On this break, I’ve been developing a weirdly grateful sentiment about medical school, and it’s not for any career-related reasons.
It’s because it is teaching me the concept of contrast.
Let me rewind. I read once about the necessity—not just the desire—for both work and play. To fill your time with only one of these things spells problems for your mind, emotions, and your life. If you are in a perpetual period of “play,” life is in limbo. You don’t gain a sense of progress or meaning; you aren’t able to find your tribe of people who share a similar journey. Contrarily, if you are perpetually in “work,” you’re robotic. You exclude joy and love and bliss in the name of productivity.
The back and forth between these two states is necessary to create an environment where you may enjoy the progression of the work while appreciating the freedom of the play.
Medical school is making me acutely aware of how deeply I am capable of appreciating this play. This has been the most relaxing break of my life, and it’s not that I’ve been *doing* anything differently, but now I’ve acquired the contrasting work environment to which I may compare it.
People who do not throw themselves into extremely difficult situations: are they capable of experiencing genuinely fulfilling downtime?
Or is the amount one is able to appreciate directly proportional to the amount of hardships and work that person has experienced?
I don’t know the answer to this question. But if the latter is correct, then I’m weirdly grateful to medical school for this. Its difficulty has allowed me to appreciate the beauty of this break—this play—appreciating the tiniest things I’ve never noticed before. It has been a wonderful mindset to acquire.