there's always time for a splash of irony

Finally, my latte the other day was worth the four bucks I paid for it. I noticed this quotation on my Starbucks cup and was pleasantly surprised:




"The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, inplay, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade aroundas rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as thebarrier to your life." - Ann Morris

I a master commitment escape artist. Over a decade, I have perfected the skill: in high school, doing five billion extracurriculars instead of trying to be really good at just one; in college, doing pre-med and liberal arts to "keep my options open;" and as an adult, selecting a job whose most appealing benefit was a two-year smorgasboard of mini-jobs, rotating locations, and postponed commitment. I won't go into my love life on this blog, but the story's much the same: deep down, I do know what I want, but I ...just...can't...quite...commit. (Sidebar: Here's a pic of me and the object of my commitophobia, who ironically was also the recipient of yesterday's dental-school rant...doesn't he look like a good future dentist?!)

Truth be told, I was lazy. In college, I just waited for the epiphany I believed would smack me awake and incite complete conviction. Pretty narcissistic actually- I don't know if I thought Moses was going to come down from his mountain with a burning tablet of dictums or what.

Even more than sheer sloth, I think it's the the cross-dressing fear that Morris writes of that has been silently stalking me for years, whispering insidious little doubts in my ear. I don't like commitment because I fear closing off options-- and let's face it, isn't the unexplored always so much more romantic than reality? If I'm really honest, I'm even more afraid that if I truly commit to something with everything I've got and fail, it'll tear me to shreds. It's so much easier living life with an air of detachment, knowing that real life will begin someday, but this just can't be it.

But it is. It's now. And I've finally realized that closing off options is indeed a sacrifice. By choosing grad school, I am forgoing (or at least seriously postponing) my supposedly accelerated path in healthcare admin, a career that has some serious perks: the occasional triumph of feeling like you're really helping someone, the fascinating social/psych experiment that is management, and if we're really going to be honest, a much fatter paycheck. But sacrifice isn't necessarily a bad thing. In this case, the old adage rings true: Nothing in life worth having is free (Except for maybe Free Cone day at Ben & Jerry's, that's pretty sweet, actually)

And since age 7, when I "published" a massive tome on my gerbil's mental

health, I've wanted to be two things: a writer or a psychiatrist. I've chosen not to become a physician, but I still have the chance to combine my love of the written word, and all things social sciences/healthcare by pursuing grad school, and eventually academia. When I recently started experiencing finals envy and fantasizing about the musty smell of NU's library, I realized that I'm finally ready to take the plunge. It may give me the shakes, kind of like these folks after a pleasant January dip in Lake Michigan, but they're the excited kind of shakes, and after all this time, it's truly exhilerating.

ROAR!