The Winds that Carry Us

he morning sun gently kisses my cheeks, and a soft breeze carries my hair as I ascend the winding hill.The hospital's silhouette emerges faintly on the horizon; the city still slumbers.As I move forward, there is a heaviness in my stroke, a quiet weight I have come to know well.Entering the final month of my first clinical year, exhaustion has settled deep within my bones.My mind, numb, yet restless, wrestles with an unanswered question: why?While my peers outside the realm of medicine embrace new beginnings, careers, and travels, I find myself pedalling toward fluorescent corridors and shifting wards.There is something that draws me back every morning: purpose.At its core, medicine seems beautifully simple in its calling: to heal.The concept of purpose is woven into the fabric of our education, often passed down unconsciously by those who came before us.However, in the lived experience, it proves itself less defined.It touches every part of the human experience, extending into the emotional, the social, the existential.In periods of exhaustion and self-doubt, I have questioned whether I am truly making a difference.Inevitably, harm will be present in healthcare, through human error, systemic barriers, or personal biases.No checklist, no passing grade, no single achievement can crystallize a moment as the fulfillment of purpose.Paradoxically, in these very moments, I have learned that it must be redefined to be restored.Like my hair flowing in the wind as I pedal, purpose twirls and transforms, constantly in a state of becoming, leading us on this endless chase.Its nature shifts not only with new experiences, responsibilities and setbacks, but also in proximity, in tangibility, in clarity.On most days, its silhouette is obscured by T The winds that carry us