I’ve always believed that a person should reinvent themselves every 10 years or so. If you do anything for too long, you stagnate. Life becomes a routine, and it’s all too easy to just phone it in. True growth always takes place at the edge of comfort. The problem is, once you factor in kids, a partner, and a mortgage, it becomes more difficult to take chances. A gamble on their financial futures, if you will.
I had come to a crossroads in my life, both professionally and personally. Matt and I had built an incredible critical care program and had seen it become one of the top three in the country. We had watched those who passed through become the next generation of leaders across Michigan and at universities around the country. It felt like we had made an impact.
For better or worse though, change is one of life’s only guarantees. Over the last several years, the administration had progressively devalued the clinic and the roles of the students within it. The emergency caseload was still increasing exponentially, but patients entering the hospital could no longer be assured the care or access to specialty medicine that they needed. Pleas for support fell on deaf ears, and after years of fighting, I was starting to feel disinvested in the process.
“Burn out” or compassion fatigue has long been recognized as a cause of weariness, cynicism, and loss of productivity in health care workers. No one really knows why a group of people who have proven time and again that they are smart, tough, compassionate, and resilient should go on to lose their drive, but it is increasingly suspected that burnout may reflect a form of moral injury.
The concept of moral injury, often mischaracterized as post-traumatic stress, was first described in soldiers on the battlefield who were forced into acts that violated their core values, and as a result, suffered deep wounds to the spirit. In health care workers, a similar form of spiritual injury results from the act of seeing patients they know how to help but are unable to do so because of hospital policies, finances, or time constraints. These betrayals of patient care and trust, when repeated day after day, ultimately lead to moral injury, a “death by a thousand little cuts”.
But while I was foundering professionally, my personal life was flourishing. I was forging a relationship with a perfect partner, at least perfect for me. While we had similar ideals and interests, Lu’s quick wit, sensitivity, and big feelings provided an interesting counterpoint to my quiet stoicism. We mostly complemented each other, but sometimes not. When we weren’t adventuring together, we were learning to communicate our differences effectively though. We were also navigating the challenges inherent in attempting to blend families while simultaneously working full time and surviving a global pandemic.
When life’s choices start to seem out of control, it is sometimes best to step away for a bit to reenergize and refocus on what is most important. It was time for a retreat. By sheer luck, Lu found it in “The Snug”, a rustic cabin near Traverse City. The Snug was a labor of love, a handcrafted cabin sitting alone in the woods, a haven for travelers, artists, writers, and lovers. Every detail was designed to still the mind, to inspire the imagination, and to nourish the spirit. It was just what we needed.
We slept blissfully in the cozy nook and woke to the sound of birds. Cathy had thoughtfully provided coffee and dark chocolate so we brewed up a carafe and took it out to the deck to enjoy each other’s company. We were in no hurry to do anything today. We sat on the Caribbean swing, letting the chocolate melt decadently on our tongues, a perfect complement to the dark coffee.
After breakfast, we headed back to the Snug to get ready for our run. Just over one month ago, Lu had signed up for a 160 mile virtual race from Oscoda to Traverse City. I got to run beside her, and sometimes behind her, for some of these miles. Now, we were almost at the finish line. It was appropriate that we had come to Traverse City to end the race. Not only was the virtual finish line in Traverse City, but so was Lu’s biggest competitor.
From very early on, it had become clear that Lu had a real chance to place in the race. She leapfrogged between first and third in her division, checking stats every night to figure out how hard she had to push the next day. It was amazing to watch. When the going got tough, she just pushed herself harder, through fatigue and the inevitable injuries without ever making excuses. Her competitor was a beast, though. Just when we thought we had her beat, she’d pull a half marathon and take the lead again. So Lu did too. Over sand and hills, beneath the blazing sun we ran that day.
We woke the next morning ready to finish the race. Only 9 miles to go. After our near death experience the day before, we planned to head out earlier this time before it got too hot. We started our run on the trails by the village, completing a loop through the forest before heading out toward the water.
After leaving the trails, we ran through the quaint neighborhoods, cooling ourselves by running through every sprinkler we saw. Lu recalled how, as a troublesome teen, she and her friends would scale fences to hijack neighborhood pools, and I shared the docu-comedy “Extreme Tramping” about three men who would do the same to perform stunts on unattended backyard trampolines.
We paused by the bay to watch baby ducklings leaping out of the water to peck at flying bugs. A heavyset man with a mustache watched too, capturing us with a riveting, 15 minute story of how he had once saved a duckling from a storm drain. It didn’t matter. We were in the home stretch, enjoying the experience. We ran the trails by Boardman Lake, then headed back toward the village with wings on our feet. And then it was over. We had crossed the finish line. Lu had taken first place in her division, crushing her leading competitor in her own hometown by over 20 miles.
A string of vintage Edison bulbs hangs in front to light the way at night
We spent a little time with Cathy and Richard before heading out, recognizing the moment as a meeting of kindred spirits. We knew we would be back again. The Snug had been everything we had hoped for, and the time we spent there had given us what we needed. In the end, I guess I had known the answers all along. Let go of that which no longer brings joy to make space for that which does. And when you find joy, go all in. I gave my notice at work the next day, immediately feeling the rightness of the decision. I didn’t yet know what we would do, but Lu and I would figure it out together.
#snuglife
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