I'm sitting right now in what used to be my room. I guess it still is my room in Santa Rosa, California. But the walls are bare, most of the furniture is gone and it doesn't even smell like my room anymore. In my living room, my belongings are piled in a corner. I sure hope they will all fit in my car. I'm pretty certain that they will. I have spent the last week sorting through all my possessions, contemplating whether or not I'll use this or that object ever again. Then I have to ask myself if it's worth carting whatever it is accross the country or if the fuel and space it will consume will tip the equation toward leaving it behind.
I've gotten rid of quite a bit of stuff. Amazing how many books I've accumulated. I counted dozens that I had brought all the way from Chapel Hill, many that I've had since my days as an undergraduate at Davidson, but that I had not even opened since I packed them away for the first time. Needless to say, I am leaving behind most of my books. Why did I hang onto them? Did I think they would look cool on the shelf? Did I think that I would reference them someday? Which reminds me: I have a stack of medical journals nearly a mile high that I have been meaning to read. I let them pile up under my coffee table, knowing damn well that I'll never get around to opening them but the easiest thing to do is to toss them under the table rather than face the truth that I will never open them.
My mind has been occupied lately with troublesome thoughts. Did I take enough time with my patients while I was here? Was I patient with my colleagues? Was I the best doctor I could be for my clinic patients. Sometimes, the answer (in my mind) is a resounding yes. But I'm not entirely sure on all counts. In fact, I'm left feeling for the most part like I didn't take the time necessary, as if I could have put forth much more effort, not only toward giving my patients the care and attention they deserved. I don't think I used my time here nearly as effectively as I could have. There's so much more to learn.
When I thought about it today, I actually felt quite scared about starting my new job in August. Somehow, through some stroke of fortune, I landed a job with Cambridge Health Alliance working as a hospitalist at one of their new hospitals. Interviewing with some of the other medical staff, I felt quite confident. Now, realizing what I'll actually be doing, I'm starting to second-guess whether I'll actually be able to do a good job. I guess deep down, I'm fairly certain that I'll do just fine. But I can't seem to silence completely that nagging voice in the back of my mind that doubts in my abilities.
