Saying goodbye to San Diego was much more difficult than I expected. But I squeezed in as much as possible during the last few hectic weeks before moving: walking around Balboa Park, a play at the Old Globe, beach time at La Jolla Shores, a bonfire on Mission Bay, sharing a pie at Bronx Pizza with my wonderful friends who helped me pack up the truck, and lots of other fun stuff.
My father and I set out for Denver at 5 in the morning towing my car with a 16-foot Budget rental truck loaded with the majority of my worldly possessions. Most people wouldn't be able to sleep the night before such a voyage, and I was no exception. Throughout the day, as I ran my last-minute errands and tied up loose ends, I reflected that I had been working toward this move, directly, for over a year and a half, and indirectly ever since I was a little boy when I formed a vague notion in my mind that I wanted to become a doctor when I grew up. The whole day felt like that particular psychosomatic nervousness in the moments before a big race, combined with the jittery restlessness of too much caffeine. But I don't drink coffee (yet) and hadn't drank any tea or eaten any dark chocolate (my preferred source of caffeine). A monumental shift in my life lay waiting for me on the other side of midnight, but when midnight came and went, I wasn't yet ready to say goodbye. I forced myself to sleep in the early hours of the morning when common sense more than exhaustion overcame me.
Despite getting only 2 hours of sleep, I held up pretty well, driving my fair share of the marathon 21-hour trek from San Diego to Denver. Like my recent travels to Honduras on medical relief missions, I viewed this sleep deprivation as a challenge to prepare me for the exhaustion that lies ahead during medical school and residency. I now firmly believe what they say, that driving while tired is like driving drunk, and if that's true, it should make one question the presence of mind of medical interns and residents.
Next entry: settling into my new home.
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