A word.

     In this strange limbo between undergraduate education and medical school, I find myself writing a lot of essays.  Essays about a time I didn't get something I felt I deserved, essays about my experiences with diverse populations.  Essays about altruism.  And in my sticky summer kitchen, I stress that I cannot express exactly what I mean.  Even more, I lament that my "voice," which Ms. Bishop tried to help me find, is still stuck deep inside me somewhere.  Caged in, perhaps, by a family of grammar-correctors and memo-editors.  I submit essays to medical schools and they feel shiny and metallic: pretty and impersonal.


     I would like to think, in another life, that I would have the courage to be an English major.  I thought about it, then I thought I could not support a family on it - but oh how I would love to study words.  Words are the beginning of everything:

"In the beginning, was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

John 1:1

     Within words, somewhere, there exists power, power to construct a beautiful moment, power to make wrong things right, power to change minds.  Writers, I envy you, and in this small space, I join you for a moment.