They say that dreams are born in the heart, and only there can they die...

I've been getting a lot of slack for switching my path from medicine to psychology. People are telling me that I'm giving up on my dreams. That I am so intelligent it would be a waste not to be a doctor. That I'll never be happy unless I do what I set out to do. This is driving me insane. I have spent months agonizing over whether I was making the right decision in choosing clinical psychology over medschool.

I AM.

My dream has always been to be a HEALER. I (and many people around me) had assumed that being a healer meant being a doctor. But I think healing the mind is as fitting to my dream as healing the body. Since both paths lead to my dream, I am free to choose either route.

I am (and have always been) far more interested in mental than physical health. There are more opportunities to combine research and working with patients in clinical pscyhology. And I am no longer willing to make the necessary familial and emotional sacrifices I would find myself making to become and then to be a doctor. I don't do well without sleep (on-call would be hell for me). Although I will make less money as a psychologist (and have much less prestige), I will be far happier and more fulfilled with this path in more areas of my life.

I'm going to be a (child) clinical psychologist. Not a doctor. Deal with it.

Quack Quack

I've been spending a lot of time lately lining up my ducks. Especially the one that haven't made it to the egg stage, let alone waiting to hatch. Sometimes I drive myself crazy with this thinking and planning. Sometimes it seems this duck-lining is what I do. Professionally.

I'm always amazed at how everything works out in the end. Sometimes I get the cart before the horse. And the travel isn't always smooth. But it works out. And then I always look back and think "why did I ever worry so much???"

Life lesson #1 (for this blog).

The blank page...

I used to open newly purchased journals and stare at the crisp clean page inside. Then I would close the book and put it aside, waiting for inspiration worth marring the white sheets between the covers. Eventually, I compromised and skipped a few pages before beginning my ramblings--thus preserving the appearance of perfection while spilling my heart over the pages hidden beyond those first few.

And so I find myself wondering what to write in this newly created blog. This shall suffice.