Today was a long day. The kind that begins before the sun is up and ends only when your bones start whispering, enough!
I woke early to prepare for my 8 AM lecture, made pancakes for Marga, and squeezed in a few urgent echoes. After dropping her off at school, I proceeded to give my Physical Diagnosis lecture, then headed to the hospital for patient rounds. At noon, I picked up Marga, brought her home, quickly reviewed my slides, and drove to the university for my 1 PM Medicine 2 class, my first face-to-face session, which stretched to a full two hours.
As I was wrapping up, a text from my secretary popped up: there were already 14 patients waiting in my clinic. While I was hurriedly driving over, the ER called: two admissions. One intubated and with no blood pressure. So I rerouted to see the ER patients first and stabilized what needed to be stabilized. Then headed to the clinic.
Oddly enough, clinic was where I was able to catch my breath. I enjoyed conversing with my patients. My patience and energy were strangely maintained and I genuinely enjoyed my time with them. Despite the long queue, the time passed gently. I finished at almost 7 PM, and by then, a few pharma reps were waiting to talk. After the usual coverage and product detailing, I made my way back to the hospital to check on my in-patients.
By the time I started making evening rounds, my eyes felt like they were closing on their own and I was dragging my feet along the hospital hallways. I was drained. Completely.
And to top it off, it’s been five days since my last run. Seven days since my last strength session at the gym. I can feel it, not just in my stiff back or my sluggish steps, but in my spirit. If I continue a lifestyle like this, how long will my body hold out? How long will I continue to find joy in what I do?
Isn’t it true that those who burn the brightest often burn out the fastest too?
When I got home, my daughters needed help with their homework. I dug deep for one last push of energy. And only after they finished, only after the hugs, the endless curiosities, and the seemingly useless negotiations with children, did I find some quiet time to pause.
To sit. To reflect.
And there it was again, like a quiet but persistent whisper: the unread echoes, piling up in my inbox like a tide that never recedes. For every one I finish, three more seem to take its place. The to-do list stretches endlessly, like a thread I keep pulling but never reach the end of. And somewhere in the midst of all this, I can feel it: the version of myself I’m slowly leaving behind.
I know I need to make space. I need to let go of some things, not out of failure, but out of wisdom. I need to loosen my grip on the irrational FOMO (fear of missing out) and begin to embrace the sublime JOMO: the joy of missing out. Of choosing rest. Of choosing presence. Of choosing well.
Tonight, I can only muster a prayer to the heavens: for strength, clarity, and discernment. Strength to allow me to continue with the same level of energy, if this is what’s being asked of me. Clarity to let me see through the clutter that my life has now become. And discernment to identify those that hold the greatest value in the larger scheme of things.
I am tired. Very tired. Scared and confused. But I am listening.