It started with a sharp demeanor,
a serious environment.
Here we go—
just another wall of provider burnout
to slowly chip away
in order to learn.
Me, a student,
preserved from the mire
that years of healthcare toil seem to accumulate.
Yes sir, yes ma’am.
Do not irritate—
not even in the slightest.
I remember life outside these clinic walls.
It, too, began with humdrum small talk—
this and that about where we’re from.
Time dragging on,
eager to come home
to silence and familiar faces.
New city, new faces,
new meaning to be made.
No one seems to actually care.
Starting over from scratch.
Again.
Then—
a smile,
soft as it was.
Time begins to loosen its grip.
I’m no longer in the way.
Books full of medical tips and pearls
find their way into my bag,
lent so generously
by this cold stranger—
suddenly, a bit warmer.
The student in me grows:
What does this signify?
Could this be that condition?
How did you do that again?
I feel respected.
My shoulders drop.
Do I feel… at home?
The world of medicine feels—
dare I say it—approachable.
I dream of the future:
me, a doctor.
Soon to be.
How could this be?
I remember time—
its etching, on and on—
and with it, familiarity.
All of my life began
as strange morsels of uncertainty,
somehow swelling into blooms
of treasure I dare not lose.
My home,
my community,
the softness and love I have for it all—
none of it began this way.
Can I begin
to break past the sharp boundaries of waiting?
Why must I wait on time?
Is there a way
to treasure
the now?