A Life Well Lived

Next to my wife and family, medicine is my life.  But can a life in medicine be a life well lived?

First some definitions.  To me, the difference between life and death is consciousness, and consciousness is awareness and activity.  Awareness and activity require memory of the past and projection into the future.  Maybe you disagree with these definitions, but stick with me for a few minutes.  

The arrow of time moves in one direction only.  The past is unchangeable, and the future is unknowable.  The point at which future turns into past is now, and now is where experience happens.  Experiences are the elementary particles of life.  

There are many kinds of experiences.  Some experiences are trivial, others are profound, and many are mutually exclusive.  Every life is filled with experiences, but which experiences make a life well lived?

Self-awareness—knowing who you are—guides the selection of experiences that separate a life without meaning from a life well lived.  But you may not be who you think you are.  For example, you are not the sum of your talents.  A virtuoso is not just a musician—that would be sad, just as sad as a talented doctor who is only a doctor.  You are not any degree, profession, certification, achievement, success, or accomplishment you may have earned. These are things you have done, not who you are.  

You are not your personality.  Personality describes a style comfortably worn, like a pair of jeans or a favorite coat.  You are much more than what you wear.  You are the core that your personality covers, the essence that is served by your skills and talents.  You are who you are wired to be.

A life well lived is a life filled with experiences that resonate with who you are.

Filling your life with experiences that match your essence puts you in flow, the state of complete immersion in an activity, where time is distorted, and joy is maximized.  This works regardless of your occupation.  I spend a lot of my time at work in flow.

I share the talents of many of my colleagues—determination, persistence, stamina, pragmatism, independence, and the ability to think logically—talents suited to medicine.  My Meyers-Briggs type is ENTJ, which makes me a bit atypical for a pathologist.  My education and training took more than half the life I have lived so far.  But none of these are who I am.

I am wired to help people have a better future.  Many people are wired the same way, and it sounds grander than it is.  I am wired for better, not for perfection.  My scope is people in my reach, not every person on earth.  This is who I am, whether I am a doctor, a neighbor, a husband, or a father.  

I earn my living as a pathologist, and my professional life is filled with experiences that connect people with information they need to have a better future.  My job takes me into worlds most people do not know exist.  When I look in my microscope, I see colors, shapes, and beauty.  I see heroes and villains, tension and resolution, turmoil and peace.   In these fanciful places, I find what people need.  I dig it out, distill it, package it, and deliver it, connecting people to it.  It is satisfying work because it is consistent with how I am wired.  Many times, I am arming someone on a hero’s journey, standing at the edge of the abyss.  Many times, I am helping my colleagues do what they are wired to do.  But my profession does not determine the value of my life; doing my job in a way that resonates with who I am is what makes my life fulfilling.  

It is possible to have a life well lived in medicine, but not because it is a life in medicine.  A life well lived in medicine is like any other life well lived.  It is a life filled with experiences selected to match the core of being.  Every life contains the promise of a life well lived.  My potential for a life well lived will continue even if my life in medicine ended today.

But there is a flip side, a warning especially for those who share my profession.

A life filled with experiences that conflict with being is a life of dissatisfaction and dysfunction.  Joy is lost. Boredom, anxiety, or both creep in.  This is where burnout happens, and it happens in medicine—a lot.

When physicians focus on the past or the future instead of the patient in front of them now, when we think about our image, prestige, or money instead of helping others, when we blindly follow what others tell us to do instead of observing and drawing conclusions ourselves, when we are not true to who we are, we lose it.  

We lose the promise of a life well lived.