I consider my very
fortunate to have had a sense of “calling” regarding medicine, and later,
art. I have always felt that this
was the work that I was intended to do, and thus they have provided un-ending
meaning and purpose to my life.
They chose me; I did not choose them.
Medicine and art have
allowed me to be who I am, without the need to conform to the standards or
requirements of the “work place”.
They have given me the opportunity to express myself to others, in a
manner of my own choosing, whether it be through a bedside visit or a painting,
calling on the gifts that have bee granted me. Both, over the course of my lifetime have enabled me to
exercise both sides of my brain, in medicine and in art.
Medicine was never a
technological exercise or a business enterprise for me. It was always about people, serving
them and being present to them in all circumstances. It was a privilege I will always be most grateful for.
I left medicine ten
years ago, and since then art has been my life’s work, even as it has continued
to evolve, surviving the periodic crisis of confidence and self doubt. In recent years, new work has begun to
emerge, in some ways bridging the gap between art and medicine…writing.
I have been writing for
myself for years, in my journal and in letters to my children and friends, but
it began to assume a larger role when I started my blog five years ago. My “style” has always been the short,
personal essay, in which I can share my reflections on current issues, write
about my art, and share memories of my past. Or to explore almost anything that
I find interesting.
I don’t know if my
writing will ever be anything more than it is now. But I intend to pay very close attention to it, and listen
carefully…just in case it calls.
If it doesn't? There is always food and wine!
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