Sometimes when I see an art installation or walk through a design exhibit, I suffer a pang for the childish dreams that I never pursued. Unfortunately my work these days in the hospital doesn't leave much scope for any creativity. Whatever artistic impulses I have these days is channelled purely into my writing - hence my prolificness - and the various inventive death scenarios I've planned for my archfoes.
But perhaps my omniscient mother did something right in nudging me ( otherwise poked, prodded and pushed? ) towards the path of medicine! Certainly wouldn't have turned out the man I am right now if I hadn't seen the suffering of others in far more desperate straits than I - life-changing events that managed to milk that last precious ounce of human kindness in me.
That ounce that would probably have been lost otherwise. :)
So when I start getting maudlin, I have Charming Calvin around to paint a horrific picture of what I could have been if I'd dropped medical school.
Chuck through the Looking Glass?
Without the throng of patients to worry about - and only me, myself and I, I might have been a monstrous Miranda Priestly. Pandering to the stereotypical tortured artiste, I would have probably been far more vain, self-absorbed and narcissistic - and way more mean for sure. Not to mention suffering bitterly for the sake of my art while hacking up a lung from all the imbibed cigar smoke.
Though I'd be stick-thin since I don't eat anything and when I feel like I'm about to faint I eat a cube of cheese.
Certainly wouldn't have met the wonderful bunch of people I know now - since I'd have been too mean to befriend anyone. And possibly been murdered long since.
Starting to sound like the road not taken's got a few discernible bumps and potholes as well.