I have said it, time and time again - I believe in the power of words.

Words have innate worth. An influence so great, that my mood is often affected in a way that is as silly as it is remarkable. I have always believed in the positive effects of positive phrases. And I am a lover of repetition. I repeat, a true lover of repetition.

But I was thinking yesterday, of how easily words are tossed around. I, myself, am perhaps the largest crusader in frivolous phrases. I believe that there will never come a period when the words, "I love you" can be used too often. Perhaps it is because of the atmosphere in which I was raised. The neglect from my biological parents was always far outshined by the undying adoration from my adoptive parents. When I lost the daily, physical affirmations from my parents when I left for college, the heavy responsibility of making me feel worth it fell on someone far too young, and for all of his logical realism and undeniable wisdom, far too unready for the battle that he was somewhat unwillingly enlisted in. Box. Box. Excuse me, sometimes I forget that he's in a box right now. I guess he's all packed away.. just without tape to seal it up. Analogy = too far.

More on words later! I'm still developing this.. but now I digress.

I started my first day of work, today! It was the most tiring and rewarding day that I've had in a while. I am working with campers, teaching the wonders and the magic of prestidigitation <-- I adore this word. :) My assigned classroom and assigned lessons will change every week, but there is something almost magical about the first day, my first set of kids, my first lesson. I am amazed at the gentle workings of the child's mind. They operate almost solely on curiosity and wonderment, constantly seeking something to awe and stun their beings. Teaching. Me. Teaching! I'm almost afraid to admit how much I love it. I literally called, Goblin, my best friend today just to tell her how much I love it. I believe my words were, "I could do this for the rest of my life."

Speaking of the rest of my life, I feel like I'm losing direction. MD/MPH. I should be like Nike, and just do it. But financially, let's be real. The simple truth of the matter is, one day, I will be the only person responsible for myself. Won't everyone, you ask? Well, yes. Of course. But work with me here. I've decided that I want to dedicate my life to serving. Maybe it's because of my own feelings of inadequacy, linked to the desire to better someone or something greater than myself, to add to my self-worth; knowing and understanding that I, in some small way, helped out just a touch. I'm trying to improve myself, really, I am. But there are certain things that I feel will not leave, even when I can confidently say that I am completely comfortable with who I am. And that is this desire to serve. It has changed from a need, from a necessary action and definition of my being, to simply a desire, a want. I realized it when I was defending my excitement for a waitressing position that I have just recently attained. It is so satisfying. And it lines up perfectly with my personality. Anyways, I want to be a doctor. I really do. And not for the prestige, or the fancy little letters that will precede and follow my name. Those letters are not badges of glory, instead they bear the responsibility of a wealth of knowledge privy to the especially lucky and infuriatingly foolish. I want to be a doctor because I want to serve. But I'm losing motivation, and I'm losing confidence. And to be honest, being a doctor - It's a ballsy move, a lifelong commitment. I sometimes simply do not think I have what it takes. MCATs, medical school, rotations, exams, competition, rising to the top. It's like a nonstop thriller-esque ride, Tower of Terror, anyone? The promise of the ground floor is so undeniably precious, but before it can be realized, you're whisked away to the 11th floor. Again and again and again.

And to be honest. I'm scared. I'm bone-quiveringly terrified. So, while my friends are busy preparing for the ride, from maintaining an airily high blood pressure to becoming accustomed to panic attacks and living off of the thrill and the crashes of 5-hr energy shots (Goblin, stop.) I am here.. just watching. Waiting, if you will. Biding my time, hoping that they make it out alive and lend me a bit of their strength so that I may hop on board. But this cautious nature is not necessarily the most desired characteristic of a Doctor. At least for me, it's not. Give me someone confident and assured, who.. knows. I need my doctor to know. But I also want him to understand and exude compassion when tears fall or when a fear-laced secret is shared. I have no desire to tell a machine how I'm feeling. The disservice towards the most basic form of communication, this human interaction, leaves me with chills. Please, please do not let medicine and those who practice it forget that while it is easy to reduce the patient to the portion of the body that is malfunctioning, we are humans after all.

Ahhhhaaaa... And there it is. Or not so much an Ahaa moment as a feeling of completion. I have only ever felt this way twice in my life. Once after hearing that I was legally recognized as a member of a family that has given me far more love than one human has the capacity to appreciate. The other over a Greek dinner, listening - perhaps for the first time, to him talk after months and months of surface words and silence. Speaking with nothing to prove and even more important, nothing to lose. I want to practice medicine. But more than that, I want to teach medicine. Not the biological science per se, I'll leave that for brilliant minds such as my dear California Connection *chuckle, chuckle* I want to teach the other side. The side that says it is okay to mess up. It is okay to be a little afraid. Maybe there is not room enough in the minds of physicians for these lessons. Maybe that is why the self-less position of the nurse was created. But maybe there is just enough room for a few lessons in humility and practices in compassion.

Medical humanities. Why do I keep fighting it?