was as likely to hear accents and languages from any other country as I was to hear one from the U.S., as if I was given the privilege of traveling to another country without having to leave these shores.
I learned from my medical friends that clinical rotations would in many ways be the opposite of my studies thus far, with so much interaction with humans that they were all fed up with people in general. I also learned that many of them did not care for alcohol except on nights when they desired to become blackout drunk, which is not at all my own take on the drink.
I finally got to meet my nonbinary (attractive phenotypic female human) friend from my same hometown who was trying to work in acting, specifically in the comedy realm. They (the correct pronoun to use with those who identify this way) was as witty as I had hoped, and we went to see an improvised comedy show at the Upright Citizens Brigade theater. Unlike most improvised shows, this was done by real professionals, people who wrote for late night shows and for The Onion. Though I maintained that I was not impressed by their blocking with respect to the audience, the biggest thing I noticed was how quickly they cut their sketches short. Nothing went on for too long or became stagnant. If anything, scenes felt as if they were stopped prematurely.
On my last night there, I met up with this friend again, along with their boyfriend, and I invited them to speak freely of their feelings toward faith and politics without fear of what I would think. They (singular) shared that she thought little of the idea of some man in heaven calling the shots, and introduced me to the idea of the Unitarian denomination. At their services, they are read texts from holy books outside of the Bible (such as the Qur'an and others), and though I do not wish to criticize faiths about which I know little, this one sounded closer to Oprahism than to a branch of the Christian faith. Its origins can apparently be traced back to the Protestant Reformation, when the religious divide pushed some to jump from the extreme structure and corruption of the Catholic church to the opposite extreme. Such a progression makes sense I suppose.
Following our conversation at a bar, the three of us went back to her apartment. Since they had terrible hangovers with more than one beverage, the boyfriend and I set to work on half of a bottle of scotch that I had brought. As he was Jewish, we discussed theology to some extent, but for one of a very few times in my life (due to the lovely scotch), my memory becomes spotty around this time. Though I specifically remember that when I was notably under the influence of alcohol, I began to strongly adopt the speech patterns of the John Mulaney and Nick Kroll as seen in the broadway show "Oh Hello".
The following morning, I departed, only mildly hung over, heading for Canada.
"New York City" by Among Savages played in the background as I walked the streets. There are many things to be said for NYC, but perhaps my favorite was just how much of a culturally diverse place it was. Central Park was the place I frequented most, and as I strolled through the green hilly areas with buildings scraping the upper edges of the thickets, I was as likely to hear accents and languages from any other country as I was to hear one from the U.S., as if I was given the privilege of traveling to another country without having to leave these shores.
I learned from my medical friends that clinical rotations would in many ways be the opposite of my studies thus far, with so much interaction with humans that they were all fed up with people in general. I also learned that many of them did not care for alcohol except on nights when they desired to become blackout drunk, which is not at all my own take on the drink.
I finally got to meet my nonbinary (attractive phenotypic female human) friend from my same hometown who was trying to work in acting, specifically in the comedy realm. They (the correct pronoun to use with those who identify this way) was as witty as I had hoped, and we went to see an improvised comedy show at the Upright Citizens Brigade theater. Unlike most improvised shows, this was done by real professionals, people who wrote for late night shows and for The Onion. Though I maintained that I was not impressed by their blocking with respect to the audience, the biggest thing I noticed was how quickly they cut their sketches short. Nothing went on for too long or became stagnant. If anything, scenes felt as if they were stopped prematurely.
On my last night there, I met up with this friend again, along with their boyfriend, and I invited them to speak freely of their feelings toward faith and politics without fear of what I would think. They (singular) shared that she thought little of the idea of some man in heaven calling the shots, and introduced me to the idea of the Unitarian denomination. At their services, they are read texts from holy books outside of the Bible (such as the Qur'an and others), and though I do not wish to criticize faiths about which I know little, this one sounded closer to Oprahism than to a branch of the Christian faith. Its origins can apparently be traced back to the Protestant Reformation, when the religious divide pushed some to jump from the extreme structure and corruption of the Catholic church to the opposite extreme. Such a progression makes sense I suppose.
Following our conversation at a bar, the three of us went back to her apartment. Since they had terrible hangovers with more than one beverage, the boyfriend and I set to work on half of a bottle of scotch that I had brought. As he was Jewish, we discussed theology to some extent, but for one of a very few times in my life (due to the lovely scotch), my memory becomes spotty around this time. Though I specifically remember that when I was notably under the influence of alcohol, I began to strongly adopt the speech patterns of the John Mulaney and Nick Kroll as seen in the broadway show "Oh Hello".
The following morning, I departed, only mildly hung over, heading for Canada.
2017 Reflections Part 1 (New Years Up To New York)
The year began with me getting over a cold while attending the first nonalcoholic New Years party that I had attended in years. It was fun and I met new/old humans from a homeschooled past. Days later, I began a fairly intensive seven-week study program. During the first weekend of the program, my father remarried at a destination wedding in Cancun. With one sister preoccupied with studies and the other locked up for the week due to suicide threats, it was left to myself and my brothers to introduce the new family to karaoke at our all-inclusive but remarkably child-friendly hotel. Wine and beer were on tap and such privileges were heavily abused, even though I was already dehydrated. Thus did I begin to learn one of the notable practical lessons of the year, namely that I am a far worse singer when dehydrated. Fortunately, my song selections only occasionally require the ability to reach or maintain a difficult pitch.
Following the wedding, I flew back to my study program. Having spent so much time in isolation on the island, and then being the only emphatically left-leaning human at home, it was incredibly relieving to spend time with others who held science and basic levels of humanity to a real degree of esteem. As the study program went on, I made it a habit to bring up some political or ethical discussions at lunch time, always taking the side of minorities and ridiculing the reign of the white man. These discussions always had adequate fodder, because President Donald J. Trump was of course sworn in during the first month of the study program. We were studying medical psychology that week. According to my psychology professor on the island, professors in the past had had to hire actors to portray narcissists, but since Trump had come into the public eye, they just used footage of him.
By the end of the program, I was seen as a leader in the study group (or so I was told), which surprised me, primarily because there was no need for a leader. But it was still pleasant to hear. I suppose that this came from both the lunch discussions, as well as from my taking the initiative to have an open invitation to karaoke nearby every week. As it happens, this is where I met a couple friends from the area who were also studying science things. They are the reason why I had relief on weekends while studying for this most recent exam, always up for karaoke on a Friday night.
Following the program, I ventured to Arkansas and stayed with my friend who was to graduate from medical school in the next couple months. I was only planning to stay for a weekend, but ended up staying for a full week when I learned that there was a party for the medical students coming up. I of course wished to network, by which I mean drink and play video games with fellow medical humans.
Following this, I went back to my family's lake house, where I spent weeks alone studying for what I would soon find out was my last chance to pass my medical school's qualifying exam. It is hard to avoid being bitter about it, considering how much they are setting the students up for failure. But I have likely written out my complaints about that on here before, so suffice it to say that in a state of fed up exhaustion, I managed to fail that exam by a just a few points. We found out about the failure three days after it happened. It took seven more days for them to tell us that to continue with this medical school, we would have to fly back to the island the following week and take a remedial class. So I transferred schools to one on the neighbor island, which accepted my score as passing and allowed me to study for the Step 1 exam, which is the real 8-hour exam that I had been trying to take for nearly a year at this point.
Following the successful transfer to that school, I realized once again that I could not study at home. Anxiety over politics, no quiet study space, and a general unsettled feeling led me to pack up my car and drive to Arkansas once again. I arrived just in time for a friend's graduation party, and then, over the course of the next few days, managed to find an apartment that would allow me to move in a day or two later. Though the roaches were plentiful, the price and location were right (within easy walking distance of everything in downtown Siloam Springs, the home of my alma mater). I studied and frequented the bar which had been erected a year after I graduated. I began to remember how to make friends and communicate with humans again after so much time spent in isolation. I had a clown-in-nature-themed photo shoot, and appeared as a clown at my doctor friend's mom's birthday party after befriending that friend's dad to some degree. This befriending was shocking to me as well, as he was the type to visit that bar only when less people were expected to visit. In other words, he generally disliked people. People who dislike people tend to like me, which seems odd. Or maybe expected, since I am not regular people.
During this time, I also had two choice encounters with a lovely lady from that same small town who had moved to Los Angeles to give a shot at acting. Though I made a terrible impression by my estimation, her presence struck me with the knowledge that there are still single intelligent Christian ladies in existence in our late 20's. I had genuinely thought that that ship had sailed.
That clown photo shoot (and learning to make balloon animals) makes for a classic example of how I cannot seem to study intensely without having a creative venture about which I can plan and daydream. So as the days turned from 6-hour studying bouts to 10-12-hour studies, and I selected the date upon which I would take the Step 1 exam, I began planning a road trip to New York. I naturally pushed everything to the last minute, because I guess that a part of me somehow thought that an 8-hour medical exam filled with 280 riddles would not be enough to stress me out. Also during this time, the early rumblings of my upcoming identity crisis began to make themselves known, triggered by texting with a young lady I was liking, and this triggering was primarily owed to the fact that the contents of the texts were prayers for one another concerning our studies and upcoming exams. Having spent so much time away from the Christian crowd with which I grew up, my thinking had largely changed in that regard in order to adapt.
Then the test came. Over a year of studying for this particular exam, and the day was finally upon me. Following the test, I went to cider and yoga with doctor friend and his wife, and then woke up the next morning to learn that my debit card information might be compromised due to a $40 iTunes charge, so I cancelled the card. This was thrilling, because I was to move out the following day and drive to Nashville, all in one smooth, stress-heavy motion, as I began this road trip. In the midst of this, I did manage to catch Mewtwo in Pokemon Go, which marked the last thing I would do in the game before I deleted the app to make space for pictures from my trip.
My dad and stepmom arrived to help me pack up my things, and I visited with them and the step siblings, then drove to Nashville. In Nashville, I stayed with another London Smith whom I had met through Facebook. Though he was funny and Christian online, I found him to be far too genuine and real of a human in person. I suppose that we all have our burdens to bear.
From there, I drove to D.C., since tentative plans to visit South Carolina fell through, and discovered that an old friend from high school lived outside the city. I stayed on his couch for a few days, finally getting a good night's sleep for the first time in a week or more. Having been to the capitols of other major countries, I found our own to be lacking in comparison, though I did appreciate that much of what our nation did have in terms of monuments tended to be more recent and modern in their artistic approach. I met an Indian fellow who struck up conversation and I explained to him (as I understood it) how this nation had descended to these depths of social and political discord.
I should interject here that a major objective of this trip was to keep from thinking. I knew that I had three weeks before I would find out my test results, and the apprehension of anxiety that would accompany thoughts of it led me to suppress it in my mind. Unfortunately, I think I did this to too great a degree. I refrained from writing, which would normally be the more mature and frankly cathartic method of dealing with something as difficult to process as waiting for the results of a difficult exam. But I did not write. Fortunately, the memories remain fresh, perhaps because the last few years have had such a paramount focus on memorization that when I have anecdotes to accompany what I am attempting to remember, there is hardly a difficulty involved in finding the neural pathways to awaken the memory therein. Anyway, back to the road trip.
While staying at my friend's apartment, I also spent a day in Baltimore. Though I later heard only poor things about Baltimore, my experience was wonderful. I visited a distillery that had only opened up in the spring, but had a rich history back before Prohibition. I then wandered and visited a bar for dinner and made friends with the bartender and customers there, and the bartender offered free shots (of our own selection) for no reason that I could discern.
While staying with my friend, we talked about a myriad of things. I was relieved to talk to someone who viewed things with a deeper intellectual analysis than myself (he works as a data analyst, as it happens), so we discussed a myriad of topics relating to our faith, theology, science, and politics, all on a level of depth that I rarely reach with any other friends. But like all pleasant things, my time there was coming to a close so that I could reach the real target of this road trip: New York City.
Following the wedding, I flew back to my study program. Having spent so much time in isolation on the island, and then being the only emphatically left-leaning human at home, it was incredibly relieving to spend time with others who held science and basic levels of humanity to a real degree of esteem. As the study program went on, I made it a habit to bring up some political or ethical discussions at lunch time, always taking the side of minorities and ridiculing the reign of the white man. These discussions always had adequate fodder, because President Donald J. Trump was of course sworn in during the first month of the study program. We were studying medical psychology that week. According to my psychology professor on the island, professors in the past had had to hire actors to portray narcissists, but since Trump had come into the public eye, they just used footage of him.
By the end of the program, I was seen as a leader in the study group (or so I was told), which surprised me, primarily because there was no need for a leader. But it was still pleasant to hear. I suppose that this came from both the lunch discussions, as well as from my taking the initiative to have an open invitation to karaoke nearby every week. As it happens, this is where I met a couple friends from the area who were also studying science things. They are the reason why I had relief on weekends while studying for this most recent exam, always up for karaoke on a Friday night.
Following the program, I ventured to Arkansas and stayed with my friend who was to graduate from medical school in the next couple months. I was only planning to stay for a weekend, but ended up staying for a full week when I learned that there was a party for the medical students coming up. I of course wished to network, by which I mean drink and play video games with fellow medical humans.
Following this, I went back to my family's lake house, where I spent weeks alone studying for what I would soon find out was my last chance to pass my medical school's qualifying exam. It is hard to avoid being bitter about it, considering how much they are setting the students up for failure. But I have likely written out my complaints about that on here before, so suffice it to say that in a state of fed up exhaustion, I managed to fail that exam by a just a few points. We found out about the failure three days after it happened. It took seven more days for them to tell us that to continue with this medical school, we would have to fly back to the island the following week and take a remedial class. So I transferred schools to one on the neighbor island, which accepted my score as passing and allowed me to study for the Step 1 exam, which is the real 8-hour exam that I had been trying to take for nearly a year at this point.
Following the successful transfer to that school, I realized once again that I could not study at home. Anxiety over politics, no quiet study space, and a general unsettled feeling led me to pack up my car and drive to Arkansas once again. I arrived just in time for a friend's graduation party, and then, over the course of the next few days, managed to find an apartment that would allow me to move in a day or two later. Though the roaches were plentiful, the price and location were right (within easy walking distance of everything in downtown Siloam Springs, the home of my alma mater). I studied and frequented the bar which had been erected a year after I graduated. I began to remember how to make friends and communicate with humans again after so much time spent in isolation. I had a clown-in-nature-themed photo shoot, and appeared as a clown at my doctor friend's mom's birthday party after befriending that friend's dad to some degree. This befriending was shocking to me as well, as he was the type to visit that bar only when less people were expected to visit. In other words, he generally disliked people. People who dislike people tend to like me, which seems odd. Or maybe expected, since I am not regular people.
During this time, I also had two choice encounters with a lovely lady from that same small town who had moved to Los Angeles to give a shot at acting. Though I made a terrible impression by my estimation, her presence struck me with the knowledge that there are still single intelligent Christian ladies in existence in our late 20's. I had genuinely thought that that ship had sailed.
That clown photo shoot (and learning to make balloon animals) makes for a classic example of how I cannot seem to study intensely without having a creative venture about which I can plan and daydream. So as the days turned from 6-hour studying bouts to 10-12-hour studies, and I selected the date upon which I would take the Step 1 exam, I began planning a road trip to New York. I naturally pushed everything to the last minute, because I guess that a part of me somehow thought that an 8-hour medical exam filled with 280 riddles would not be enough to stress me out. Also during this time, the early rumblings of my upcoming identity crisis began to make themselves known, triggered by texting with a young lady I was liking, and this triggering was primarily owed to the fact that the contents of the texts were prayers for one another concerning our studies and upcoming exams. Having spent so much time away from the Christian crowd with which I grew up, my thinking had largely changed in that regard in order to adapt.
Then the test came. Over a year of studying for this particular exam, and the day was finally upon me. Following the test, I went to cider and yoga with doctor friend and his wife, and then woke up the next morning to learn that my debit card information might be compromised due to a $40 iTunes charge, so I cancelled the card. This was thrilling, because I was to move out the following day and drive to Nashville, all in one smooth, stress-heavy motion, as I began this road trip. In the midst of this, I did manage to catch Mewtwo in Pokemon Go, which marked the last thing I would do in the game before I deleted the app to make space for pictures from my trip.
My dad and stepmom arrived to help me pack up my things, and I visited with them and the step siblings, then drove to Nashville. In Nashville, I stayed with another London Smith whom I had met through Facebook. Though he was funny and Christian online, I found him to be far too genuine and real of a human in person. I suppose that we all have our burdens to bear.
From there, I drove to D.C., since tentative plans to visit South Carolina fell through, and discovered that an old friend from high school lived outside the city. I stayed on his couch for a few days, finally getting a good night's sleep for the first time in a week or more. Having been to the capitols of other major countries, I found our own to be lacking in comparison, though I did appreciate that much of what our nation did have in terms of monuments tended to be more recent and modern in their artistic approach. I met an Indian fellow who struck up conversation and I explained to him (as I understood it) how this nation had descended to these depths of social and political discord.
I should interject here that a major objective of this trip was to keep from thinking. I knew that I had three weeks before I would find out my test results, and the apprehension of anxiety that would accompany thoughts of it led me to suppress it in my mind. Unfortunately, I think I did this to too great a degree. I refrained from writing, which would normally be the more mature and frankly cathartic method of dealing with something as difficult to process as waiting for the results of a difficult exam. But I did not write. Fortunately, the memories remain fresh, perhaps because the last few years have had such a paramount focus on memorization that when I have anecdotes to accompany what I am attempting to remember, there is hardly a difficulty involved in finding the neural pathways to awaken the memory therein. Anyway, back to the road trip.
While staying at my friend's apartment, I also spent a day in Baltimore. Though I later heard only poor things about Baltimore, my experience was wonderful. I visited a distillery that had only opened up in the spring, but had a rich history back before Prohibition. I then wandered and visited a bar for dinner and made friends with the bartender and customers there, and the bartender offered free shots (of our own selection) for no reason that I could discern.
While staying with my friend, we talked about a myriad of things. I was relieved to talk to someone who viewed things with a deeper intellectual analysis than myself (he works as a data analyst, as it happens), so we discussed a myriad of topics relating to our faith, theology, science, and politics, all on a level of depth that I rarely reach with any other friends. But like all pleasant things, my time there was coming to a close so that I could reach the real target of this road trip: New York City.
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