It’s mostly sunny with a bright blue sky, fluffy white clouds, and cool breeze. Mt. Rainier clearly looms in the distance. The lakes are sparkling and dotted with sailboats.

This is the way I want to remember Seattle.

I turned in my pager a few hours ago and will be attending a commencement ceremony in a few hours. To be fair, graduating from residency doesn’t have the lustre of graduating from college or medical school. There are no mortarboards, no hoods, no parading around in black robes. We haven’t completed school; we’ve “merely” completed more training. My understanding is that there will be food, drinks, mingling, and some informal speeches.

Tomorrow morning, I hop on a plane and move to New York City.

People excitedly ask me if I’m excited.

Yes! Of course! I’m thrilled!

And I’m scared! Terrified! Anxious!

And very sad about leaving my dear friends and my life thus far in Seattle. While I can say good-bye with grace, it’s not easy to do so.

Though people may part, the relationships—dynamic things they are—continue. That may mean letters, phone calls, or maybe even a visit… and even if none of those, there are the memories of these individuals that carry forward. There are the phrases that I adopted from the speech of others, the way I teach and explain ideas, the comments that I will remember whenever I do something (e.g. “I will always remember you and your notebook, Maria… the way you randomly pull it out and scribble things down”), the priceless advice I have received, the bad jokes I have heard, the warmth in knowing that people care for you as much as you care for them.

There is more I can say, but I shan’t.

I’m going to miss you, Seattle. Thank you.

In late 2001, Britney Spears released her single, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” off of her Britney album (which also included the text message-friendly single “I’m a Slave 4 U”). This song is a ballad about adolescence, when one is struggling with identity versus role confusion (hat tip: Erik Erikson).

In early 2002, an Asian female put on a blonde wig, wiggled into tight pants, and wore a halter top that revealed her navel a la Britney Spears and, seated at a piano, sang the following song at the medical school talent show:

“I’M NOT A GIRL, NOT YET A DOCTOR”

I used to think
I needed A’s on everything
But now I know
That seventy percent is A-OK
Apathy quickly takes over
That’s when I realize

I’m not a girl
Not yet a doctor
I just need to pass, every single class
To earn my MD
I’m not a girl

I’m a second year med student
It’s time that I
Started to study for the USMLE
I’ve slacked off much more than you know now
Sp don’t think that I will do fine

I’m not a girl
Not yet a doctor
I’ll just do my best, and hope I pass this test
To earn my MD
I’m not a girl

But if you grade my test closely
You will see the answer’s right
This girl will one day earn her degree

(I’m not a girl) I’m not a girl, but my transcript has all P’s
(Not yet a doctor) I’m just trying to find the doctor in me, yeah
(I just need to pass)
(Every single class)
To earn my MD

I’m not a girl, not yet a doctor, no no
I just need to pass, every single class
To earn my MD

I’m not a girl, ooh
Not yet a doctor

Ah, an ode to mediocrity. How delightful it is to find these gems when sorting through items in preparing to move.

I particularly like how I specifically wrote in the “yeah” and “ooh”.

(There seems to be so little time, but I do not want to forget and I’ve been so remiss about writing in general—)

During my visit to New York City, I

>> secured an apartment. It’s small. It’s a studio. It’s amazing how much it demands for rent. It’s even more astounding how much money I dropped in the span of five minutes to secure the place. But now I have a place to live. (I don’t understand how college students and people who earn minimum wage live in Manhattan. I will be making a comfortable salary as a fellow and that still only got me 300 square feet. Astounding.)

>> ran a five-mile race through Central Park. The temperature was apparently only 70 degrees, but the humidity was a swampy 93%. I felt significantly uncomfortable at mile two… and, subsequently, I downgraded my goal to “Keep running and don’t walk”. I was hoping to enjoy the sights of Central Park, but I spent most of the time concentrating on my breath due to the discomfort of the run.

I ran with over 5,000 other people. Basically, a small town was running through Central Park that morning… and most of the city didn’t even know about it. That’s incredible.

And, as uncomfortable as the race was while I was running, that endorphin glow kicked in afterwards and I felt pleased with accomplishing this swampy, sloggy goal. (The Beau’s cheerleading was also helpful. Very helpful.)

>> ate a lot of bad food. And by “bad”, I mean:

• burgers at White Castle (since I’ve only heard about this mythical White Castle… this chain has not made it out West)
• fried appetizers and an ice cream sundae at Friendly’s (at the encouragement of my East Coast comrades)
• a cheeseburger and black and white malt shake at the Shake Shack (by far the tastiest “bad” food I had—the shakes are wonderful!)
• over-frozen soft-serve ice cream at Carvel

>> ate interesting food. And by “interesting”, I mean:

• mango chicken with cooked cricket (the cricket was not supposed to be there)
• Ethiopian food
• green tea ice cream at the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory
• “real” bagels (yum)
• “real” pizza
• lots of fruit (to make up for all the “bad” food)
• Brazilian empanadas

>> watched the sun set over land while at the beach. I find this discombobulating, as the sun sets over the ocean on the West Coast. That the sun set over land instead of over water is novel to me. (Thus, “watching the sun rise at the beach” is on my List of Things to Do in New York.)

>> did a lot of people-watching. People generally move faster, talk faster, stand closer, yell louder, sigh more often, dress snappier, spend more money, make more eye contact, show greater attitude, share more personal information, complain louder, have better manners, talk with cool mid-Atlantic accents, and seem more preoccupied in New York City. More data collection to follow.

>> got a tetanus shot. Health clearance and whatnot. Please note that even physicians have difficulties with getting into those gowns “with the opening facing the back”. Not user-friendly.

>> had coffee with Joshua. Joshua is the kidney doctor who writes frequently about kidneys and efficiency. Another demonstration of the power of blogging—it is highly unlikely that he and I would have ever met if this internet thing did not exist. He’s smart, friendly, well-dressed, and can drink five shots of espresso in one sitting. I’m sure he’s already considered how the caffeine affects his renal function and his productivity. Bloggers are thoughtful like that. (…?)

The relocation happens in less than one week. Goodness. And I am not confident that I will get everything done by then. Keep the good juju coming—I need all the pixie dust I can get my hands on.

My commitment to regularly writing (and by “writing”, I refer not only to blogging—I am also referring to writing letters, writing notes, writing complete sentences in general) has faltered. I blame moving.

• Someone wittily remarked that we are experiencing “June-uary” weather. The days are long, yes, but so are the rainstorms. I do hope that my last memory of Seattle won’t be of grey skies, wind, and rain.
• On the other hand, one of my good friends in New York City informed me this past weekend that the weather is unbelievably, ridiculously, [expletive] hot”. The Beau more tactfully reported that “the heat is oppressive”. A good friend in Seattle inquired, “Won’t it be nice to experience real June weather instead of this Seattle crap?” Well, we’ll see.
• I’m done with saying “good-bye”—can all of this mushy relationship stuff just end already? (It’s culturally more appropriate to experience annoyance and anger than sadness. I’m just sayin’.)
• One of the men in the homeless shelter who is originally from New York City got on my case for not yet securing a place to live. “I don’t mean to be critical,” he commented, “but you really should have taken care of that three months ago.” That’s a humbling remark when it comes from a homeless guy. The dynamics in that interaction are remarkable and kinda makes my head spin.
• A few people have written about the child psychiatrists at Harvard’s Massachusetts General Hospital and their misreported financial relationships with pharmaceutical companies. I personally do not agree with the Biederman approach to diagnosing bipolar disorder in children (both with his approach and the subsequent prescribing of antipsychotic medications as the primary course of treatment), so that compounds my opinion of the situation. However, I do get the sense that Dr. Biederman really believes that he is fighting the good fight… and his tenacity and passion are impressive. I do hope that his financial misreporting more represents oversight rather than something nefarious.

Expect a random schedule of posts here for the next few weeks—I’ll be leaving for New York City soon to look for a place to live (send good juju, please—no evidence for it, but it sounds good), returning to Seattle to take care of loose ends and graduate, and then relocate to the other side of the continent. I anticipate that I shall use Twitter more often since, you know, typing 140 characters is less daunting than writing full sentences that are thoughtful and actually communicate ideas.

Two of my girlfriends took me to see Sex in the City tonight.

They snickered at me when, in the beginning of the movie, Carrie Bradshaw comments that it takes about three years for someone to find an apartment in the city. (It was pitiful snickering.)

And, even though I shan’t be living in a penthouse, wearing Blahniks, or attending fashion shows (thank goodness!), for the two-plus hours that I was in the theatre, I felt truly excited about my moving to New York City. I’ve been preoccupied with and, frankly, bogged down with all the details leading up to my relocation.

I got all tingly during the flyover shot of Central Park.

I’ve only been a distant admirer. Soon that will change. I can hardly wait.