I'm a Profreshional @aprofreshional - Tumblr Blog

Posts

If I don't put my phone away when I pass you on the street, it's not because I didn't notice you. It's because I didn't think you were a threat

Girl's last tweet before her phone was stolen

What am I? Part 2

My meditation revisited this topic today, and presenting the following thoughts:

A clear quite space is the one thing that’s consistent. We are only aware of it when we remember to be aware of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there all the time. Everything else is always changing. We have fleeting emotions that come and go. We have these thoughts, and patterns of thought that come and go. But they’re subjective. Not just subjective in that we might think one thing, and someone else might think another. But even subjective for ourselves. We may one day look at the mirror and actually feel pretty good. The next day we may look in the mirror with a different mood, a different set of emotions, different thoughts in the background - and we might feel really miserable...Our thinking, rational thinking mind, chooses to perceive it in that way based on our experience, and conditioning, and how our patterns of thoughts have developed...but these things come and go. There is a place of quiet. A place of consistency. That is always there. As it is. Restful, quiet, and naturally confident.

#bluesky

...what do you mean?

Today, while I sat and questioned by existence and life’s meaning (as I often do) I began to think about a phrase. It had something to do with finding the meaning of life. Or, was it, something to do with creating meaning to life? I was trying to remember whether the phrase is appropriately stated with the intention that one must discover a presumably already present meaning to life. Or rather, that the phrase required an active process by which one had to define and sculpt a meaning to life, otherwise it wouldn’t exist. I sat for a while and wondered whether I was just getting caught up in semantics, or rather if there were in fact two ways to get to this elusive meaning of life. And if that were the case, perhaps there were more than two, and someone with a more creative vocabulary, particularly a better repository of verbs, would be able to lay them out. And maybe, if there are 2+ ways to get to the meaning of life, maybe our personalities, and outlooks, and even our behavior and experiences were shaped by the camp we chose to live in. Or maybe, you never get to choose, and some brains just accept there is meaning and you have to go find it, while others feel there is no meaning until they create it themselves. I tried to think about which camp I belonged in. I can be quite passive, and so it would make sense that I would be happier just finding meaning somehow/somewhere. But on the other hand, I often feel quite cynical, and feel that there really isn’t any meaning to life. If that were the case, then maybe I just need to get off my ass and create it (assuming it could be created at all). Who knows, I’ll figure it out later.

Can't win, don't play

Sagarika Sinha

What am I?

My guided meditation yesterday mentioned something I couldn’t quite understand: “We are not our thoughts, we’re not our feelings, we’re not what we look like, what we wear, what we do. But that there’s something beyond all of that, beneath all of that”

Aquatic animals don't get thirsty. I guess maybe a little during a bad drought. But in general they don't. They don't experience one of the prime drivers of my survival.

His clock seemed to limp through time. It lead with a strong Tick, a good first step forward, but the Tock inevitably dragged behind. Much like the passage of time

Meditation Pearl - June 21

There’s nothing wrong spending time with wandering thought.

But as long as we are allowing our mind to wander off in any direction it wants, we are missing opportunities to train it in a balance of focus and relaxation. We are also missing the opportunity to engage and experience each and every passing moment because we are lost either in the past or the future.

They call her, the Magic School Bus

Yesterday I decided to watch " Breaking the Magician's Code: Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed" on Netflix. It was one of my better decisions in life. It was a quaint romp around some older illusions and how they're pulled off. A lot of them were predictable, but some were really cool. A recurring secret to several tricks however was a skinny, flexible assistant. And I thought to myself, magicians assistants are a threatened species! In between the obesity epidemic and extreme feminists, there will eventually come a time where there is no viable female magicians assistant. I hope I don't live long enough to see that hell.

"Soon," thought the tiny albino cat. "Soon these philistines will bow before me. There will no longer be a question of who reigns supreme. This realm and all those that dare inhabit it will whisper my name and tremble. For I am MoMo, destroyer of worlds"

June 14, 2016

Yesterday was my last day as an intern. It was also my last shift in the emergency department. I came home. Took off my Danskos. And put those suckers way back in my closet, because I won't be needing them anytime soon. I left my intern WhatsApp group. And I realized I will never have to work in the emergency department again. My senior for my shift yesterday, was less than ideal. I was a combination of his secretary/bitch all shift. He hardly communicated with me. He told me what to do all day. My patients included unpleasant morons, deceptive pain seekers, and a few genuinely ill people intermixed. I counted the hours all day. I had all my notes ready to go, so that I could leave as early as possible. And at 7.15, I left the department for the last time. Halfway out of the hospital I stopped to make sure I had all my things in my bag. There's nothing I hate more than saying goodbye and then having to come back because I forgot a book or my stethoscope. Luckily I didn't forget anything and I walked home not looking back once. I didn't have an ounce of sadness or regret. Despite having no definitively clear future I still breathed a sigh of relief. I was done. This morning I woke up without an alarm. I checked my phone, and in my email was my ERAS token. Hours later I got another email asking if I wanted to join a PM&R interest group. I spent the day cleaning my apartment. Throwing out old papers, removing Medical supplies from my bag. Today is a new day and a new chapter (#thingswhitegirlssay). There's no need for me to sit back and regret my decisions. There's no utility in me sitting and fretting about how I make minimum wage with a medical degree and how my friends will be attendings when I restart residency. Those things dont matter. I don't need to berate myself. I'm transitioning. Even though I'll make less money, I'll work out more, I'll meditate more, I'll read more. I will be happy, more. That is what I will do this year. And my token arriving today is just a reminder that the past has passed, and now I need to focus on the future. To quote a great man: "I'm ready" -SpongeBob SquarePants

I wonder how many great epiphanies have occurred on the toilet. When you're sitting there, with no where to go, forced to question your existence. I'm sure this has decreased with the cell phone era. Now people are looking at pictures and forming hemorrhoids instead. Of course, there are a few things to consider. I tend to run on the slower side of bowel movements (this is just enough information, I assure you). So maybe I'm overestimating the number of epiphanies to be achieved while taking a poop simply because of the time I spend sitting there. Or perhaps I'm underestimating it, because I thinks it's quite apparent that my epiphanies are few and far between and maybe normal people can have even more T.I.R.D.s (Thoughtful Ideas peR Defecation). Additionally are there gender differences? Maybe woman have better ideas more often, because they have to sit every time. And since they can barely fit their phone in their tiny useless pockets they sure as heck won't pull it out. What about cultural and national differences. Ain't nobody got time to pontificate while in the squalor and stench of a squatty potty in India. All I'm saying is The Thinker was probably dropping a stinker...

I tend not to be friends with soft spoken people. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m loud and talk a lot, not giving them a chance to speak.

Or if I just can’t hear them…

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

I'm a Profreshional