I wanted to write a different post. I tried to write about how the pace of my medical education has changed dramatically since winter vacation. I tried to write a how to survive anatomy guide. I tried to write an upbeat post about Med Prom. I wanted to write a different post but it felt dishonest. Those posts (disorganized drafts on my desktop) seem better fit for another time.
I look back at my expectations for medical school and I cannot help but laugh. The disparity between my expectations and my reality knows no bounds. I had a lot of fanciful ideas prior to matriculation. I imagined that I would attend every lecture; I imagined that I would study in coffee shops; I imagined that I would have more time to engage with the city in which I now live; I imagined that my cohort would be filled with the best people I had ever met. That expectation — that my cohort would be an inseparable collection of 186 individuals — is the one that I talk about most often with my friends at other medical schools. We have been disappointed by the culture inherent to our respective medical schools. It is probably not appropriate for me to share their personal reflections in this post, but I will share my expectations and in what way reality has fallen short of these expectations.