30 things before 30

I turn 29 very soon, very very soon.  Here is my bucket list of things I want to accomplish before I turn the big three-zero.  I'm posting it publicly to keep me accountable.  I imagine that a lot of these things will absolutely happen and some will not.  What fun would it be to have a completely obtainable list?  Here is to a year of adventure and personal growth!

Health:
1. Challenge myself physically (current plan is a 120 mile bike ride)
2. Learn a new sport or exercise
3. Have an a1c < 7.5
4. Learn to consistently use, and fully utilize, a CGM / my dexcom sensor
5. Loose the last 20 pounds to fully get to my goal weight

Career:
6. Have a manuscript published
7. Finish my MPH requirements
8. Get a job (match into residency)
9. Graduate medical school (should happen within a month of turning 30)

Community & family:
10. Send at least one real (snail mail) letter to a friend each month
11. Call my grandmother more
12. Reach out to my borther
13. Reach out to my cousins
14. Be more patient with my mom
15. Talk to my dad

Religion: 
16. Create a ritual for clinical practice around performing births & abortions
17. Say yes when asked to lead kiddish
18. Read from the Torah again
19. Davin in shul at least once a month
20. Wrap tfillin at least once a month
21. Join a chevra kadisha

Misc:
22. Address my fear of heights
23. Travel to a new place, besides residency interviews
24. Renew my scuba certifcation
25. Go on at least 1 date every two months
26. Do at least 5 touristy things in the city I go to medical school in
27. Spend a night out dancing without caring that I can't dance
28. Learn embroidery 
29. Stop wearing clothes that I've had since high school
30. Relearn Spanish

And one for good luck:
31. Save the world 

extraneous information

"Oh, and the patient cross-dresses. I found that interesting." said in a very judgmental tone was how the intern decided to end his history & physical summary on a patient this morning in morning report. It took every ounce of self control to not jump across the table and slap him. Really?! What in the world does that piece of information have to do with patient care or his medical condition? Maybe if the patient was trans, it would make sense to enlighten the rest of the medical team that preferred pronouns do not match the medical record. But the way he addressed the matter was extraneous and unnecessary. It belittled the patient into a zoo animal or a freak.

Knowing that I can be hypersensitive, I asked another medical student what she thought about the event. Her response was of equal frustration and also some surprise that I managed to not snap at him. My initial thought was that the power hierarchy means I just need to let the event slide by. However, I'm beginning to think otherwise. If I find a moment alone with him, I may try to gently inform him that the comment lacked a touch of cultural sensitivity, assuming I can figure out a way to do this that fits within the paternalistic medical (& southern) culture in which I reside.

Stereotypical medicine

Earlier this year I went to a discussion on the disservice stereotypes play in the practice of medicine. The speaker told a poignant story about a kid showing up to the ER with a classic presentation of sickle cell crisis, but the diagnosis alluded the physicians because the child was white, leading to this boy's untimely demise. While my retelling of the story is overly simplistic, the moral is spot-on. We stereotype in medicine. We stereotype a LOT. Our entire first 2 years of medical education is learning stereotype after stereotype. The most popular example of them all (thanks to "House) is that a young female with anything wrong = lupus. A classmate recently sent out a glorified list in the form of a blog post he found. Almost as good as the food pathology list that a professor sent out earlier this year.

I don't know what the answer to all of this is. The liberal arts educated activist in me wants to do away with all stereotypes, with anything that could risk labeling someone. There is so much potential damage from stereotypes and assumptions, especially when someones health is on the line! The Ashkenazi Jew in me is grateful that I can be screened for a plethora of diseases, and also to have an idea of what I may be at higher risk for. Lastly, my medical student persona is REALLY grateful to be able to learn a full clinical picture while studying for STEP 1, glad to have points of association and clues to look for in questions stems. My challenge is going to be learning the stereotypes in order to learn the diseases but then forgetting the clinical picture enough that it doesn't put blinders on my [future] diagnostic ability.

Solicited advice

Before Thanksgiving last year one of our anatomy professors warned us that we were going to be treated differently by our families when we went home for break. He explained that between the turkey and the pumpkin pie, our families would likely be soliciting medical advice from us. He was right. Even if I can't answer their questions, I like being that person. I savor the roles of caretaker, hand-holder, medical translator, and reference librarian of primary medical literature. Having the knowledge and skills to be a support system is why I originally became an EMT and was part of the impetus to go to medical school.

Recently though, I've been confronted with a few different ways to handle those who offhandedly solicit medical advice from physician friends in social settings. Watching these encounters occur, I totally understand the perspective of both providers.

One answers all questions with "you should talk to your doctor about that", giving no specific answers other than to simply triage the urgency of the situation. Her perspective is that she doesn't have all the facts that their doctor will, and doesn't want to be put in a position of missing something or bearing bad news. She wants to keep boundaries between her personal life and her career.

The other views the ability to offer medical advice as her contribution to relationships. She knows that her schedule limits her ability to be part of the community: to go to shul, volunteer with the chessed committee (making meals for new families, the sick, and those in mourning), pick up carpool, and host holiday meals. So she compensates by constantly "being on call" to those in her community. In a way, she views sharing her skills and knowledge as her debt to society.

I wonder what my stance on friends soliciting medical advice will be. Of course, I actually need to know some medicine before this relevant, but i still find it interesting to think about. Will my career and family life be two separate entities or will they blur into each other? Will I get knocks on my door for emergency consultations during shabbos or will I actually choose to take a complete day of rest? Knowing my personality, I imagine I'll be more like the latter physician constantly there to support friends and family. I'm kind of curios to know other physicians choose to do. I think it is time to start asking my mentors.

health-privilege

Yesterday a few of my friends had the following posts on their facebook wall which got me thinking:

"I am asking if everyone could please put this as your status for one hour if you or someone you love has diabetes. I know my family will, my prayer is that in 2011 a cure will be found. Will you post it? Just for one hour. Do it for all of us in memory of too many to mention and in honor of all fighting it! I hope to see this on your status today."

Then, a pretty frustrating conversation with a classmate about the way people handle chronic conditions made me realize how little the medical profession actually KNOWS about living with chronic conditions. Especially invisible chronic conditions. But in all fairness, it is impossible to explain to someone what living with such a condition does to you. Sure, the disease/condition doesn't define you; but it is also naive to think that it isn't a huge part of someones identity (even if you are someone who pretends this to not be the case). I don't know what it means to be a naive 20-something with health-privilege just as they don't know my perspective; but they sure as hell shouldn't judge me or project their expectations for the appropriate way to handle it.

My diabetes and celiac define me as much as being Jewish and queer do. They are just as much my identity as where I am from, my family structure, or the time I wandered away with my my brother at age 4. My morning routine: I wake up, shower, brush my teeth, check my blood sugar, pack lunch, take insulin, eat breakfast. When I eat out? I don't eat un-kosher food nor do I eat gluten. Sure, I could live my life as if I didn't have diseases, but I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be as healthy as I currently am or be able to invest all of this time and energy into becoming a doctor. That wouldn't be good for anyone involved...

I'm sorry if the way that I handle my life, along with all of my uniqueness, upsets you. I'm sorry if my being open about my chronic, yet invisible, conditions offends you. I'm sorry if you think I'd be better off not making them part of my identity. However, I personally think you'd be better off letting me live my life the best way I know how.

High school flashback

A friend shared this YouTube video with me today. While I deeply wish that we lived in a world where these types of speeches didn't have to happen, I'm am so inspired to know that there are youth out there like her. This young woman, Kayla, is articulate, passionate, and heart-breaking to watch. I have no doubt that (if she chooses to) she will help to change the world. Her struggle with self-realization, discovering of community, fear of future, and desire to love freely is something that strongly resonates with me. I went through a similar process in high school before ending up in a position much like her: being an outspoken advocate to my peers and the larger community through sharing my personal story. Even still, as much as I've grown into my self over the past 8 years, I still struggle with some of these factors.

Watching the video inspired me to pull out my old high school journal. While there are many pieces of writing touching on my evolving sense of sexual identity, there is one particular piece that strikes a nerve for me. It so strongly reminds me of who I was at 16 along with my fears at the time. It gives perspective on how far I've come, and also kind of excites me to see what changes the future bring.

Written at 16 (in Fall 2000):
"To be scared of the truth, that is only normal right? But what if the truth can change things? What if it changes the way people see you? The words that people use to describe you? What if it changes how people look at you? Or how they touch you? And does it really change things this much, or something you just fear. What if your initial instinct is wrong, and after all the trouble you are only 'normal'?

You see, it has been a big summer for me. A summer of self discovery and of experimenting. A summer of pushing the limits I had already set up for myself and of testing new unguided territories. But the summer has quickly ended leaving me uncertain and in new worlds. For the first time in my life I have a girlfriend when all I have ever imagined were boys. I'm now explaining to trusting friends that I am Gay, something that I'm not even sure of for myself. They all react the same way though; they all told me that they already knew, which only leads me to question myself more.

But summer has ended, and to go back to my old ways of life isn't as easy as I had hoped. What if people know? Will it change the way they see me? I'm used to hugging my friends and kissing them on the cheeks, will that stop? Would the people I'm used to cuddling with at [youth group] events be scared away if they knew the truth? It scares me, why wouldn't it scare them?

I know [youth group] is supposed to be a safe and accepting environment but when people use terminology like 'oh, that is so gay' and when they address people as 'fags' for being outcasts, how am I supposed to know what affect it would have on the way I am treated. And what happens when everyone is either hooking up or talking about their relationships at home, am I supposed to say 'yeah, I have a girlfriend' and well, come out of the closet to people I don't know so well when I'm not even sure if I'm in the closet?

But like everything else time will tell. The event will come and go and people will probably never find out. I'll hug and cuddle and just wonder what they would think if they knew the truth, and I will wrestle with the thought of being Gay in my own mind. In the end I will fall in love with the person I fall in love with, not with the sex of the person, and feel foolish because I pus so much time into trying to put labels to feelings that shouldn't always be defined."

define "Queer*", in haiku

A friend called me yesterday to ask if I knew of a straight forward definition for the word "queer". While both of us have a working understanding of the word, have studied some queer theory, and often use the term colloquially, she was in need of a short written explanation that could be used as part of an assignment. Google was disappointingly helpless. Searching "what is queer?" led to many a political commentary, in depth article on queer theory, or sarcastic rambling. While she finally found an article to use, I still felt that the void merited a blog post. Without further ado, here are my attempts to define queer in haiku:

please sir, define queer
seems like a strange word to choose
for self-expression

not a gay uncle
nor a boxed stereotype
I am a queer youth

part of a movement
located on a spectrum
sexuality

no definition
not heternormative
Kinsey scale for me

queer encompasses
gender, sex, and politics
beyond expression

reclaiming the word
creating some momentum
less isolating

Please feel free to add your definition!

*Having developed my identity in a very liberal community, queer is the term I use to self identity and therefore what I tend to use interchangeably with LGBTQ in conversation/in my writing/on this blog. I recognize that it may make people from different backgrounds uncomfortable, and want to make it clear that this is not my intention. I see it to be the most inclusive term of identification for those of us that fall at various points on the sexuality and gender identity spectrums.

pitty me, I'm a medical student

I'm currently having a bit of a pity party. Tonight there is a rather large benefit concert at a local bar, a holiday party with my Jewish community, and a bar take-over with the city's queer community.... yet it is not even 10pm and I am sitting on my couch with Lulav, watching TV.

It isn't that I'm totally unsocial, I just can't seem to handle big group gatherings. Last night I hung out with a classmate instead of going to an upperclassman's holiday party. I then spent all of today studying. Right after shabbat ended, I met up with a classmate to get manicures and then grab dinner at a local thai restaurant. Tomorrow will also be spent studying, followed by an abortion movie screening and dinner with another friend.

The self pity stems from frustration in lack of a work-life balance. Also in the realization that this balancing act will never get easier. I can tell myself that life will ease up post-step 1, or post-3rd year rotations, or post-internship year, or post-residency, or post-fellowship, or, or, or... I simply wonder if medical school is causing me to be less of an extrovert. Instead, turning me into an unsocial, exhausted, isolated, single minded, socially awkward monster. If I can't rally myself to hang out in the bigger world now, how am I going to maintain a large (and non-medically based) social community? How am I going to have conversations about real world topics? Or worse, how am ever going to meet people to date?

Conclusion: my pity parties always seem to fast track me to crazy cat lady status.

It gets better

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day. It is a day that has never had meaning for me. I don't really understand having a single day with the mission of coming out, nor am I someone that revisits my own coming out story. However, in light of recent events, this year I feel a little different about it all. I walk a fine line with this blog in differentiating between professional and personal; I feel that it is important to be an advocate who leaves details of my own life out of the equation. After A LOT of thought, I have decided that this post is going to cross the line though. I'm going to share my personal coming out story in hopes of getting the message across to others, and to further propagate the amazing "It gets better" project started by Dan Savage and his husband Terry.

It gets better was started in response to the recent media coverage of a string of gay youth committing suicide across the country. In quoting Jay Michaelson, executive director of Nehirim, "I’m writing to you this month in the wake of six gay-related teen suicides reported in one week. At such times, all of us who are LGBT or allies ask ourselves what we can do... let’s remember that last week was not an epidemic of gay teen suicide. What was new was not the number of suicides, but the way they were reported in national media. Those of us who have been active in the LGBT struggle for equality knows that gay teens kill themselves every week, all over the country. Studies tell us that 42% of GLBT youth have suicidal thoughts, and that GLBT youth are nearly four times more likely to attempt suicide than straight ones." He's right, though some data states gay youth are actually up to 6 times more likely to attempt suicide.

Additionally, an article was printed in the New York Times this week regarding the disturbing realities of medical student/doctor suicides. The article, written by Pauline Chen M.D., stated that "...the culture of medical school makes these students also feel like they can't be vulnerable or less than perfect." These events and articles have acutely reminded me of my own past and have made me feel incredibly vulnerable. The more I think about it, I realize that I don't share my coming out story anymore because of the shame I carry with it, and because of fear of appearing "less than perfect." But by not sharing my story, a story that is way too common amongst the queer youth that I know (and don't know), I am further propagating the shame and guilt. My silence is not helping anyone; it is not raising awareness or helping queer youth feel less isolated; it is not acknowledging that medical professionals have past (and current) mental health struggles nor bring light to the copious resources to help one move forward; and it isn't honoring the experiences, good and bad, that have shaped me into who I currently am.

A week after my 16th birthday, just over 10 years ago, I attempted suicide. My attempt landed me in the ICU under a 72 hour hold, followed by 2 weeks in a psych hospital. This "event" (as my parents referred to it) was very much out of character for the 16 year old me. I was an honors student and athlete, I came from a close knit loving family, I was a "good girl" with a solid group of friends, I had just gotten my drivers license, etc... However, while I presented to the world as a put together young woman, I was completely shattered on the inside. At the time, I didn't have the words to explain why. I knew that the me I felt internally was not the same person as the world assumed me to be. My first attempts to rectify this discrepancy came in the form of experimentation with boys; numbing myself with the fantasies of teenage lust. These encounters only made things worse. They made me feel used and rotten, completely taken advantage of. One thing led to another and I found myself at the bottom of a dark well; there was no light to be seen and an urgent need to end the pain of brokenness. I was clearly an angsty and depressed teenager, but I had no understanding of what was causing these emotions and that it could get better. I felt that I had no where to turn and no other options to help me find myself. 10 years later I still thank G!d that my attempt failed, and that I was blessed with a second chance at life.

That summer, at a youth leadership camp for high school students, I met 3 young queer college students who were working as RAs. These women were the first queers I had (knowingly) ever met. Through getting to know them, asking questions about their lives, and shedding countless tears on their shoulders, it all began to make sense. I realized that a huge impetus for my angst was my sexual orientation, for not having an understanding of what it was or what it meant, and for having no clear vision of what it would mean for my future. I had no comprehension of a future life with a women and so feared that it would mean a life of pain and loneliness. Two pivotal things happened that summer though: I had my first girlfriend, and one of my RAs explicitly explained to me that "it will get better" in a tangible way that I could understand. She also exposed me to resources so that I could proactively make it better. Thank G!d for that summer. I came home and began to come out to close friends, followed by coming out to my therapist. Some were easier than others, but with each encounter I began to feel a little less shattered.

It wasn't always easy. I was outed to my parents by my therapist, without my consent. I was physically threatened by a group of boys in high school and harassed by others. I was told time and time again that coming out to my extended family wasn't an option. I feared holding hands with a lover publicly and had to seek out communities that were safe to be out in. I dealt with crushes on straight girls and learned to navigate finding other queer women to date. I shaved my head and wore combat boots in order to convince others that I was in fact queer, because it turned out simply dating women wasn't enough (and looked really stupid while doing it). I experimented with gender and challenged the notion of binary. Time and time again I ran up against my parents who's theory has always been to not show weakness, stand out, or make yourself vulnerable; and who were convinced that "it was just a phase". But, over time, it did get better in a lot of ways; which became especially true after my freshman year of college. By that time I had developed my own identity and a close group of friends to support me and as time went by, the wounds became less raw. For the first time in my life, at 24, living in a city that I love, surrounded by a family that I choose, personally accepting and encouraging my constantly evolving identity, and dating other good Jewish girls with strong queer identities: I felt like I was being true to myself, coming into my own, and paving my own path to change the world.

However, everything turned on its head with the start of med school last year. Moving south, putting myself into this ideal world of perfect superhero doctors, and living so far away from so many that I love reverted me to my 16 year old self. More often than not, I felt totally alone, raw, and vulnerable. Regardless of the soapbox I stood on, being somewhat fem and very Jewish, I was invisible queer. I lacked community and people to turn to. I had no shoulders to cry on, people to hug or cuddle with, friends within the same zip code to kick me in the butt. Once again though, it is slowly getting better. I am working on creating community here, getting better at asking friends (near and far) for the things I need, and working to make changes in myself and in the system that I can be proud of. While it is not yet totally better, I have faith that it will continue to get better as well as a shifting understanding of what better even means; and I continue to be grateful every day for the second chance I was given.

p.s. If you are an LGBTQ youth struggling about your identity, know that there are so many people out here who care about you. Also, know about The Trevor Project. Even if you don't believe me right now, your life is valuable enough to warrant reaching out to them, I promise.

Med School Burnout

Tonight marks the start of succos, my absolute favorite Jewish holiday. Who doesn't love a holiday that commands you to build something, gather with friends outside, dwell in a shelter that lets you see the stars, eat yummy fall food, and shake branches while praying for a rain in a totally pagen way?! Last year I spent the first days of the holiday at one of my favorite places in the world: lost in the mountains of New York, in sukkah built for 150 of my closest (and newest) friends, overlooking a beautiful lake while watching the leaves change color. Plus there was really awesome learning, and very cute goats!

What am I doing this year to top last year's experience? I am spending it at home, very much inside, studying for Friday's exam. I had some lovely offers for meals in the community, in lovely sukkahs that my friends, the local synagogues, and chabad have put up; but a) I need to study and b) it isn't the same (mostly because the weather in the South is still 100 degrees out and the farmers here are praying for the rain to stop, not start).

While I know this sacrificing of identities is not good for me, today was the first time I realized that it might be detrimental for my future patients. By sacrificing social time and religious practices I'm setting myself up for burnout. I justify it by saying that something I learn, or don't learn, now might be the difference between life and death for one of my future patients. An article published today by the Mayo clinic in the Journal of the AMA on med school burnout though makes me think twice. A synopses on the article can be found here. These types of articles reinforce my belief that medical school is one of the least healthy endeavors one could engage in. Ironic, right?

The conundrum remains that there simply are not enough hours in the day. How can I learn everything I am supposed to know, while still doing all the things I need to do to stay sane and avoid burnout? It is undoubtedly a juggling act; one without a simple solution. My guess is that I'll learn to master it just in time to graduate medical school and start residency... just in time to face a new conundrum on time management and burnout avoidance.

I promise, er suspect, that once the fall chagim (Jewish holidays) are over, there will be a little less discussion on finding balance between Jewish and medical student identities. This just tends to be the season for such guilt.

Yom Kippur 5771

The Jewish community in this small southern city is fragmented. I live within walking distance to the chabad, but have to go stay out in the suburbs for the conservative and orthodox communities. I have spent multiple holidays and many a shabbos out in the 'burbs and have been well adopted into the community.

Last year, for Yom Kippur, I decided to stay home and go to chabad. Because I can't fully fast due to my diabetes, I don't like spending it away from home. Also, we had an anatomy exam right after the holiday and I was too stressed to go out to the suburbs. As much as I love the chabad community, it felt totally unfulfilled and decided to spend this year in the suburbs. However, at the last minute I changed my mind and stayed home.

I have mixed feelings about having stayed here. "Yom Kippur 1984" By Adrienne Rich speaks to some of these feelings. The alienation between identities and isolation from the community/ies I want to be in. I spent it at one of the local Reform temples with many if my classmates, professors and the dean of student affairs. While it became clear that I am no longer a reform Jew, it mirrored so many of my holidays growing up; it also magically made my classmates and professors feel like family. There was also an AMAZING drash about gay marriage- and how it is our duty to use Jewish doctrine to embrace it. Overall, a mix of blessings and frustration.

Hope ya'll had a meaningful holiday & gmar chatima tova!
---------
"Yom Kippur 1984" By Adrienne Rich

What is a Jew in solitude?
What would it mean not to feel lonely or afraid
far from your own or those you have called your own?
What is a woman in solitude: a queer woman or man?
In the empty street, on the empty beach, in the desert
what in this world as it is can solitude mean?

The glassy, concrete octagon suspended from the cliffs
with its electric gate, its perfected privacy
is not what I mean
the pick-up with a gun parked at a turn-out in Utah or the Golan Heights
is not what I mean
the poet's tower facing the western ocean, acres of forest planted to the east,
the woman reading in the cabin, her attack dog suddenly risen
is not what I mean

Three thousand miles from what I once called home
I open a book searching for some lines I remember
about flowers, something to bind me to this coast as lilacs in the dooryard once
bound me back there--yes, lupines on a burnt mountainside,
something that bloomed and faded and was written down
in the poet's book, forever:
Opening the poet's book
I find the hatred in the poet's heart: . . . the hateful-eyed
and human-bodied are all about me: you that love multitude may have them

Robinson Jeffers, multitude
is the blur flung by distinct forms against these landward valleys
and the farms that run down to the sea; the lupines
are multitude, and the torched poppies, the grey Pacific unrolling its scrolls of
surf,
and the separate persons, stooped
over sewing machines in denim dust, ben under the shattering skies of harvest
who sleep by shifts in never-empty beds have their various dreams
Hands that pick, pack, steam, stitch, strip, stuff, shell, scrape, scour, belong to a
brain like no other
Must I argue the love of multitude in the blur or defend
a solitude of barbed-wire and searchlights, the survivalist's final solution, have I
a choice?

To wander far from your own or those you have called your own
to hear strangers calling you from far away
and walk in that direction, long and far, not calculating risk
to go to meet the Stranger without fear or weapon, protection nowhere on your mind
(the Jew on the icy, rutted road on Christmas Eve prays for another Jew
the woman in the ungainly twisting shadows of the street: Make those be a woman's footsteps; as if she could believe in a woman's god)

Find someone like yourself. Find others.
Agree you will never desert each other.
Understand that any rift among you
means power to those who want to do you in.
Close to the center, safety; toward the edges, danger.
But I have a nightmare to tell: I am trying to say
that to be with my people is my dearest wish
but that I also love strangers
that I crave separateness
I hear myself stuttering these words
to my worst frineds and my best enemies
who watch for my mistakes in grammar
my mistakes in love.
This is the day of atonement; but do my people forgive me?
If a cloud knew loneliness and fear, I would be that cloud.

To love the Stranger, to love solitude--I am writing merely about privilege
about drifting from the center, drawn to edges,
a privilege we can't afford in the world that is,
who are hated as being of our kind: faggot kicked into the icy river, woman dragged
from her stalled car
into the mist-stuck mountains, used and hacked to death
young scholar shot at the university gates on a summer evening walk, his prizes and
studies nothing, nothing availing his Blackness
Jew deluded that she's escaped the tribe, the laws of her exclusion, the men too
holy to touch her hand; Jew who has turned her back
on midrash and mitzvah (yet wears the chai on a thong between her breasts) hiking alone
found with a swastika carved in her back at te foot of the cliffs (did she die as
queer or as Jew?)

Solitude, O taboo, endangered species
on the mist-stuck mountain, I want a gun to defend you
In the desert, on the deserted street, I want what I can't have:
your elder sister, Justice, her great peasant's hand outspread
her eye, half-hooded, sharp and true
And I ask myself, have I thrown courage away?
have I traded off something I don't name?
To what extreme will I go to meet the extremist?
What will I do to defend my want or anyone's want to search for her spirit-vision
far from the protection of those she has called her own?
Will I find O solitude
your plumes, your breasts, your hair
against my face, as in childhood, your voice like the mockingbird's
singing Yes, you are loved, why else this song?
in the old places, anywhere?

What is a Jew in solitude?
What is a woman in solitude, a queer woman or man?
When the winter flood-tides wrench the tower from the rock, crumble the prophet's
headland, and the farms slide into the sea
when leviathan is endangered and Jonah becomes revenger
when center and edges are crushed together, the extremities crushed together on
which the world was founded
when our souls crash together, Arab and Jew, howling our loneliness within the tribes
when the refugee child and the exile's child re-open the blasted and forbidden city
when we who refuse to be women and men as women and men are chartered, tell our
stories of solitude spent in multitude
in that world as it may be, newborn and haunted, what will solitude mean?

1984-1985

conflicting identities

Since starting college, every fall brings with it a little bit of dread. The chagim (Jewish holidays) which are supposed to be filled with meaningful contemplation, community, and celebration seem to instead be filled with stress, guilt and juggling. I hate the fact that for a solid month, I feel like neither a good Jew nor a good medical student. By trying to find a compromise between my identities, I simply fail at being either. The saddest part is my disconnection from sukkot as it is totally my favorite holiday but seems to get overlooked by the post Rosh HaShana & Yom Kippur catch up games.

Since it is very apparent that I'm no longer on the professional Jew track (there was a period of time where I seriously considered becoming a Rabbi), it seems to be time to re-conceptualize my religious identity. What does being observant mean to me now? Now that I am without my progressive-trans denominational-intellectual Jewish community, now that chabad is my only walk-able option, now that I am a busy med student who never has enough time, and now that my kavinah (spiritual intention) seems to be elusive at best. Now, what is meaningful for me?

Goals for 5771: (0) Spend some time reconnecting with and reformatting my spiritual identity. (1) Work on broadening my Jewish community in this southern town that I now call home; especially by expanding my circle of liberal-queer-intellectual Jews. While I already know most of the people that fall into the above category, I need to put more energy into really making these people part of my community. (2) Revisit what being shomer shabbos means to me. (3) Make more of an effort to connect with my inner Jewish mother. I miss having people over for shabbos and holidays. I miss taking care of others in my community. (4) Follow through on my plan to volunteer with the local chevra kadisha (people that do burial preparations) as a means of connecting my conflicting identities. (5) More text study! I miss text study.