2007/07/21 23:40
Twenty-Seven
I never thought I'd leave New Mexico.
Well, that all changed when I went to Japan, but once I came back I never thought I'd leave New Mexico again. Obviously it's easier the second time, especially when you're going to a place where they speak your language.
It wasn't really all our decision to move to Florida. A component of medical school is The Match, where near the end of your fourth year they place you in a residency program. The Match is a program run by the U.S. Medical Licensing Association Or Something Like That, in which graduates-to-be interview at residency programs and then both sides rate their partners in order of preference. Then, via a complex algorithm that nobody understands (undoubtedly involving, at some level, a blindfolded retiree with a dartboard), the USMLAOSLT matches (thus the name) residents into programs. Sed had interviewed at her program here in Orlando and immediately felt at home. So even though we didn't want to be so far from the Rio Grande Valley, we knew we had to take the chance.
There were a lot of bummers about moving to Florida. I was leaving my family, my friends, and a job that I was just starting to really fit into and love. Plus, when we got here, I learned that the displaced New Yorkers who live in Orlando are, on the whole, rude and abrupt. Not necessarily a learning curve I'd like to re-ride.
But then again, we knew we needed the distance. When you live so close to your parents, it's difficult to ever truly grow up, to feel like you could do it on your own if you had to. We always felt somewhat cowed by our familial authority figures into operating closer to their way than we might without the advice. And Sed and I had never really been alone, living together without some form of support or companionship ready to insert itself into our relationship. First we'd had the dorms, then we'd had our mothers, then we'd had roommates, and even when they'd moved out we still saw them all the time.
I'm not trying to sound ungrateful. We love and cherish everyone who stepped through our door (except for maybe that one guy Shauna brought home who thought he could try out for the Blue Man Group and eventually ended up pounding on windows late one night). But Sed and I never wanted to take them for granted. You can see how it's hard to not do that when every Thursday and Sunday (and sometimes on Fridays) they were knocking on the door. The distance, we knew, would be good for us.
So on May 30, 2005, we packed our cars, called our dogs, and started driving to Florida. It was a long drive, with multiple heartbreaks along the road the farther we got from our home. But when times are difficult here, when we wish our friends could just pull up and knock on that door, we remember we have each other to lean on no matter how lonesome we may be. And that's gratitude.
Well, that all changed when I went to Japan, but once I came back I never thought I'd leave New Mexico again. Obviously it's easier the second time, especially when you're going to a place where they speak your language.
It wasn't really all our decision to move to Florida. A component of medical school is The Match, where near the end of your fourth year they place you in a residency program. The Match is a program run by the U.S. Medical Licensing Association Or Something Like That, in which graduates-to-be interview at residency programs and then both sides rate their partners in order of preference. Then, via a complex algorithm that nobody understands (undoubtedly involving, at some level, a blindfolded retiree with a dartboard), the USMLAOSLT matches (thus the name) residents into programs. Sed had interviewed at her program here in Orlando and immediately felt at home. So even though we didn't want to be so far from the Rio Grande Valley, we knew we had to take the chance.
There were a lot of bummers about moving to Florida. I was leaving my family, my friends, and a job that I was just starting to really fit into and love. Plus, when we got here, I learned that the displaced New Yorkers who live in Orlando are, on the whole, rude and abrupt. Not necessarily a learning curve I'd like to re-ride.
But then again, we knew we needed the distance. When you live so close to your parents, it's difficult to ever truly grow up, to feel like you could do it on your own if you had to. We always felt somewhat cowed by our familial authority figures into operating closer to their way than we might without the advice. And Sed and I had never really been alone, living together without some form of support or companionship ready to insert itself into our relationship. First we'd had the dorms, then we'd had our mothers, then we'd had roommates, and even when they'd moved out we still saw them all the time.
I'm not trying to sound ungrateful. We love and cherish everyone who stepped through our door (except for maybe that one guy Shauna brought home who thought he could try out for the Blue Man Group and eventually ended up pounding on windows late one night). But Sed and I never wanted to take them for granted. You can see how it's hard to not do that when every Thursday and Sunday (and sometimes on Fridays) they were knocking on the door. The distance, we knew, would be good for us.
So on May 30, 2005, we packed our cars, called our dogs, and started driving to Florida. It was a long drive, with multiple heartbreaks along the road the farther we got from our home. But when times are difficult here, when we wish our friends could just pull up and knock on that door, we remember we have each other to lean on no matter how lonesome we may be. And that's gratitude.
