The last time I significantly overhauled my curriculum vitae was about four years ago in preparation for my residency applications. Displeased with the resume templates available in Microsoft Word, I created a simple layout (not unlike the layout of this weblog) utilizing tables to play the game of Name My Accomplishments.

The letters “M.D.” now append my name. “Work Experience” has disappeared. In place of “Extracurricular Activities” is “Teaching Experience”, which, to my surprise, dates back farther than I had realized. (I intend to market myself as an Enthusiastic Teacher—an honest, though financially unprofitable, admission.)

For my purposes, there are two types of CVs: those that are academically impressive and those that are curious and distracting. Mine falls into the latter category. (”She writes a ‘medblog’? What’s that? And ‘lindy hop’? Harrumph!”)

New York City alone has seven accredited psychiatry fellowships in my desired discipline (in contrast to the mere two in the entire state of California!). Plan A is to apply to all seven programs, receive at least one offer of acceptance, and henceforth spend a year experiencing life in one of the largest urban centers in the world.

I have no idea what Plan B is.

“How does that make you feel?”

“A bit freaked out; thanks for asking.”

Other cities offer this fellowship, but I have little, if any, desire to live in Cleveland, Dallas, or even Chicago.

One of the academic institutions in Maryland offers a teaching fellowship. The Enthusiastic Teacher within blossoms with excitement at that opportunity… and promptly wilts upon realizing that that would require living in Baltimore, with its notoriety as an unsafe city, for a year.

I could settle for a job. Seattle is lovely (albeit “ethnically homogenous”). I am already familiar with the glorious zoos, dancing clubs, museums, beaches, television studios, amusement parks, burritos, national parks, barren valleys, twelve-lane freeways, droughts, suburban neighborhoods, and sunny skies of California… though my return would fulfill my duties to my parents. Would I be able to secure a job that would grant me opportunities to teach?

Locum tenens is an option. Spend six weeks in Fairbanks, Alaska, and witness the Aurora Lights as Autumn freezes into Winter, before dashing off to Casper, Wyoming, for a month. Perhaps I would be directed to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Or maybe I would be slated to work on the other side of Lake Washington for the empire of Bill Gates.

Locum tenens could feasibly send me to Australia, New Zealand, or the United Kingdom.

I still have an interest in the Peace Corps.

I could take a year off and travel around the world—and make a stop in New York City. Traveling around the world, however, requires money, and I still owe the government large sums of money for financing my overeducation.

The contents of my book are collecting dust on the hard drive of this computer. When will I make the solid commitment to publish it?

I hope that Plan A fails me not (… though unanticipated Plans may soon unfold, despite my exhortations otherwise).

This is called the illusion of control.