Well, I'm firmly entrenched in the grit of medical school. We've covered 1/6 of our biochem/cellular bio course and our midterm is next Monday. My. Birthday. Huzzah!
I'm actually feeling pretty comfortable (so far) with the pace we've set. I'm sure, though, that I'll have a different sentiment this coming Sunday.
We've had a few lectures in our development course on men's vs women's health, full of statistics and how social constructs affect medical outcomes. It struck me though that the men's lecture was full of clinical techniques to counter these issues but there was not. a. single. one. introduced in the talk on women's health despite so many more inequities being quantifiably demonstrated (representation in clinical trials, the masculine body being the normal presentation in academics etc. I won't even go into the social/cultural contexts women deal with).
Our class is, strangely, predominately male. A 60-40 ratio, I think. Even with this disproportion, the female contribution, whether in the form of questions or thoughts, has been minimal. Besides my own, I've only heard two other feminine voices raised in lecture. Is this normal at other schools? I would have thought that anyone who reaches this stage in their education would be more assertive, more confident in contributing.
The school's fitness center is right next door to the building our lectures are in. It's amazing! Before, I'd always had the best intentions regarding working out but I rarely followed through beyond the first or second week. Now, it's pretty effortless. I go to class in the morning, study on campus for a few hours afterward, then walk down the hall toward the parking garage. But, wait, there, a beautiful pool, steam room and hot tub! So I wander in. I tell myself "you can relax as long as you want in the jacuzzi, just first: run 2 miles and swim 2 laps." So I do! It takes about 45 minutes and then, I soak. LOVELY. I can already feel the difference in my body, I'm falling asleep more easily, waking up more readily and can really focus on the class material. I know that I wouldn't make the same effort if the gym wasn't so bloody convenient. I actually felt guilty last Friday for skipping out early. I'm determined to get my resting heart rate down to the 60s (I'm high 70s-low 80's now) by the end of the term.
That's all for now. I'll update more later this week.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
First Week Halfway Point
I'm halfway through the first week. It's been a rockin' start. Classes start at 8:00 am and run until 4-5pm (except Tuesday, when we leave at 6:00). BCMS is easing us in. The only uber-demanding course is the biochem, which, thus far, has been all review for me. Hee. The small-groups meet first for 3 hours and work on the assigned problem sets covering the previous day's material. Then we all gather for the new 2 hour lecture.
I've always been an independent learner. Usually when I 'study' with other students, it's more distracting than constructive. I've always performed well on exams after solitary study- not so much when I've had study-partners. That said, the small-group format here has really impressed me. We've had 2 sessions thus far and I really feel like I understood the material so much better afterwards.
I'm officially a medical student! Sometimes that thought just trips across my mind and I can't help but grin. I'm really happy.
Some of my classmates are awesome and some haven't made such a good impression. I'm trying to not be judgmental.
All of the opportunities are overwhelming. We've already been introduced to so many, I can't keep them straight. I'm giving myself until the end of the month to acclimate to the academics and then I need to start planning the next four years. Research? International Study? Honors program? Interest groups?
Over the last few months, I had explored different study/organization options and settled, hesitantly, on an ipad. It's totally worth the insane amount of money! I'm not the most tech savvy individual (I'd always been a paper and pen note-taker) but my transition has essentially been seamless. Every day, Dr. __p____, my BC professor alone posts over 60 pages of slides/notes/objectives. Multiply that by all the classes of an MS1 and you'll get aching shoulders. With, i-annotate (an application) I can organize, write notes with a stylus, type etc over any file format (that I'm aware of). Sliding a tiny 1.5lb sliver of brilliance into my bag totally beats lugging around 50+lbs of books/binders. I wish I had had one as an undergrad; my back would be healthier.
Oh and the cat killed another herb, the chives. Only a few seeds had sprouted but I babied the group for weeks, hoping that they'd proliferate. She pulled them all out by their roots and left them scattered across the hardwood floor. That's 2/6 of my herb window garden gone. Bah.
I've always been an independent learner. Usually when I 'study' with other students, it's more distracting than constructive. I've always performed well on exams after solitary study- not so much when I've had study-partners. That said, the small-group format here has really impressed me. We've had 2 sessions thus far and I really feel like I understood the material so much better afterwards.
I'm officially a medical student! Sometimes that thought just trips across my mind and I can't help but grin. I'm really happy.
Some of my classmates are awesome and some haven't made such a good impression. I'm trying to not be judgmental.
All of the opportunities are overwhelming. We've already been introduced to so many, I can't keep them straight. I'm giving myself until the end of the month to acclimate to the academics and then I need to start planning the next four years. Research? International Study? Honors program? Interest groups?
Over the last few months, I had explored different study/organization options and settled, hesitantly, on an ipad. It's totally worth the insane amount of money! I'm not the most tech savvy individual (I'd always been a paper and pen note-taker) but my transition has essentially been seamless. Every day, Dr. __p____, my BC professor alone posts over 60 pages of slides/notes/objectives. Multiply that by all the classes of an MS1 and you'll get aching shoulders. With, i-annotate (an application) I can organize, write notes with a stylus, type etc over any file format (that I'm aware of). Sliding a tiny 1.5lb sliver of brilliance into my bag totally beats lugging around 50+lbs of books/binders. I wish I had had one as an undergrad; my back would be healthier.
Oh and the cat killed another herb, the chives. Only a few seeds had sprouted but I babied the group for weeks, hoping that they'd proliferate. She pulled them all out by their roots and left them scattered across the hardwood floor. That's 2/6 of my herb window garden gone. Bah.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Orientation Week and the Night before D-Day
Wow.
Last Monday, the line for registration wrapped around the atrium and stretched down the stairs. 130 students waiting anxiously to check in; last name first, first name last. I listened as my new classmates shuffled forward. Smith, Dana. Check. Jones, James. Check. Here's your packet, fill this out, drop that off at security. Make sure you complete everything on this list today. There won't be other opportunities.
Finally, it was my turn at the broad folding table in front of the library. I opened my mouth to state my name, last name first, first name last, but the folks from admissions said it for me. They recognized me from brief interactions 7 months ago! I guess the little brown wren stands out when surrounded by swans.
This past week has thoroughly erased any hesitations and doubt I've struggled with. I'm so excited for all the opportunities laid out like an academic smorgasbord. I'm really going to have to work on my gluttony and make some hard decisions. Next summer, do I organize a research project or take advantage of the extensive global health immersion programs my school offers? I want to do both!
During one of the 'get-to-know-us' lectures, the dean put up a grid of our ages, MCAT scores and GPAs. I'm the oldest, in the bottom third grade-wise and tied at the top for MCAT score. The class, with an average age of 22, is so young. There are only three other students in their thirties.
The week consisted of a series of social meet-and-greets. The most common conversation pieces consisted of "Where are you from? Undergrad? What have you been doing since college?"
Everyone seems pleasant enough. They're all so tall! I only spotted one other vertically challenged student, a competitive gymnast. I am grateful (sort-of) for my excess adipose tissue. The fat hides any wrinkles and I look younger than I am. No one guessed that I was at the apex of the age pyramid and the looks of disbelief when I confessed were gratifying in a superficial way.
I glanced through the pdfs for tomorrow's eight hours of lecture (!) and am already overwhelmed by what we're going to cover. It's going to be a doozy of a year.
Last Monday, the line for registration wrapped around the atrium and stretched down the stairs. 130 students waiting anxiously to check in; last name first, first name last. I listened as my new classmates shuffled forward. Smith, Dana. Check. Jones, James. Check. Here's your packet, fill this out, drop that off at security. Make sure you complete everything on this list today. There won't be other opportunities.
Finally, it was my turn at the broad folding table in front of the library. I opened my mouth to state my name, last name first, first name last, but the folks from admissions said it for me. They recognized me from brief interactions 7 months ago! I guess the little brown wren stands out when surrounded by swans.
This past week has thoroughly erased any hesitations and doubt I've struggled with. I'm so excited for all the opportunities laid out like an academic smorgasbord. I'm really going to have to work on my gluttony and make some hard decisions. Next summer, do I organize a research project or take advantage of the extensive global health immersion programs my school offers? I want to do both!
During one of the 'get-to-know-us' lectures, the dean put up a grid of our ages, MCAT scores and GPAs. I'm the oldest, in the bottom third grade-wise and tied at the top for MCAT score. The class, with an average age of 22, is so young. There are only three other students in their thirties.
The week consisted of a series of social meet-and-greets. The most common conversation pieces consisted of "Where are you from? Undergrad? What have you been doing since college?"
Everyone seems pleasant enough. They're all so tall! I only spotted one other vertically challenged student, a competitive gymnast. I am grateful (sort-of) for my excess adipose tissue. The fat hides any wrinkles and I look younger than I am. No one guessed that I was at the apex of the age pyramid and the looks of disbelief when I confessed were gratifying in a superficial way.
I glanced through the pdfs for tomorrow's eight hours of lecture (!) and am already overwhelmed by what we're going to cover. It's going to be a doozy of a year.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Orientation Tomorrow
My anxiety has evolved into anticipation. I spent the evening checking and rechecking all my to do lists confirming that everything is, in fact, done. I'm really excited.
Tomorrow is going to be mostly routine legalities: computer class, bursar's office, fin aid, security for parking and ID badge, student health etc.
Tuesday and Wednesday will consist of 'meet everyone even remotely affiliated with BCMS' talks. Deans, class leaders, volunteer services, student support services, advisors, student advisors, med spanish group, security systems, the janitors, patients who haunt the ED and the guy who rides his bike past the hospital every day all have an hour slot to tell us what they're about.
Thursday and Friday are the CPR classes. Luckily I'm slotted for Thursday so my first med school weekend is a 3day! Booyah!
Well, except for the "voluntary" day of service on Saturday. Actually, I looking forward to it, it being the first time I'll really engage in my new neighborhood.
I leave you with a few photos:
I know, I know, climbing a mountain is so cliché but the pimple on my chin looks exactly like the Grand Teton and I couldn't help myself. These photographs have the double contradictory effect of lifting my spirits and keeping me humble. After my photo is taken twice tomorrow, once for the ID and the other for the composite class photograph, I'll carry (literally) the memories of my climbing adventures all through school.
Tomorrow is going to be mostly routine legalities: computer class, bursar's office, fin aid, security for parking and ID badge, student health etc.
Tuesday and Wednesday will consist of 'meet everyone even remotely affiliated with BCMS' talks. Deans, class leaders, volunteer services, student support services, advisors, student advisors, med spanish group, security systems, the janitors, patients who haunt the ED and the guy who rides his bike past the hospital every day all have an hour slot to tell us what they're about.
Thursday and Friday are the CPR classes. Luckily I'm slotted for Thursday so my first med school weekend is a 3day! Booyah!
Well, except for the "voluntary" day of service on Saturday. Actually, I looking forward to it, it being the first time I'll really engage in my new neighborhood.
I leave you with a few photos:
 |
| Teton Range: Middle Teton is the far left peak |
 |
| Me on Middle's summit with the Grand at my back |
 |
| Even the homestretch had stumbling blocks |
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Homestretch/Green Mile
I've had a busy week.
I've reorganized my closets. Twice. And replaced the inner tube on my bike's front wheel and bought a new saddlebag basket and new reflectors. It's been a few years since I've biked regularly in the city and I can barely wait to get back in the habit. I love love love not having to find, or pay for, parking!
I killed one of my herbs, the lavender. I don't know what happened. It had good drainage and I watered daily. I think the heat conquered. I fear that this is an ominous sign of the coming year. I'll report back next June on the number of plants that survive MS1.
I had my respirator fitting and TB screen. Why do hospitals not trust other hospitals' ppd results? Tuesday marked the 4th time in the last 7 months that I was poked (once for the yearly at work and twice before volunteering at a hospice). But BCMS required that I have one done by them too. Argh. Of course, it was negative. Again.
The obligatory pre-first day pimple woke up on my chin this morning. Yay.
I've been trying, the last few weeks, to adjust to waking up earlier. With over a decade of working second/third shift, my body understands that anything earlier than 9:00 is obnoxious. But, this morning I woke up before my alarm at 6:45! I'm thinking optimistically that it's the retraining of my circadian rhythm and not stress, despite the pimple. And the nightmare.
Ask any professional restaurant server (the career that paid for all my adult life) and they'll tell you all about the typical server nightmares: the section or table that swells with new people every time you go back, the unreasonable boss, the evil chef etc.
Years ago, when I started working for a truly nasty boss, my server nightmares stopped. I suppose with actually living the nightmare, My superego had to deal with coping with the stress thus leaving nothing for my subconscious.
On rare occasions, the night before terminally extubating my mother or, as the case may be, the nights before medical school, the server nightmare manifests. Last night, I was back working for the nightmare boss. I guess that shows how stressed I am. MCAT pshaw, moving cross-country pshaw, tackling two full time jobs simultaneously hah! The day before school being on par with deciding to let my mother die?!!
I know that the next few years are going to bring incredible stresses. I'll be really lucky if my nightmares continue to be about waiting tables and not about things that could happen in the hospital. I can deal with the angry diner who didn't get her Coke refill.
Today, I do laundry, clean, and pay all the bills for the coming months.
Oh. I received a call from my service provider. The other phone I pay for has shown a spike in activity; would I like to add texting to the plan? Apparently, my grandmother has discovered a great new way to communicate to her friends and family. She's sent out 637 texts this month alone.
It makes sense for a woman who is very hard of hearing- there are fewer misunderstandings. I laughed despite the added cost. My almost 90yo Gram is so tech savvy. She has more facebook friends than I do!
Tomorrow, I go grocery shopping- with my new bike basket! and hit the zoo. I wanted to do something fun and relaxing the day before D-day.
I've reorganized my closets. Twice. And replaced the inner tube on my bike's front wheel and bought a new saddlebag basket and new reflectors. It's been a few years since I've biked regularly in the city and I can barely wait to get back in the habit. I love love love not having to find, or pay for, parking!
I had my respirator fitting and TB screen. Why do hospitals not trust other hospitals' ppd results? Tuesday marked the 4th time in the last 7 months that I was poked (once for the yearly at work and twice before volunteering at a hospice). But BCMS required that I have one done by them too. Argh. Of course, it was negative. Again.
The obligatory pre-first day pimple woke up on my chin this morning. Yay.
I've been trying, the last few weeks, to adjust to waking up earlier. With over a decade of working second/third shift, my body understands that anything earlier than 9:00 is obnoxious. But, this morning I woke up before my alarm at 6:45! I'm thinking optimistically that it's the retraining of my circadian rhythm and not stress, despite the pimple. And the nightmare.
Ask any professional restaurant server (the career that paid for all my adult life) and they'll tell you all about the typical server nightmares: the section or table that swells with new people every time you go back, the unreasonable boss, the evil chef etc.
Years ago, when I started working for a truly nasty boss, my server nightmares stopped. I suppose with actually living the nightmare, My superego had to deal with coping with the stress thus leaving nothing for my subconscious.
On rare occasions, the night before terminally extubating my mother or, as the case may be, the nights before medical school, the server nightmare manifests. Last night, I was back working for the nightmare boss. I guess that shows how stressed I am. MCAT pshaw, moving cross-country pshaw, tackling two full time jobs simultaneously hah! The day before school being on par with deciding to let my mother die?!!
I know that the next few years are going to bring incredible stresses. I'll be really lucky if my nightmares continue to be about waiting tables and not about things that could happen in the hospital. I can deal with the angry diner who didn't get her Coke refill.
Today, I do laundry, clean, and pay all the bills for the coming months.
Oh. I received a call from my service provider. The other phone I pay for has shown a spike in activity; would I like to add texting to the plan? Apparently, my grandmother has discovered a great new way to communicate to her friends and family. She's sent out 637 texts this month alone.
It makes sense for a woman who is very hard of hearing- there are fewer misunderstandings. I laughed despite the added cost. My almost 90yo Gram is so tech savvy. She has more facebook friends than I do!
Tomorrow, I go grocery shopping- with my new bike basket! and hit the zoo. I wanted to do something fun and relaxing the day before D-day.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
One Week.
The moment came today. I was walking to the market, a truck drove by and cast a cloud of dust and grime into my face. I coughed and pulled out a cloth to wipe my glasses. Then it happened. My perspective shifted. Medical school ceased being a vague, holy-cow-not-really-happening-to-me, intangible ambition and suddenly became real.
The financial aid is in my bank account. Orientation comes next week and I pick up my books tomorrow. Tuesday is the ppd screen and respirator fitting.
I am so completely terrified.
I walked past the market, continuing on aimlessly. Thinking. I ended up in a little rundown park by the river in an iffy neighborhood and sat, staring at the garbage bobbing in the murky water.
Am I making the right choice?
I remember telling the doctor-uncle of an old flame that I was thinking about becoming a doctor. I was 21 at the time, fresh out of working in the national parks and hadn't even started college. I had no idea then how challenging just getting accepted would be. He wasn't encouraging, a sentiment echoed by the soon-to-be ex. Life became dramatic and I left that dream on a musty closet shelf of an old apartment.
The years passed and I continued to ramble aimlessly across the country. I found myself 26, living in Seattle with lots of disposable income. What to do? What to do? Hey! I'll take a couple of community college classes!
And so it began. That first day, my chemistry professor told us that half the class would drop before the term's over. Humph. I'd show him. And I did. I ended up with the highest grade in the class and friends with a premed aspirant. She reminded me of the idea I had had once and, soon, I found myself on the road to medicine.
It quickly became apparent how competitive the premed curriculum and the med school application process were. My ambitions were not very well received on the family front and my college mentor adamantly wanted me to go into a graduate chemistry program rather than medicine. Having striations of a strong Irish-Scot stubbornness, my "I'll show them" attitude came on gusting. Somehow, the determination to succeed, to beat the challenge by getting an acceptance got tangled up with my purer reasons for wanting medicine. Those reasons I had had before I knew that the challenge, the doubt, existed.
Today, in my terror, I tried to unwind them. Am I starting this insane, exigent path for the right reasons? Now, having shewed them, is this what I really want?
Or is my fear that I'm not good enough, that I won't, can't succeed, murking up the waters, like the garbage floating in front of me, causing me to question my own motivation?
I don't know.
I'm reading my journal from work, remembering my favorite patients and how the medicine and the dynamics of medical care intrigued me. It's helping a little.
School needs to start. I'm hoping that once I'm on the rat wheel, I won't have time for these self-defeating doubts. Oh, I hope.
The financial aid is in my bank account. Orientation comes next week and I pick up my books tomorrow. Tuesday is the ppd screen and respirator fitting.
I am so completely terrified.
I walked past the market, continuing on aimlessly. Thinking. I ended up in a little rundown park by the river in an iffy neighborhood and sat, staring at the garbage bobbing in the murky water.
Am I making the right choice?
I remember telling the doctor-uncle of an old flame that I was thinking about becoming a doctor. I was 21 at the time, fresh out of working in the national parks and hadn't even started college. I had no idea then how challenging just getting accepted would be. He wasn't encouraging, a sentiment echoed by the soon-to-be ex. Life became dramatic and I left that dream on a musty closet shelf of an old apartment.
The years passed and I continued to ramble aimlessly across the country. I found myself 26, living in Seattle with lots of disposable income. What to do? What to do? Hey! I'll take a couple of community college classes!
And so it began. That first day, my chemistry professor told us that half the class would drop before the term's over. Humph. I'd show him. And I did. I ended up with the highest grade in the class and friends with a premed aspirant. She reminded me of the idea I had had once and, soon, I found myself on the road to medicine.
It quickly became apparent how competitive the premed curriculum and the med school application process were. My ambitions were not very well received on the family front and my college mentor adamantly wanted me to go into a graduate chemistry program rather than medicine. Having striations of a strong Irish-Scot stubbornness, my "I'll show them" attitude came on gusting. Somehow, the determination to succeed, to beat the challenge by getting an acceptance got tangled up with my purer reasons for wanting medicine. Those reasons I had had before I knew that the challenge, the doubt, existed.
Today, in my terror, I tried to unwind them. Am I starting this insane, exigent path for the right reasons? Now, having shewed them, is this what I really want?
Or is my fear that I'm not good enough, that I won't, can't succeed, murking up the waters, like the garbage floating in front of me, causing me to question my own motivation?
I don't know.
I'm reading my journal from work, remembering my favorite patients and how the medicine and the dynamics of medical care intrigued me. It's helping a little.
School needs to start. I'm hoping that once I'm on the rat wheel, I won't have time for these self-defeating doubts. Oh, I hope.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
I Cried Today
A few months ago, I met up with a childhood friend. We had drifted a little apart over the years. I had moved out west, he went to seminary school in Massachusetts. But we communicated every couple of months and I still counted him as one of my most trusted friends.
When he came into town for the Easter holiday, we made an effort to get together. It was the first time in almost ten years that we met face to face.
It started off great. We caught up on our daily lives (he's building a massive orthodox church in Vermont- I recounted my school application adventures) and then we talked philosophy. It had been a shared passion in high school-one that we'd both explored deeply since.
I minored in moral philosophy in college and absolutely love the intellectual sport of debate. We found ourselves discussing the continental rationalists and I argued Spinoza's work over Leibniz's. I joked that it was ridiculous that Leibniz couldn't comprehend infinite regression in his monadic theory but that he had no problem with it mathematically. After all, calculus is, in part, the study of infinite series.
Everything was going great, we had coffee, we laughed, we reminisced. I treasured that, despite our differences on the religion front- rather because of those differences, he offered an intelligent insightful world viewpoint. One that, as a scientist and atheist, I'm not often privy of. Most of my other friends hold similar views to my own.
Well. As our brunch wound up, he tried to save me, spiritually- that is.
I'm not a militant atheist. I hate that I'm labeled by what I don't believe in. I don't believe in many things- Santa, the toothfairy. I wouldn't like to be called adentemfatist. It seems another useless qualification.
I tend to be very shy about my lack of belief. I've seen how much comfort the sick, the dying and those left behind obtain through their beliefs. I saw how much it helps my grandmother to believe that she'll be with my mother again in the Catholic heaven. It seems to me, that broadcasting my own thoughts to others would only result in being hurtful for them. In fact, I sometimes wish that I could acquire that same comfort. I miss my mom. But I can't convince my rational mind that it exists. It's just not there.
And I can live my life, fulfilled, happy and with purpose without believing in god. I truly think that it is impossible to convince, with a rational argument, the rightness in a religious belief to someone who doesn't hold that belief.
Anyway. Suffice to say, our brunch did not end happily. I tried to explain that I wasn't going to change my mind and "let's celebrate the diversity our differences bring to the lives of each other".
He wouldn't have it. He told me that he couldn't truly trust someone who didn't believe in god. And he dropped our friendship in the rubbish can on his way out.
Well, that hurt. All of my care in choosing: eating ethically, minimizing my carbon footprint, volunteering in underdeveloped countries, helping people, spending days helping to clean out his father's church after a flood, all negated in his mind because morality can't exist without a deity to police our behaviors.
Today, I received a call from the financial aid office of BCMS. They chose me as the recipient in my class of their *Service to Humankind* Scholarship. It's a huge huge honor and I'm floored and humbled and thrilled and sad.
I cried because a big institution, one that doesn't yet know my heart, the responsibility I feel to people and the world, looked at my CV and talked to my interviewers and decided that of all the brilliant amazing and worthy 200 people in my class, that I -stupid, underachieving, insignificant me- most represented to them, a moral spirit. (which is totally weird btw- seriously? me? I'm going to school with Rhodes Scholars, people who organized major endeavors to help others, people who have accomplished so much more than I in much less time. Weird.) But my 'friend', someone who had known me, my heart, my choices and actions for over two decades... Bah.
Sigh. I guess everybody has to deal with getting over toxic relationships at some point in their lives. I'm just having a really hard time doing that today.
When he came into town for the Easter holiday, we made an effort to get together. It was the first time in almost ten years that we met face to face.
It started off great. We caught up on our daily lives (he's building a massive orthodox church in Vermont- I recounted my school application adventures) and then we talked philosophy. It had been a shared passion in high school-one that we'd both explored deeply since.
I minored in moral philosophy in college and absolutely love the intellectual sport of debate. We found ourselves discussing the continental rationalists and I argued Spinoza's work over Leibniz's. I joked that it was ridiculous that Leibniz couldn't comprehend infinite regression in his monadic theory but that he had no problem with it mathematically. After all, calculus is, in part, the study of infinite series.
Everything was going great, we had coffee, we laughed, we reminisced. I treasured that, despite our differences on the religion front- rather because of those differences, he offered an intelligent insightful world viewpoint. One that, as a scientist and atheist, I'm not often privy of. Most of my other friends hold similar views to my own.
Well. As our brunch wound up, he tried to save me, spiritually- that is.
I'm not a militant atheist. I hate that I'm labeled by what I don't believe in. I don't believe in many things- Santa, the toothfairy. I wouldn't like to be called adentemfatist. It seems another useless qualification.
I tend to be very shy about my lack of belief. I've seen how much comfort the sick, the dying and those left behind obtain through their beliefs. I saw how much it helps my grandmother to believe that she'll be with my mother again in the Catholic heaven. It seems to me, that broadcasting my own thoughts to others would only result in being hurtful for them. In fact, I sometimes wish that I could acquire that same comfort. I miss my mom. But I can't convince my rational mind that it exists. It's just not there.
And I can live my life, fulfilled, happy and with purpose without believing in god. I truly think that it is impossible to convince, with a rational argument, the rightness in a religious belief to someone who doesn't hold that belief.
Anyway. Suffice to say, our brunch did not end happily. I tried to explain that I wasn't going to change my mind and "let's celebrate the diversity our differences bring to the lives of each other".
He wouldn't have it. He told me that he couldn't truly trust someone who didn't believe in god. And he dropped our friendship in the rubbish can on his way out.
Well, that hurt. All of my care in choosing: eating ethically, minimizing my carbon footprint, volunteering in underdeveloped countries, helping people, spending days helping to clean out his father's church after a flood, all negated in his mind because morality can't exist without a deity to police our behaviors.
Today, I received a call from the financial aid office of BCMS. They chose me as the recipient in my class of their *Service to Humankind* Scholarship. It's a huge huge honor and I'm floored and humbled and thrilled and sad.
I cried because a big institution, one that doesn't yet know my heart, the responsibility I feel to people and the world, looked at my CV and talked to my interviewers and decided that of all the brilliant amazing and worthy 200 people in my class, that I -stupid, underachieving, insignificant me- most represented to them, a moral spirit. (which is totally weird btw- seriously? me? I'm going to school with Rhodes Scholars, people who organized major endeavors to help others, people who have accomplished so much more than I in much less time. Weird.) But my 'friend', someone who had known me, my heart, my choices and actions for over two decades... Bah.
Sigh. I guess everybody has to deal with getting over toxic relationships at some point in their lives. I'm just having a really hard time doing that today.
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