Yesterday, my 19 year old nephew, Evan, came down from Ohio for a short summer visit. I haven't seen him in a couple of years, and aside from the fact that I think he's grown several inches taller, what struck me most was his subtle transformation from a boy into a man. Like his cousins (my twins, Nick and Rory), Evan is a musician. He's played bass for his pop-rock band, The Fair Weathered, for several years now, and he absolutely lights up whenever the conversation shifts to music. I think it's probably genetic...coursing through our family's veins is the lifeblood of creativity. For some of us, it's an essential nutrient. My father ("Grandpa" to Nick, Rory, and Evan) was a gifted artist and brilliant pianist whose "day job" was being a physician. He exuded a love for life, a special reverence for nature and its mysteries, especially the human form, which was impossible to ignore. Everyone who knew my father thought of him first as an artist. I now know that my mother, who has never considered herself to be a creative person (a self-appraisal with which I happen to disagree), admits she often felt as if she were standing in Dad's shadow, but she assures me she was fine with that. She loved my father because of his uniqueness, not in spite of it. As siblings, the six of us have been blessed with Dad's ingenuity and joie de vivre in varying degrees of expression, tempered by a healthy dose of Mom's practicality and common sense. Although this seems like a "win-win" combination, balancing these opposing traits presents somewhat of a challenge. As an artist-physician myself, I've experienced this conundrum first hand.
Evan just finished his first year of college at the University of Ohio. He's interested in audio production, a curriculum which is offered there, but because he didn't like Athens' restrictive college-town atmosphere, he is transferring to Ohio State in his hometown of Columbus. Unfortunately, OSU doesn't offer any coursework in sound engineering. Evan is deeply troubled by this dilemma; at the tender age of 19, he feels he is expected to know what he wants to do with the rest of his life. Like many people his age, he's unknowingly stepped into society's pressure-cooker of achievement and success. "Society measures success in money, which I don't agree with", he complains. "If I'm constantly hounded to be doing something productive for the next chapter of my life, I'm never 'in the moment', living this chapter of life." As someone who, at the age of 49, still doesn't know what I want to be when I grow up, I can definitely relate. Reconciling doing what we enjoy with that which produces financial independence seems like a futile exercise in mutual exclusion when we're as young as Evan is. It's as if we're invited to become anything in life, except who we already are.
Aside from being preposterous, the idea that a person should have his or her existence mapped out by the age of 21 can actually do more harm than good. I can't think of a worse situation than being stuck working in a job I don't really care for, just because it came with a guarantee of financial success, the promise of prestige, or because it filled someone else's desires or expectations. I can't imagine a life based on denying myself happiness. As a teenager growing up in the late '70s, this quote from Hermann Hesse made a lasting impact on me: "I wanted only to try to live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?" My own career path has changed quite a few times over the last 30 years. I've worked as a mental health technician, a registered nurse, and now, as a practicing physician, but I've done these things because I wanted to, because they felt right, not out of a sense of obligation. Because my aspirations have been guided solely by inspiration, there's never been a trade-off between doing what I love and doing what I want. For me, prosperity is a direct reflection of my own happiness in life. I measure success in terms of personal fulfillment, not social status or how much money I have in the bank. The most miserable time in my life coincided with earning a huge salary. Although the mind-blowing paychecks were nice, I was "owned" by the hospital; most of my "free" time was spent catching up on sleep because I took so much overnight call. I was irritable all the time. I hated "existing", and began to feel as if I might be going crazy. I gave serious consideration to getting out of medicine altogether until it dawned on me that I could try working part-time without taking call, even if it meant quartering my income. I'm very happy in my new job and can attest to the fact that sometimes, less really is more.
Evan, Nick, and Rory have all recently commented how they wish Grandpa was still alive so they could converse with him about being young men with unconventional dreams and interests in this oh-so-conventional world of ours. I'll bet he would have given them the same advice he gave me when I was sixteen: "You are who you choose to be." He never forgot that he was an artist at heart, a physician by trade, and neither have I. My hope is that these talented grandchildren of his also will never forget that they, too, are artists, musicians, and lovers of life, that who they already are is who they can choose to be.
The Fair Weathered (Evan's band)
Evan just finished his first year of college at the University of Ohio. He's interested in audio production, a curriculum which is offered there, but because he didn't like Athens' restrictive college-town atmosphere, he is transferring to Ohio State in his hometown of Columbus. Unfortunately, OSU doesn't offer any coursework in sound engineering. Evan is deeply troubled by this dilemma; at the tender age of 19, he feels he is expected to know what he wants to do with the rest of his life. Like many people his age, he's unknowingly stepped into society's pressure-cooker of achievement and success. "Society measures success in money, which I don't agree with", he complains. "If I'm constantly hounded to be doing something productive for the next chapter of my life, I'm never 'in the moment', living this chapter of life." As someone who, at the age of 49, still doesn't know what I want to be when I grow up, I can definitely relate. Reconciling doing what we enjoy with that which produces financial independence seems like a futile exercise in mutual exclusion when we're as young as Evan is. It's as if we're invited to become anything in life, except who we already are.
Aside from being preposterous, the idea that a person should have his or her existence mapped out by the age of 21 can actually do more harm than good. I can't think of a worse situation than being stuck working in a job I don't really care for, just because it came with a guarantee of financial success, the promise of prestige, or because it filled someone else's desires or expectations. I can't imagine a life based on denying myself happiness. As a teenager growing up in the late '70s, this quote from Hermann Hesse made a lasting impact on me: "I wanted only to try to live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?" My own career path has changed quite a few times over the last 30 years. I've worked as a mental health technician, a registered nurse, and now, as a practicing physician, but I've done these things because I wanted to, because they felt right, not out of a sense of obligation. Because my aspirations have been guided solely by inspiration, there's never been a trade-off between doing what I love and doing what I want. For me, prosperity is a direct reflection of my own happiness in life. I measure success in terms of personal fulfillment, not social status or how much money I have in the bank. The most miserable time in my life coincided with earning a huge salary. Although the mind-blowing paychecks were nice, I was "owned" by the hospital; most of my "free" time was spent catching up on sleep because I took so much overnight call. I was irritable all the time. I hated "existing", and began to feel as if I might be going crazy. I gave serious consideration to getting out of medicine altogether until it dawned on me that I could try working part-time without taking call, even if it meant quartering my income. I'm very happy in my new job and can attest to the fact that sometimes, less really is more.
Evan, Nick, and Rory have all recently commented how they wish Grandpa was still alive so they could converse with him about being young men with unconventional dreams and interests in this oh-so-conventional world of ours. I'll bet he would have given them the same advice he gave me when I was sixteen: "You are who you choose to be." He never forgot that he was an artist at heart, a physician by trade, and neither have I. My hope is that these talented grandchildren of his also will never forget that they, too, are artists, musicians, and lovers of life, that who they already are is who they can choose to be.
Evan, in his element. |