I am writing this blog after an awful fight on the phone I picked with my mom. She ended up telling me that she finally understood why I want to become a psychiatrist and that there is indeed no other career that would suit me better — because only such a crazy person as me would be capable of living all her life among other crazy people. What triggered her reaction was my recent decision to go studying in France for a semester as an Erasmus student. “Decision” isn’t the appropriate word, though — because it wasn’t even settled — I want it so badly, but it is just something that I envision, this being my last shot at applying for Erasmus, since I’m a fourth year medical student. 

She is probably right to believe that I’m crazy. Due to a great many reasons, applying for Erasmus in my current situation is like trying to conquer the Everest when you need a pair of crutches in order to be able to walk. Nevertheless, I want to do it, although yeah, it seems insane. I want to prove myself that there’s no leap of faith that I can’t take and that even though they’re used to seeing me crawl, I can still climb mountains. I want to have rich experiences, to live life to its’ fullest and to take advantage of all good things it has in store for us. I’ve never been a fan of boundaries and I’ve always believed that first and foremost, I am a citizen of the Universe instead of a bleak, forlorn town where nothing ever happens and where both time and people seem to have frozen. Does the fact that I’m longing for life make me a manic person? Does the fact that I always endeavor to better myself and to reach new heights make me an iconic representation of a psychiatrist-wannabe who’s willing to heal the others, but cannot snatch herself from the claws of insanity? 

I don’t know and maybe it doesn’t even matter that much. It’s not that I don’t value other people’s opinions or advice, but this sense of caution keeps us from achieving the best things in life. No, I’m not suggesting that you should quit school or your job to start travelling the world without any money, luggage or specific destination. That would indeed be a classic example of dromomania and you should most likely be hospitalized and given psychotropic medication. 

But what keeps you from buying yourself a ticket to Stockholm, Paris, Berlin — or whatever city you’ve always fancied — after a tough semester at school or a hard season at work, where you could spend a couple of days, all alone with your thoughts, walking around and discovering the unseen faces of the world? The essential feat is to know when too much is too much, in order to maintain, for all intents and purposes, a (quasi)permanent state of balance in your life. Sometimes, the mood stabilizer you need dwells within your mind and you’ve just got to keep knocking at its’ door until it lets you in. Sometimes, that apartment is merely empty and you might need to resort to an exogenous mood stabilizer in order to make up for the fleeting tenant. That’s okay, too. Everything is, as long as it makes you feel (truly) okay.  You are allowed to enjoy life, for you only get to live it once. It’s your life, it’s your story, and the pen is in your hand. You can create it and recreate it as you please — no one will mutter a word about it — and even if they do, that won’t interfere with your work. 

Beware of the dangerous plot twists, but make it one worth reading and, first off, worth living. And also bear in mind the fact that you’re both its’ author and its’ main character at the same time. 

See the rest of Ancu?a’s posts here.