Thank You for Letting Me Fall

After graduating from university, I decided to take a year off. It was a gift to myself for relentlessly pushing through life up until my mid-twenties, a time to reflect on my journey so far, and a pause to catch my breath in preparation for the chapters to come. This decision didn’t come lightly, but after much contemplation, it felt right.

The initial freedom was exhilarating. Gone were the days of sneaking back under the covers after silencing my alarm, thinking “just 5 more minutes,” only to wake up much later, disoriented. Now, I could sleep without the dread of an alarm disrupting my mornings, a simple pleasure that felt immensely fulfilling.

However, this satisfaction was short-lived. I quickly realized that doing nothing wasn’t as easy as I had thought. The silence and idleness soon became stifling. Initially rising at 10 am, and later at noon, I would find myself engulfed in a palpable stillness, prompting me to wonder about the activities and whereabouts of others.

Curious, I reached out to friends online, only to be met with silence. This quiet waiting led me to a stark realization: their lack of immediate responses was because, unlike me, they were at school or work, diligently filling their roles. If I were similarly engaged, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so fixated on the timing of their replies.

One morning, I decided to take my bike out, hoping to break away from the monotony. I watched as buses filled with commuters passed by, a stark reminder of the bustling world I was no longer a part of. It felt as though I was standing alone on a platform long after the train had departed, an unsettling reminder of my disconnection.

This idle state brought about a sense of unease and vulnerability, especially in social situations. Despite choosing this path myself, I couldn’t help but worry about others’ perceptions of my inactivity. The thought, “Do they see something wrong with me?” became increasingly persistent. The discomfort of not belonging, not being engaged in something tangible, pushed me towards action.

Upon closer examination, I realized that this anxiety stemmed from a deep-seated desire for recognition. I longed for validation that I was playing a significant role in the world, that my existence and efforts mattered. Yet, this pursuit often trapped me in a cycle of busyness, reminiscent of a survival tactic I once read about regarding being adrift at sea—never to quench thirst with seawater. I pondered if I had been attempting to satiate my thirst for acknowledgment with the seawater of perpetual busyness.

The year I dedicated to rest turned out to be invaluable. It gave me the confidence that I could carve my own path, distinct from others’, guided by my own convictions. I resolved to live on my terms, pursuing what genuinely mattered to me, regardless of external opinions.

As time passed, it became evident that I had to rejoin the societal flow. The moment to select a hospital for my residency arrived, a common crossroads for medical graduates. The process, though filled with anticipation and uncertainty, reminded me that my aspirations lay beyond seeking others’ approval.

The journey took an unexpected turn when I faced rejection from my top hospital choice, a place I had envisioned as the pinnacle of my medical career. The initial disappointment was profound, but it led to a profound realization about the nature of my ambitions and the true essence of acknowledgment.

Through this experience, I learned that seeking validation from others is a never-ending and unsatisfying quest. True acknowledgment comes naturally when one steadfastly pursues their own path, embodying integrity and fairness, much like a professor who influenced me profoundly.

This narrative isn’t just a recount of past struggles but a message of resilience and self-discovery. It’s a reflection on the universal longing for health and acceptance, urging a compassionate understanding towards those battling their own adversities.

Every night, I knelt down and prayed, my hands clasped together. Even as waves of anxiety about possibly failing surged in my heart, I forced my thoughts towards optimism, fearing that dwelling on negative outcomes might make them reality. Embarrassingly, I harbored hope in the fact that a professor I knew personally was in charge of hiring. Despite my shortcomings, I clung to the vague belief that they wouldn’t let me fall.

As the day of the announcement approached, I found myself from 9 am, constantly refreshing the hospital’s recruitment webpage. The list of successful candidates hadn’t been posted yet. Time ticked by, 10 minutes, 20 minutes, but still, no update. I reassured myself that such delays were normal, given the gravity of the announcement. Internally, I pleaded, “Please, please.”

Just after 10 am, the list finally appeared. The page view count indicated dozens had already visited in that short span. Yet, at that moment, I felt an unexpected calm; the outcome was beyond my control. Taking a deep breath, I opened the Excel file containing the list of names. My heart sank as my number, and thus my name, was conspicuously absent. The space where it should have been was skipped entirely.

Initially, I thought it was a mistake. I kept refreshing the page, expecting a corrected list to appear. However, no such update came. Whether I accepted it or not, the verdict was clear—I had been rejected.

The despair was indescribable. For days, I couldn’t eat, leave the house, or face the reality that had unfolded. The hospital wasn’t just one of many options; it was the one place I had set my heart on. I wished it all to be a dream.

Days turned into weeks, and as I confined myself, avoiding contact with the outside world, a realization dawned on me. My drive to join that hospital was partly fueled by a desire for external validation, a recognition I thought would deem me remarkable in the eyes of others. Despite my year-long break aimed at shedding such dependencies, I found myself ensnared by them once more.

The hospital’s decision not to hire me, though initially crushing, eventually reinforced my trust in its integrity. They had selected candidates based solely on merit, unrelated to personal connections. Ironically, their refusal made me respect the institution even more.

This ordeal prompted me to reconsider the whole concept of seeking validation. The quest for acknowledgment from others, for being seen as good, kind, or even remarkable, is futile. It leads only to exhaustion without truly earning the respect we desire.

Validation from others cannot be the goal of life. It’s not something you can obtain by pursuit, nor is it fulfilling, for it diverts us from our true selves and our paths. Such acknowledgment is like an added bonus that naturally follows when one diligently fulfills their duties, as my professor had done.

Sometime later, I reached out to thank the professor. “Thank you for letting me fall. Although I won’t be learning medicine under you, I’ve learned something far more valuable.”