One of my friends once told me that I viewed everything as if it were a piece of art, and that I tend to modify things so that they fit into my vision of what that piece of art should be.
"For instance," he said, "after we came back from the beach today and it was raining softly and peaceful and warm, you swapped the upbeat music for something slow and pensive. 'Because it's just that kind of afternoon,' you said."
I don't know really know how I was supposed to take it. Maybe as nothing--just something he had observed after years of witnessing the way I paired soundtracks to the weather to what mood I decided to be in that day. Maybe as an insult against my overly Romantic (dare I say it?) cheesiness. But I took it as a compliment. One of the greatest compliments I've ever received, actually.
And I guess it really is true. Because alas, it's raining again. Softly. And I've chosen Iron and Wine as my background, mint tea as my poison, the futon next to my window as my location, and Augustine's Confessions as my activity. Every few minutes, the sound of the raindrops landing scattered on the sidewalk simply thrills me. Because everything is exactly how it should be. Every sense completely satisfied to my liking. What else would anyone do on a rainy evening?
This tendency to form motion and mood around the general atmosphere of The Moment may not always serve me, however. If you've talked to me at all in the last few weeks, you've probably witnessed a version of Denise who is much less composed, much less fun, much more whiny, and much more prone to tears.
And not really any closer to getting into medical school than before.
Which is, after all, where she should be.
The problem is, you see, that my idea of should doesn't always match up with everyone else's idea of should.
A doctor should love people in general and care about strangers. And have a background in learning about the value of the human person. And should love the idea of caring about the patient more than the disease, hoping that one day she'll be able to do just that. And should be driven so much by passion that nothing she could imagine could possibly slow her down. Except, perhaps, what an admissions committee might tell her a doctor should be. That might catch her off guard.
A doctor should have an impeccable science GPA. And score a 35 on the MCAT. And just love science. And find joy in General Chemistry. And really love a laboratory atmosphere. And shows leadership. And goes to office hours to talk to chemistry researchers about life. And have spent time in the hospitals all over the globe. Oh but she should also be unique in some way--different from the all of the other hundreds of Jesus-loving, service-oriented, over-achieving, science-minded Pre-Med majors at the University of Notre Dame.
So how do I make my idea of should fit into theirs?
I haven't really figured that out yet.
But I guess I should remember that it is January the 29th. And I live in Northern Indiana, near Lake Michigan. And it should be 2 degrees and icy outside.
Instead, there's a 56 degree breeze blowing in that earthy smell of rain--a perfect compliment to mint tea, Iron and Wine, and Augustine. That's my piece of art that is today. And it really should not be. But I'm so glad that it is.
