If I was going to continue with the courtship metaphor, there would be something here about the young man receiving a handwritten note from the glamorous girl who had captured his affections. In it, the glamorous girl would reveal that she didn’t want to lose him to The Other Girl, but that she wanted only him to accompany her to Some Big Event—she just hadn’t confirmed the details of the event yet.

That metaphor is difficult to maintain.

So, simply: Not only will I be in New York City next year, but I will also (most likely) be a fellow at the program that is my first choice. Upon learning that another fellowship (that I would otherwise attend) had offered me a position, this program wasted little time before telling me that someone would call me soon with “great news” about offering me a position.

Thus, the program (glamorous girl) has yet to formally offer me (young man) a position, though foreshadowing “great news” without ultimately telling me “we’d like to offer you the position” seems cruel… though clearly still within the realm of possibility. Even if it is a teeny, tiny possibility.

(I hope I’m not jinxing myself right now.)

It is the minority of people, I think, who proceed along the path of medicine as they wish. By that I mean that few people secure their first choices for programs. The pool of candidates is large and contains many talented people. Most of us experience disappointment along the way.

For example, I think I applied to over 25 medical schools. (The numbers are hazy, as that was nearly ten years ago.) I received secondary applications to about 22 of those schools. Probably 13 of those schools offered me interviews. I was placed on the waitlists at 10 of those schools. Ultimately, only 2 schools offered me a position as a medical student. (One school just never got back to me.)

As a California resident, I was considered fortunate, since one of those two schools was a California public school, though it was not the school that I wanted to attend. (Staying in California means excellent education for relatively little money—in-state tuition is much cheaper than out-of-state or private tuitions.) Several of my peers had no choice but to leave the state for their medical education.

And then there were the people who weren’t accepted anywhere the first time they applied to medical school.

For residency, I applied to 12 programs, attended 12 interviews, and ranked 11 programs for The Match. (Briefly, residents are essentially assigned to programs for training. Applicants submit their “rank lists” for programs to a computer in order of preference, with #1 being the program the applicant would most like to attend. The programs also submit “rank lists” of applicants in order of preference to the same computer. In early March, the computer sorts these lists—people say that the computer favors the applicants, though no one really knows how the sorting works—and “matches” applicants to programs. On “Match Day”, medical students each receive an envelope and inside, the single sheet of paper informs the applicant of where s/he will be going for residency. Graham is currently going through this process.)

I matched at my #4 choice. This surprised everyone (most of all, me!), as people had confidently predicted that I would likely match at my top choice (”or at least within the top three”). That being said, I am grateful that I ended up where I am. (It is, however, a good thing that no one was collecting bets that day.)

Of course, there are also people who do not match anywhere and thus are resigned to “scramble” for open positions in unfilled programs.

The prospect that I shall actually attend my first choice program for fellowship training is therefore a bit alien.

Furthermore, the relocation for this experience is daunting. I feel this urgency to enjoy as much of Seattle as I can in my remaining days here: What haven’t I seen? Where haven’t I gone? As autumn slips into winter, I notice that I am paying more attention to the world around me—what does the brisk wind feel like against my skin? what kind of leaves are falling from the trees? what are the architectural styles of the houses in the neighborhoods? how exactly does the water on the lake shimmer when the sun is out? how does the appearance of Mt. Rainier change as the seasons cycle?

Then there are all the things—details, all of it—I need to do to physically relocate to the other side of the country.

And what about all the things I want to do while I am in New York City? It is a year-long contract, a nicely circumscribed period of time for me to experience the city. If I hate the city (which seems unlikely), I can get out after 365 days. If I love it, I will have the connections to stay. All the places to go! All the things to see! All the people I will meet! All the things I will learn!

All the lists I need to make!

Hopefully, I will receive the formal offer from The Glamorous Program on Monday. In the meantime, I shall channel my anxiety into making lists.

It’s official: I’ll be in New York City next year.

(Okay, it’s not exactly “official”, since I haven’t signed anything—nor am I absolutely certain just where I will be working in New York City, since gamesmanship is now in full effect—and it is still within the realm of possibility that this offer will be rescinded and no one else will make an offer, though that really is just catastrophic thinking—and now I can totally appreciate the mechanics of The Match for residency—and this wasn’t meant to be a stream of consciousness—)

Wahoo!