veni, vini, vici

This afternoon at 5 pm I was sitting in the Taube Tennis Stadium at Stanford University.  I don't know how many seats there were at the stadium - a few thousand would be my guess.  I was the only person there.

Over the past four days I attended the US Gay Open, a tennis tournament organized by the Gay & Lesbian Tennis Federation.  I wasn't there as a player; I was a volunteer - I didn't think I had enough match toughness to be in a tournament like this.  I thought it would be embarrassing if, instead of serving properly, I had to toss and retoss the ball because my left arm couldn't follow my brain's orders.  So the only other alternative to experience this tournament for the first time was to volunteer.  I had a blast.

I set up courts, prepared drinks, bought breakfast.  I even managed (very successfully I might add) the consolation rounds on a cool Sunday morning.

But more importantly, I met lots of people.  I saw them.  And I heard them.  Then I appreciated them.  

I saw how players competed at all levels, many higher than my own, but also many below.  I saw amazing points that ended after a series of unbelievable volleys, overheads, slices, topspin forehands.  I saw doubles partners hugging each other after a win or a loss and encouraging each other.  I saw people having fun no matter how they played.

Then this afternoon, when the regular matches had finished and all the spectators had departed, only the players of World Team Tennis and a few members of the organizing team remained.  They were playing on the outside courts, leaving me alone to reflect on the past few days in the stadium.  I heard screams.  I had laughter.  I had cheers.  

I left my solitude in the main stadium and ran up to check out the matches.  

I saw players wearing outfits that would probably send Queen Elizabeth to the cardic cath lab if they were ever to appear at Wimbledon.  There were tiaras, tutus, one-piece skirts.  Most of these were worn by the guys.  Watching them close up, you would laugh at how funny the guys looked.  Watching them from far away, you would laugh because you saw people having fun.  I noticed that I couldn't tell if the laughters I heard were male or female voices.  Then I realized it didn't matter.  They were tennis players who loved what they were doing at the moment in the Taube Stadium at Stanford University in Palo Alto, California.

So I decided I would play at next year's tournament.  So what if I couldn't get my serves in.  So what if some of my forehands would go long.  So what if I would dump the easiest overheads into the net.  I'll just keep hitting the ball and keep loving it.

I came.  I saw.  I heard.  I'll conquer.

the russians are coming

Well, not exactly.  But changes are coming.

Sometime last year I had this feeling that 2009 would be the last year that I would practice medicine.  It has been seven years since I finished residency, and it is now more than just a seven year itch:  it has become practically a wound.

To make the long story short, I've found a job as a medical consultant.  No, it isn't filmmaking.  I'm quite aware of that.  The teleplay that I'm working on with my friend in New York is coming along nicely, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed.  In the meantime, I'll start my new job in September - seven years and one month after I began working at Kaiser Permanente - five years and one month longer than my residency classmates and I had estimated I would last in medicine.

Last week I met a ballet dancer.  A Russian ballet dancer.  As expected, he was in perfect physical shape, charming, handsome.  I was intrigued to hear his story, his life, his plans.  In turn, I told him of mine.  He then mentioned that he had an idea for a dance-based theater project and that it might be fun for me to write it with him.  When I shared with him that it would be "incredibly, incredibly, incredibly" amazing if one day I would work on such a project and also work for a film production company, he immediately corrected me, saying that it would be at most "incredible," not "incredible, incredible, incredible."

I confessed my ignorance.  So he proceeded to remind me that if I work on something really hard then ultimately achieve the desired result, then there isn't much there that is incredible.

Well, of course he was right.  I don't know if I was misusing the word incredible, if I never understood its meaning in the first place, or if I was not giving myself the credit I'm due.  This isn't a multiple choice question - I already know the answer.

I remember that when I working in Santa Rosa as a full time primary care doctor, I had imagined how amazing it would be if I could one day work just a few days a week and spend the rest of my time pursuing the things I loved.  Well, that's exactly what happened.  I spent three years in Santa Rosa searching for my passion, I found it in filmmaking, and I moved to San Francisco to work part-time while learning about the art, playing tennis, going to Paris for months at a time...

Then during this period of hedonism, I imagined how amazing it would be if I could one day not be a doctor any more, then be lucky enough to find some job related to filmmaking while working on various writing or photography projects.  All this is slowly coming true.  I've worked hard to make it come true.  So what's so incredible about that?

Nothing.  Absoultely nothing at all.  So I'll march on to my own little symphony and keep exploring opportunities that take me to my dreams.  What once seemed amazing will one day be what I'm living.

Changes are coming.