The Heart of Endurance

Tag: love

  • When Research Became a Garden

    For many years, research after surgery felt like a second job.

    After a long operation, many surgeons could go home.

    But I often went back to writing, experiments, meetings, grants, and mentoring.

    At times, I wondered why I was doing this.

    Why continue working after already giving so much in the operating room?

    Why carry another responsibility when no one seemed to recognize the effort?

    Why keep running when the work was exhausting and often invisible?

    In those years, research still felt connected to expansion.

    More grants.

    More publications.

    More productivity.

    More proof.

    I kept going because that was what I had trained myself to do.

    ⸻

    Over time, however, something changed.

    The same activity began to feel different.

    Research was no longer only another burden after clinical work.

    It became one of the few places where I could breathe.

    ⸻

    Research gives me a different kind of space.

    A quieter space.

    There is writing.

    There is creativity.

    There is the slow building of an idea.

    There is the possibility of asking a question that did not exist before.

    Most importantly, there are young people.

    Students.

    Trainees.

    Mentees.

    A small lab group where communication is respectful, honest, and positive.

    In that space, I feel something very different from the clinical side.

    I feel growth.

    ⸻

    This helped me understand why I still write grants.

    It is not mainly for recognition anymore.

    Not for title.

    Not for institutional approval.

    Not to prove that I still matter.

    I write because funding protects the garden.

    It allows ideas to continue.

    It allows young people to grow.

    It allows mentorship to happen.

    It allows my creative mind to stay alive.

    ⸻

    Research once felt like a second job after surgery.

    Now I see it as one of the few places where my mind can breathe.

    ⸻

    This shift changed the meaning of the work.

    Earlier, research was another mountain to climb.

    Now, it feels more like a garden to cultivate.

    A garden does not grow through force alone.

    It needs attention.

    Patience.

    Protection.

    Consistency.

    It also needs the right environment.

    ⸻

    That is what I am trying to preserve now.

    Not endless expansion.

    Not pressure for more.

    But a small, meaningful space where creativity, mentorship, and discovery can continue.

    ⸻

    Clinical work uses my hands.

    Research and mentorship allow my inner life to keep growing.

    And perhaps that is why, even after surgery, I still return to the work.

    Not because I must prove something.

    But because something in that quiet space still feels alive.

  • When Priorities Became Quiet

    For many years, I tried to organize my life from the outside.

    I made lists.

    Long lists.

    Tasks.

    Meetings.

    Projects.

    Deadlines.

    People to contact.

    Things to finish.

    Then I tried to prioritize them.

    What is most important?

    What should come first?

    Where should I place this in the calendar?

    I thought better organization would create a better life.

    And sometimes it helped.

    But often, even with careful planning, life did not follow the plan.

    Unexpected things happened.

    Other people changed direction.

    Meetings moved.

    Energy changed.

    The day unfolded differently.

    The list remained.

    But the mind became tired.

    ⸻

    Looking back, I think the problem was not only lack of organization.

    The deeper problem was that too many things felt important.

    Work felt important.

    Opportunity felt important.

    Recognition felt important.

    Responsibility felt important.

    Other people’s opinions felt important.

    Because my internal hierarchy was not clear, I had to create hierarchy externally.

    Lists.

    Calendars.

    Schedules.

    Systems.

    But external systems cannot fully solve internal confusion.

    ⸻

    In my current stage of life, something has changed.

    I still use a calendar.

    I still respect responsibilities.

    I still prepare carefully for work.

    But the decision-making feels different.

    I no longer need to think so much about every choice.

    Somehow, my internal voice gives me a clear impression.

    This matters.

    This does not.

    This deserves energy.

    This can pass.

    It is not loud.

    It is not emotional.

    It is quiet.

    But it is clear.

    ⸻

    I think this became possible because my values became clearer.

    These are not separate priorities anymore.

    They are connected.

    Because the important things are internally related, there is less conflict.

    ⸻

    This has changed how I select.

    Which meeting should I attend?

    Which task deserves time?

    Which relationship should I invest in?

    Which opinion should I listen to?

    Which disagreement should I enter?

    Before, these decisions required much more thought.

    Now, many of them are obvious.

    Not because I know everything.

    But because I know what matters.

    ⸻

    This also changed how I respond to disagreement.

    Earlier, I felt the need to engage.

    To explain.

    To correct.

    To fight for my opinion.

    Now, if the issue is not truly important, I can let it go.

    Let others talk.

    Let others decide.

    Let others win.

    Not from weakness.

    From selection.

    If it does not affect truth, integrity, patient care, family, peace, or craft, it may not deserve my energy.

    ⸻

    This has made life simpler.

    Less hesitation.

    Less regret.

    Less internal argument.

    I still work hard.

    I still care deeply.

    But I no longer spend energy trying to organize everything from the outside.

    ⸻

    When my values became clear, prioritization stopped being a calculation.

    It became a quiet sensation.

    ⸻

    I used to organize life with lists.

    Now life organizes itself around what matters.

    ⸻

    The clearer my inner life became,

    the less I needed to fight for space in the outer world.

    And for this stage of life,

    I feel deeply grateful.

  • The Timing of Yes and No

    These days, people often talk about the importance of saying no.

    Protect your time.

    Reduce commitments.

    Do less.

    Live simply.

    There is wisdom in this.

    But I think it is incomplete.

    Because saying no is not always the right answer.

    It depends on the stage of life.

    ⸻

    When I was younger, I said yes to almost everything.

    Work.

    Meetings.

    Opportunities.

    Difficult tasks.

    Social gatherings.

    Responsibilities.

    At that stage, saying yes was not a mistake.

    It was necessary.

    I needed exposure.

    I needed experience.

    I needed to build skill and credibility.

    Saying yes opened doors.

    It placed me in difficult situations.

    It forced me to adapt.

    It built discipline.

    It showed me what I could endure.

    Without those years of saying yes, I would not have developed the foundation I stand on now.

    ⸻

    In the expansion phase of life, yes can be important.

    Yes creates movement.

    Yes creates challenge.

    Yes creates opportunity.

    Yes reveals capacity.

    A person does not always know what matters early in life. They do not yet know their strengths, limits, temperament, or direction. That knowledge often comes only after experience.

    So if someone says no too early, before building enough life structure, no may become avoidance.

    It may look like wisdom.

    But underneath, it may be fear, comfort-seeking, or underdeveloped discipline.

    ⸻

    Over time, however, the meaning of no changes.

    After years of work, struggle, responsibility, and reflection, a person may begin to see more clearly.

    What matters.

    What drains energy.

    What aligns.

    What no longer belongs.

    At that stage, saying no becomes different.

    It is no longer avoidance.

    It is selection.

    ⸻

    In the integration phase of life, no protects clarity.

    No protects rhythm.

    No protects peace.

    No protects the ability to do meaningful work well.

    ⸻

    This is why the same action can have different meanings at different times.

    A young person saying no may be avoiding growth.

    An integrated person saying no may be protecting wisdom.

    A young person saying yes may be building capacity.

    An older person saying yes to everything may be losing alignment.

    The action alone does not tell the whole story.

    The inner phase matters.

    ⸻

    For me, saying yes built my life.

    Saying no now protects the life I built.

    ⸻

    I do not regret the years of saying yes.

    They gave me discipline, endurance, and opportunity.

    But I also understand that continuing to say yes forever would eventually damage the peace and clarity I now value.

    There is a time to expand.

    There is a time to select.

    There is a time to build.

    There is a time to protect.

    ⸻

    Perhaps the real question is not:

    Should I say yes or no?

    The deeper question is:

    From where is my answer coming?

    Fear?

    Ambition?

    Obligation?

    Alignment?

    ⸻

    No becomes wisdom only after enough yes has taught us what truly matters.