I was 13. And I was giving a test.
It was a passage for comprehension. A story.
“There was nothing more to be done.
The boy was blind.
There was no hope of getting back his vision.”
I could taste the disappointment in his doctor’s voice. A subdued frustration. It was told from the doctor’s POV.
‘What now?’
He was at a place with the boy.
I’d thought it was for more tests.
‘I took the boy by his hand and led him to the edge.
The water was lapping at his feet.
The boy felt it in his hands.
It was cool against his skin. Rough and smooth, like something well worn.
I held it to his ear.
His little eyes fluttered.
They saw the ocean 🌊
They saw the ocean in the whooshing sounds they heard.
A smile played on his lips.
In the salty breeze and the conch shell speaking to his ear, he saw the ocean…
The boy smiled again.
He bend down and picked up another seashell.
Turning it in his hands.
His little mouth half opening in wonder.’
As I walk away, I hear him shouting to his father ‘Look, Dad, look’
I knew he’d found his ocean 🌊
I’ve recreated this story. Because though I’ve searched for it over the years, it was mysteriously elusive.
I wonder who wrote it.
I wonder if it was a passage from a book or a bigger story. Or if a test maker just created it and never shared it with a world beyond 13 year olds.
Whatever be it’s story, it touched me.
It spoke to a place deep inside me.
Retelling it today, I’m back to a pigtailed 13 year old, smiling broadly…getting excited at the booklet in front of me.
A breeze against my face…
It was not a routine test. Some international assessment of English skills. Something optional that most of my classmates didn’t take.
So I was in my little haven, beaming at my test.
I remember doing very well in it. Thanks in big part, to the state that story took me to ☀️
It was one of those moments.
A glimpse of the otherworld that overlaps with ours. Something mystical stepping into my everyday.
I love those moments. I cherish every one of them.
They move me. They shape me.
They’re invisible hands guiding me along, nudging me into paths I didn’t know to want. Holding me in an embrace when I badly needed one.
This story is one of my whys.
It’s important to turn it around in my head once in a while.
Over the years, I’ve occasionally wondered how I came to be in clinical medicine.
Growing up, I was the rational analytical one. I never saw myself going into biology.
I was the quiet introvert. I never thought of choosing a service profession.
I avoided messy emotions like the plague. That pretty much ruled out a helping profession.
Yet, I found my way into med school following a series of coincidences and gut feelings. Once there, I’d convinced myself I’d go into non clinical research. And cognitive neuroscience, especially consciousness research did call out to me.
But deep down, I knew.
I knew I wasn’t meant to hide in a lab.
I knew I wanted to look people in the eye while helping them.
I knew I had to cross a gulf.
Between who I thought I was and who I needed to be.
People make meaningful impacts in all kinds of jobs. Many of them not needing to cross that scary chasm.
But my way, my path, was on the other side of my fear. No matter how badly I wanted to go other ways, I knew it. This pull that was bigger than all my resistances.
There was no fighting it.
Because one day…someday…I wanted to bring the ocean to someone who needed it.
Sharing Personal Stories
Personal stories hold an ancient power. I want to tell more of them.
But for all the reasons I feared clinical medicine, I fear exposing myself.
Sharing words that swim deep within me, feel scary in a way that’s hard to articulate. It’s more…visceral.
But there’s a bright upside.
When I tell stories that mean a lot to me, words become more than words. They become emotions. They take on a personality. They become people I have to nudge and cajole into talking to me.
And when they do talk to me, they tell me things I need to hear.
Perhaps it’ll be what one of you needs to hear too.
On the off chance that it is, I’m choosing to be brave : )
A Tweet On The Theme Of Everyday Mysticism
I much prefer the noticing the texture of reality while buying eggs kind of magic, to the wand weaving, monster fighting kind.
It is gentle and strong.
Nourishing and surprising
Stories, adventures and experiences were otherworlds nest comfortably in our own are my secret garden 🌳🍄🌺
I plant new ones at every opportunity 🤗
P.S. If any of you know the original story or it’s author, do tell me. I’d love to give credit. And to pester her/him with fan mail😄
I’d love to hear your stories! Feel free to reply to this email or get in touch on Twitter.
Thanks for reading : )
Talk to you soon,
Swarupa
"Because one day…someday…I wanted to bring the ocean to someone who needed it."
🥲