Overcoming the challenges of staying connected to your mission

As a husky owner, a backcountry endurance athlete, and a woman, I love the story of Mary Shields (https://apple.news/A-Q6ppaqgQ3mEr3lsZxs2Xw).

Additionally, as a physician, I also love the book I’m reading by longtime Iditarod vetrinarian Lee Morgan, 4000 Paws (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/150778734-four-thousand-paws). It rates highly in storytelling, wonderment, and hilarity. I sat on my patio last night reading and belly laughing, with tears rolling down my cheeks like some sort of mad woman.

I too have had my moments of Type 2 fun, alone in the backcountry, trying to self-rescue from deep and steep snow, and not knowing how it would turn out. It’s both terrifying and embarrassingly humbling and ridiculous. By definition, Type 2 fun always results in a good story. If you don’t die.

As a medical volunteer, I’ve pulled runners from trail races, and as a surgeon, I’ve pulled patients from their sole, precious experience of living life to pause and maintain it, to repair broken body parts, and sometimes—inevitably—to say goodbye. Even though human voices don’t lament with the baleful, dramatic cries of a veteran husky who’s been pulled off the Iditarod trail, our hearts grieve the loss of our imagined, extraordinary futures, just as tragically as they do.

The older a kid gets, the more imagined futures she has to cull from the Pail of Possibilities. And the better she understands the trade-offs, the often subtle opportunity costs of the decisions we make. Especially when we don’t even consider all our options.

What is in my “consideration set” today, in this moment? I try to consult with my challenge network regularly to make sure I don’t fail to consider an amazing opportunity, like entering the Iditarod at age 29, as Mary Shields did, before I was even born.

Our brains try to confine us to the motivational triad—stay comfortable (avoid pain), conserve energy, and seek pleasure. These natural settings often don’t serve our best interests. They certainly never led anyone to the Iditarod trail, surgery residency, or even leg day at the gym.

Know thyself. Including how thy brain might betray thee! Acknowledge the motivational triad for its intentions of keeping you comfortable. But don’t let that sneaky neurological hardwiring hold you back from pursuing your own metaphorical Iditarod(s).

That’s what I think the Apostle Paul meant when he wrote Romans 7:15-20. We all hold this paradox of internal conflicts between being humans with a mission—and simultaneously—humans with a brain that is not naturally wired to connect with a mission.

As an ethicist, I believe contemplating and acting on your mission should be your life’s work. Sometimes that happens in long pauses during pandemics, chemotherapy, and job transitions. But hopefully that also happens in small moments—a brief frog squat in the OR, a Sunday morning coffee, or a phone call with a (challenge network) friend.

Happy Sunday. 💖

Photo: me with my tripod Husky Willow, my favorite Drama Queen, after a fulfilling day’s work earlier this summer.