`` Everything . . . ``

`` War. . . ``

We talk about war a lot.

We talk about war, racism, poverty. We talk about death and every negative thing about history. And that's important. If we didn't remember it, we would be doomed to repeat it, wouldn't we?

But it seems we never talk about the peace.

We don't talk about times of peace, of comfort. The soft moments. The other half of what makes us human. We don't talk enough about art, about life. What was an average person's life like back then? They had families and favorite colors. They were just like us. Human.

Yet all we talk about is war.

Procrastination is my enemy, Time is my mother, and Curiosity is the one common denominator of Humanity

This looks like how I saw those crushed up plants I put in bowls outside when I was 10. . . This looks like my childhood, and I wish I could still just go outside and pretend to make potions with the 'magical herbs' I crushed up in the mortar and pestle I got for Christmas. But no, because that's 'weird' and not something a normal high school student does in their free time.

Middle eastern spices market

it wild to me that there are people out there who aren't interested in history

like wdym you don't think about the fact that women would tell stories as they made butter in the same way we listen to podcasts today? wdym you don't think about that one Chinese poet who wrote about how much he loved his cats hundreds of years ago? wdym you don't think about the fact that we found a gravesite of a young child surrounded by flowers from THOUSANDS of years ago? wdym you don't think about how people wrote "i was here" into the walls in Pompeii? wdym you don't think about the little egyptian boy who drew little doodles at the top of his school works more then a thousand years ago?

wdym you don't think about the fact that people, no matter the place, time, social status, are fundamentally no different from you. that they loved the same as you, enjoyed the same things you did, dreamed about a better life the same way you did. that despite how seemingly detached you are from these people, in time, place, and culture, the things you do and the thing u are, are so undeniably human that it transcends time and space

More than 10 for me though

10 years from now ill be in a white coat with a stethoscope and this past week MIGHT have been worth it 🙏

making mistakes

I was talking to a friend who is also a med student about mistakes and feeling awful when you make them and how hard it is to be at this point of medical training where you don't really know what you're doing at all. Not to mention the imposter syndrome.

And she told me: "There's a certain number of mistakes I am for sure going to make while doing all of this. A certain number that just belongs to me. So every time I make a mistake, it's one down, one less to go, one more I probably won't make again or at least won't make it as often."

So she keeps a little notebook and draws a line for each mistake, then writes down what she learned from it.

And it just ?? Reframed everything for me ??

Looking at mistakes as an integral part of your learning that also happens to be absolutely inevitable takes so much pressure off the proccess. A mindset that frames every mistake so tangibly as a step towards being better and not a symptom of failure or a negative reflection of yourself, your skills, your character.

I went out and bought a little notebook for myself that same day.

Reminding myself to (attemp) to draw this later!

So you see, I have a problem with letting things die.

I love you dead punctuation marks.

`` Can't I Have Both? ``

I want a big life.

I want to be a doctor, and I want to save lives. I want to laugh loudly with my friends and take up space and explore and run. I want to be a bit too ambitious and I want to be productive. I want to live big and loud and happy.

But I also want a small life.

I want to wake up early and drink tea. I want to sit by a window where I can look out over the forest as I read cozy mystery books. I want to bake my own bread and make flower crowns. I want to live small and soft and happy.

Can I have both?

I don't know what to add to this, I just know I need to save this Lol

In the ruins of Pompeii, there is a room inside a house where two men were painting on the day Mt. Vesuvius erupted in AD 79.

The master painter was at work on the fresco itself, twining vines in green, men and women looking out of the image to one side. His partner, probably an apprentice or lesser, younger painter, was laying down fresh plaster nearby. We know it was fresh because the pumice left significant pockmarks in it as it dried that we can still see today.

There are holes where a shelf stood holding the different colors of paint, in the wall just below the unfinished fresco. We found jars of paint on the floor - red green blue white yellow black. We found his tools, the brushes and the pot of lime that kept the paint wet.

He spilled lime on the painting.

We can tell that, too. It is caked clear as day over the unfinished work.

In a documentary I am watching, an Italian anthropologist discussing the moment of eruption looks to the cameraman and says, with real sincerity, "We found their tools, but we didn't find them. We hope that they ran away, that they survived."

Next door, a baker left his livestock behind when he fled. We found the skeletal remains of the animals who helped to move the millstone, but we did not find the baker.

Not that we are certain of, anyway.

I just wanted to take a moment to think about a modern Italian anthropologist looking at unfinished paintings and bread turned to stone by ash and time, hoping to himself that those people made it out in time.

We are separated by almost two thousand years, but we still have empathy for lives facing terror beyond their understanding. We still hope against hope that two painters ran out of town and made a new life somewhere else, that they escaped before the final pyroclastic flows descended.

We hope the baker moved to another town.

We recognize ourselves in what was left behind, and hope that these people - who could have been us, but for a trick of time and place - had a fighting chance to survive.

I just.

Sometimes, I love people.

I love us.