The envelope felt heavy in my hands, heavier than a few pieces of paper should. The name on front was printed in crisp black ink and while it was my own, it looked foreign. It seemed only days ago that I first slipped into a short, white coat. I was young and eager, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with 170 other new physicians in training. Over four years of medical school, our aspirations lead us down a multitude of diverging paths, yet today our paths merged once again for a champagne toast and the opening of these envelopes. Inside, the beginnings to our futures were laid out in a few lines, new paths for each of us to follow. My fingers stuck to the edges, unwilling to slide under the seal and make real the inevitable. I could feel my heart beating, a sensation we learned about years ago; I forget the mechanism now. Around me, the sounds of excitement began to grow, confining me even more. What name lay inside, what did I hope for? In moments I would know, and then what? My mind raced ahead to all of the things that will happen in the next two weeks- signing paperwork, fixing financials, securing housing; packing up the life I had built over four years in Ann Arbor and starting anew.
A squeeze on my thigh brought me back to reality and I looked past the envelope to the barren left hand that was turning white with tension. Abagail. After six years, that finger deserved to be adorned. As a career-driven person, I could never back her into a corner with an engagement. But she has been there, through the highest highs and lowest lows of medical school and life. Our tale is one I don’t want to end. I am reminded that the contents of this envelope affect her life every bit as much as my own. I wished we could stop time, enjoy life together without the anxiety and tension that has been building a wall between us. Hoping for the best, we prepared for the worst. I looked up and our eyes met, her soft smile nudged me along, as if to say, "there’s nothing left now, just do it."
More people have discovered their future. They begin to rise from their chairs, family members clapping, and hug or high-five each other. Laughter abound. My hands begin to wake up and feel the sharp corners of the envelope. I begin to slide my finger under the flap and peel away the glue. I cannot help but wonder if I made the right decision, if I chose the best career path, if my rank order was correct. Would I be truly happy with whatever name was written on the piece of paper I was about to read? This was supposed to be the most exciting day of medical school, but it left my stomach in knots. I quickly took a sip of champagne, liquid courage? My hand returned to the envelope and began to rip across the top. I could not be the only one feeling this kind of pressure. I half-admired my classmates who chose to do this in front of everyone and half-wondered if they secretly knew their destination. They all seemed happy to place their pins on the map. Where was my pin going to go?
I pulled out the piece of paper. My hands had new life, though they seemed not my own. I could not control them now. I wanted to stop them, to keep them from revealing my future. I tried to avert my eyes but they were stuck on the unfolding edges. “Dear Justin Steggerda.” There was my name again. This was not a mistake, just a few more lines and I would know. “Congratulations.” My breath caught in my throat. I closed my eyes, the next line carried my future. There is no stopping now. I forced my eyes back open. I read on. I smiled. My future was here.
A squeeze on my thigh brought me back to reality and I looked past the envelope to the barren left hand that was turning white with tension. Abagail. After six years, that finger deserved to be adorned. As a career-driven person, I could never back her into a corner with an engagement. But she has been there, through the highest highs and lowest lows of medical school and life. Our tale is one I don’t want to end. I am reminded that the contents of this envelope affect her life every bit as much as my own. I wished we could stop time, enjoy life together without the anxiety and tension that has been building a wall between us. Hoping for the best, we prepared for the worst. I looked up and our eyes met, her soft smile nudged me along, as if to say, "there’s nothing left now, just do it."
More people have discovered their future. They begin to rise from their chairs, family members clapping, and hug or high-five each other. Laughter abound. My hands begin to wake up and feel the sharp corners of the envelope. I begin to slide my finger under the flap and peel away the glue. I cannot help but wonder if I made the right decision, if I chose the best career path, if my rank order was correct. Would I be truly happy with whatever name was written on the piece of paper I was about to read? This was supposed to be the most exciting day of medical school, but it left my stomach in knots. I quickly took a sip of champagne, liquid courage? My hand returned to the envelope and began to rip across the top. I could not be the only one feeling this kind of pressure. I half-admired my classmates who chose to do this in front of everyone and half-wondered if they secretly knew their destination. They all seemed happy to place their pins on the map. Where was my pin going to go?
I pulled out the piece of paper. My hands had new life, though they seemed not my own. I could not control them now. I wanted to stop them, to keep them from revealing my future. I tried to avert my eyes but they were stuck on the unfolding edges. “Dear Justin Steggerda.” There was my name again. This was not a mistake, just a few more lines and I would know. “Congratulations.” My breath caught in my throat. I closed my eyes, the next line carried my future. There is no stopping now. I forced my eyes back open. I read on. I smiled. My future was here.
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