Reading week is a bit of a misnomer because no one actually spends it reading but rather travelling instead. My reading week in this case took me to Dingle on the west coast of Ireland with a few friends. Known for the scenic views and coastal atmosphere, Dingle beckoned, and we answered by getting a small cottage on the water for a few days to get away from the hecticness of Dublin for a spell. The time away end up being the kind of break we were all sorely needing – even as a city boy myself, I can see the value in reconnecting with nature and having learned enough statistics and research design in my course for what could last me a lifetime, there was a special kind of thrill in getting to watch grazing sheep instead of bustling students outside my window.
However, jokes aside, there’s genuinely something in getting to see Ireland’s beauty yourself and discovering your own role of it. While driving through the Ring of Kerry rounding sharp turns and vast expanses of hills and lakes, I unexpectedly began to feel quite small. I know objectively too that Ireland itself is a very small country – I mean, I had literally driven to the other side of it in approximately four hours. Yet in that moment as I watched my friend drive stick (baffling me, who has never even come close to learning how to do so) and sat squished in our tiny red mobile with all of us packed in like a clown car it felt almost larger than any place I had ever been. I look around at my friends and I realize that these people who were total strangers mere months ago have now become trusted confidants, partners in crime, and fundamentally people I will take with me even after I myself have gone.
If I’m being entirely candid, I’m aware my time here is coming to a close – there’s only a few months before it’s back to the States and the beginning of the next chapter with med school. With my mind moving a million hours a minute, I’ve been trying to take the rest of this experience for every part of what it’s worth. This is an admirable goal no doubt, but also frankly a somewhat exhausting one. Knowing you’re leaving just to start over again is as exciting as it is bittersweet. This will be the sixth year in a row I’ll be starting someplace new. And so being able to just relish in feeling insignificant in the daunting faces of high peaks and the slippery slopes of flowing water for a moment felt a genuine relief. I feel like there’s oftentimes a certain exerted pressure to show to others that you’ve done what you set out to and that that sentiment can only reveal itself in demonstrative and almost grandiose displays; I went here, saw this, pictured that. Maybe this blog post is even guilty of that, in a way. But even if just briefly, my time in Dingle let me remember that it’s not a bad thing to feel small sometimes – if anything, it’s a necessary one. Albeit cliché, it serves as a reminder that who we are – goals, worries, opinions – exist within a broader context that’s easy to overlook.
The Mitchell was never something I expected – I applied as a senior in college and didn’t even make it past the first round. But I can see now that that made sense because I’m not the same person I was when I first applied – I’m older (although who’s to say on the wiser part), in a different line of work, with far more life experience under my belt. I don’t think I would have gotten what I needed from this year and the support of the program at 23 because that version of myself feels almost uncertain and unrecognizable at points. I’m grateful to Ireland for reminding me of second chances, sure, but more so that sometimes it’s less of a second chance and more so waiting and shifting until you’re ready. This year has given me an experience I never thought I would have. As someone who feels perpetually in hurry, I think my time here has made me more ready for what’s to come. And I will remember sitting in a tiny car in the middle of Kerry with too loud music and jostling friends whenever the world feels too big and is in need of a reminder of when and why and how to be small.
