The Tao Of Dad

What is it about mental associations that can be so helpful or hindering depending on the circumstances? In some instances, all we have to do is choose not to make a mental connection with something or the reverse in order to manipulate our minds into an amenable state.

The majority of this week’s academic load made it impossible for me to ignore thoughts about my Dad. In physiology, we began studying the digestive system (my father is a Gastroenterologist). In biochemistry, we started the week with the TCA cycle….he wrote his thesis on the TCA cycle back in the day. So, in spite of the fact that this material isn’t necessarily any harder than any of the other material, I somehow find myself feeling like it’s a bigger hurdle than it is. It’s as if the bar has been preset to a level that I don’t think I can jump to. I’ve always had a tremendous amount of awe and respect for things that my father has accomplished in life. I never thought I was the sort that would achieve to the extent that he did. The drive that he possesses is virtually unparalleled. Whatever needs to be done – he makes it happen, and he is a damn good doctor. I’ve known that my whole life. When I was little, I used to tag along with him at the hospital on occasion (often because he got called in while I was with him and there was no time to drop me off I’m sure). The nurses would always be extremely nice to me and tell me how wonderful he was. Once in a while, we’d bump into patients of his while out at a restaurant or something. You could tell that they were glad he was their physician, that they trusted him. Isn’t that one of the most crucial elements to being a solid practitioner – gaining the trust of your patient?

Or, maybe you see someone or something and it reminds you of a pleasant memory or even an unpleasant one. That line of thinking can either go all the way to the end of the rainbow or straight to your darkest hour.

I’ve become so much more aware of what I associate certain things with that I think I’m finally on my way to nipping the unwanteds in the proverbial bud.

Now if I could just convince myself that Nutella is really whipped feces, I’d be set.

Enjoy your dinner now, ya hear : ).