I am a medical student, plagued with a thousand insecurities, unsure of my future, drowning in debt, and completely lost on my renal rotation.

The attending nephrologist sits across from me.

He has some advice.

“Learn just one meaningful thing, every day. That’s it. One.” 1/

I nod, sighing. In the depths of my impostor syndrome, I don’t yet realize the worth of what he is trying to teach me.

“So, Sayed, what did you learn today?”

My mind is blank.

“Uhm... where the dialysis unit is.”

He grins, “A valuable insight. You’re gonna be just fine.” 2/

The years pass.

Through trial and error, and the guidance of amazing mentors, I find my way.

The truth is I forget much of the minutiae I memorized for all the endless med school exams.

But I do hold on to some things.

At least one thing, every day.

Just one... 3/

Some of the same people who called healthcare workers heroes, and applauded them every night, are now refusing to wear masks or practice social distancing.

I learn that the betrayals that hurt the most are from those who would cheer you on, lift you up, only to let you down. 4/

The more I practice medicine, the more I realize that there is an invisible hand guiding my days, shaping my interactions, limiting my options.

I spend long hours arguing with people who have never laid eyes on my patient.

I learn that our system is not for us. 5/

I make it a point to try and memorize the names of all the nurses, all the staff.

A little kindness, just an acknowledgment even, can be the difference between a smile and a downward spiral.

I learn that to be human is to be a healer, to innately know a powerful medicine. 6/

The masks have become part of our visages now.

I’m becoming more adept at picking up the emotions expressed by the eyes alone. By the brows, subtle wrinkles of the forehead.

I learn that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between hope and heartbreak, in this place. 7/

The elderly gentleman murmurs reflectively, “Most of my friends and family are on the other side of that door now. So why am I afraid to open it?”

I nod, listening to him articulate his fear.

I learn that we all will finally approach the same door, in our own unique ways. 8/

Last year I received word that the physician who had taught me to learn just one thing had died.

I mourned his loss.

And I appreciate now what he was trying to teach me.

Distill the moments to their essence.

Learn just one thing, every day.

This is medicine.

This is life.