Tanushree Laud, RWJMS Class of 2024
4/4/21
Dear friend,
I had a good day yesterday. I consider myself a novice driver. My six-year expert navigation experience of the illustrious New York City Subway did not prepare me well for this full-time Jersey driving career. Of course, when do internships pan out perfectly well? It is usually a matter of stumbling from one job to another, one mistake to yet another entirely. But yesterday, my friend, I expanded my driving radius. I snaked through winding roads, made the sharpest of right turns, parallel parked. I parallel parked!
I began the day with a hike. I did not realize medical school had so much hiking! Friend, it wasn’t in the brochure. Or maybe it was buried deep in the financial aid section. Expect to hand over your soul in exchange for these student loans. Have no fear, you can search for it on frequent hikes, though we cannot guarantee you will find it. It, too, wanders aimlessly in search of you. I approached this hike with my New Yorker pace. I walked with purpose and conviction in a place where neither was wanted. The rocks and mud rebuked my misplaced confidence, sucking me in, reducing my stride to a hobble. I started off, babbling away with my classmates. In every passing word, I heard my stomach grumble. My starving for socialization found its way to the surface, and every story told was another delicious bite. Soon, my head filled with wandering thoughts, and my feet wandered along with them. I walked far in front of the group, keeping a healthy distance between the company of my thoughts and the company of friends. I listened intently to their stories, and pushed away my own imagination to make room for their words. Friend, you see, my brain is a delicate juggling act. Too often, I find myself wishing for more limbs to balance all the great things that enter, welcomed, into my life. In these moments, I need to clean up the clutter. And so I clear my mind. It filled quickly that morning with chattering voices. I tread on. The voices grew faint and, suddenly, Tanushree! I heard an echo in the distance. Oops, I wandered too far again.
Towards the end of the hike, my brain had filled with too many thoughts to accommodate the musings of anyone else. Bitterly, I bid my friends farewell and drove away, snaking down the same path I came along. The once-new road was now a familiar. I could anticipate curves. I set my music to match the ups and downs of the streets I found myself on. I reached the train station to pick up a master navigator, who could point out not only the road, but houses I hadn’t noticed before. I felt a sense of guilt rush over me. Too preoccupied with the road I was on, I failed to notice, even briefly, the pleasantness of the sights we passed by. But I was driving, I reminded myself. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness, and then gratitude for having a friend who slowed me down momentarily enough to take in the beauty.
Midday was marked by a walk down the D & R Canal State Park Trail. Its humble beginning would trick you into thinking that a mere afternoon stroll along the canal was enough to cover the distance. Rather, the trail stretched from Rutgers to Princeton, linking university and university through the most unassuming strip of land. Friend, this level of education was not on my mind as I moseyed along with new acquaintances and old classmates. Instead, we all pondered the stressors of this new phase of life we were in: adulthood. This was a brief respite from my typical medical school bubble–a chance to engage in conversation that did not, inevitably, find its way back into the depths of pathophysiology. We talked about our aging parents and wondered what they thought of us, whether our lives were panning out how they might have envisioned when we were but bumbling toddlers. We reminisced about childhood, when a ‘future’ consisted of robots and hovercrafts, not the looming fear of what comes next. We joked about politics, potlucks, potatoes, the like. In short, we poured out a distillation of our life stories into a neat cocktail glass for one another, and toasted to the possibilities of new friendships.
Evening was swathed by the well-stitched fabrics of a newlyweds’ apartment. Photos, love notes draped the walls in a glorious fashion. I sat beside myself, taking in the new backdrop. Friend, I’m 26 years old and I’ve found myself, as most 20-somethings do, suddenly surrounded by husbands and wives, fiancés and…well, fiancés. Conversations became filled with “us” and “we”. I took a step back from the party and wondered how I could navigate with an extension of myself. On a tandem bike, I’d pray we were in perfect pedaling harmony to advance down the road with ease. I thought of the canal trail and its uneven ground. I had doubts that the length of that path would be done synchronously. No, there’d be times of great discordance, so much so that we could even fall off. Navigation is difficult done alone; it’s hard to believe a trip done together would fare any better. But imagine how delightfully messy it could be! Much like a toddler left alone with a jar of applesauce, we would paint our faces and laugh off the tribulations that entered our path. Flinging soft mush across the sky, we would pedal down, eyes set for the end, and you’d point out the small pleasantness along the way. And if you were at that party, dear friend, you’d witness a fleeting smile disappear from my face as I pulled myself from my mind back to the actuality of the candlelit, cozy apartment. Snapped out of my foodborne trance, I did something I never expected I’d do.
So tell me how you guys met, I asked the doe-eyed pair in front of me.
And they launched. First glances. Stupid, seemingly meaningless conversations were serendipitously pivotal moments in the story of them. Gushing, they spilled out their adventures in front of me. I searched in the recesses of my mind for a plate and their words filled it up with a messy, sloppy, unforgiving love. And friend, I’m fairly embarrassed of what I did next but I can’t keep secrets from you. I took it away with me, back to my home. I found a fork and aimed to dig in, but it was gone.
Because it’s not my plate. It never was. So I rummaged through the cupboards and the fridge, building up a modest plate of my own. There’s less stuff on it, but it’s everything I like. The sweetness of a loving touch, the bitter taste of sharp words. The spice of an edged debate. The disappointment and heartbreak of the last few bites. I ate–my final feast of the day–and hoped that I was whole by the end of it all.
At the close of the day, I searched the map to find a new distance to travel. My appetite has grown now. My eyes widen at the new roads I can travel on, the sights I can devour. Friend, you must come with me for a trip or two. I hope I promise I won’t disappoint.
Indeed, it was a good yesterday. Here’s hoping for a good tomorrow.
Cheers,
T
Arbor Vitae 