When I asked for blog post ideas last week, the most common response was regarding what motivates me and what my future goals are. In this post, I answer a similar question: “What gives purpose and meaning to my life?” I came up with three things: my faith, my family and friends, and my future goals. I hope you enjoy reading.
1. My faith
My faith informs what I do, because I believe that this world is not our final home, and because I believe what is written in Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” At church today, the band played one of my favorite songs: Hillsong United’s “So Will I” . I love this song because it expresses the power of a God who is of the billions but also of the one. The God who created the 100 billion galaxies in the observable universe is a God who cares about me, despite the innumerable times I have messed up.
I certainly do not claim to have everything figured out. I believe what Jeremiah 29:11 says, but I’m not sure exactly what the plan that it speaks of looks like for me, especially when it comes to my occupation. However, I believe this will become clearer with time. After all, it is only natural that an eternal God works on a different timetable than humans, especially humans in today's world of instant gratification. This is clearly an area of my life that requires the kind of "active waiting" discussed in my first post.
2. My family and friends
Conversations with people I love are the ultimate refresher for me. It seems like every Friday and Saturday night my roommates and I will stay up late into the night talking—sometimes about serious topics, and sometimes about ridiculous topics that will have everyone laughing almost to the point of crying. Weekends are also filled with Skype calls with family, whether that is my sister, my parents, or my brother. If I’m not talking with them, you can probably find me talking with some of my closest friends from home (Joe, Tyler, Christian, Jesse, and Drake, I’m looking at you). These conversations, although tough to fit into everyone’s schedules, remind me that relationships are the second component of my life that actually matters. During the week, I find my stress level rising, as I obsess over subjects that need to be studied, research work that needs to be done, and exercise that must be completed. When I connect with people close to me I am reminded that none of this stuff will really matter in the long run. I wasn’t meant to find happiness in those things, and I likely won’t be remembered by the work I did or the things that comprised my to-do list. Rather, I will be remembered by how I touched others. I believe this is a fact of life for all of us, but I find myself especially prone to forget it. As I talk with my friends and family and hear about their hopes, their struggles, and the minutiae of everyday life, I feel my perspective expanding and my spirit being renewed. As I remember the past with those people and appreciate the present, I have hope for the future, because I know that no matter what happens, these people will be there for me, and I will be there for them. This kind of knowledge changes everything.
3. My goals for the future
Michelangelo once said, “The greater danger for most of us isn’t that our aim is too high and miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it.” I believe the danger he is referring to is the danger of complacency that comes when one ceases to have something to strive for. I have always believed in setting big goals because, whether you achieve them or not, they give your life purpose. My most defined goals concern my professional life although, as I said above, these goals still aren’t perfectly clear. However, I will try to explain a bit in what remains of this post.
Some of my strongest memories from childhood and young adulthood relate to disease, and cancer specifically. Sounds morbid, but it’s true. All four of my grandparents have fought cancer, and three eventually died from it. I remember trips with my dad to visit my Grandpa at the nursing home when I was perhaps 5 years old. I remember the Burger King that we would routinely get after the visits, and bits of the conversations we would have on the way home. I am grateful for these experiences because of the time spent for my dad, but they certainly weren’t all positive. At the time I was too young to completely understand what was going on, however as I grew up I came to appreciate how terribly sad that experience was for my dad, and for me as well. Cancer had slowly taken one of his parents from this world, and it wouldn’t be the last time this happened. Roughly ten years later, cancer took his mom, my grandmother. She was one of my favorite people in this world, and as I delivered her eulogy it was all I could do to prevent myself from completely breaking down. Like I said in part one, I believe that there is something better than this life that lies beyond, and so I was confident that she was in a better place. However, this doesn’t change the fact that losing a loved one is incredibly painful, as is observing their decline as cancer slowly takes over more and more of their functioning.
Visiting my grandma at the Eau Claire Mayo Clinic about three years ago is perhaps my strongest memory, and I believe it will remain this way for a long time. As I observed the IVs pumping the chemotherapy drugs into her veins, I found myself on the verge of tears. What did this innocent, incredible woman do to deserve this? We had good conversations, as my family and I talked about our lives and she talked about her daily life in the hospital. Normally we didn’t see her as much because she didn’t live in town, so it was a blessing to just be able to stop by and see her at least once a week after cross country practice. However, that doesn’t change the fact that this struggle was one that I don’t think anyone can ever be fully prepared for.
On one particular day, I remember watching a nurse come in, donning what appeared to be a white hazmat suit, as she changed my grandma’s chemotherapy drugs. This is common practice, as chemo drugs are of course extremely toxic—that is how they work. At all points, the medical professionals did their absolute best to help my grandma, and after reading books like The Emperor of All Maladies I understand the extreme complexity of cancer. Chemo, despite its side effects, is still one of cancer’s most effective treatments. However, I believe there has to be a better way.
This is where my career goal comes in. Although I don’t expect myself to develop a cure for cancer or make any incredible breakthroughs, my goal is to join the team of people working diligently to improve cancer treatment and prevention. I enjoy math and science, and I believe God has blessed me with skills in these areas. Because of this, my current goal is to contribute in the fight against cancer as a Biostatistician, where I want to design innovative research studies and evaluate data to hopefully create an improved understanding of cancer and of the best practices for preventing/treating it. This is the path I am currently on and it is why I am pursuing the dual-degree BS Mathematics/MS Biostatistics program at OU. I’m not sure what I will do after this. My original plan was to pursue a Ph.D. in Biostatistics before moving on to do the work that I have mentioned above. However, lately, I have considered going to med school to get an MD, enabling me to serve as an oncologist who works more directly with patients. Although I don’t yet know exactly where I will end up, I have peace of mind knowing that I am pursuing something that I care about. Working in this capacity won’t bring back my grandparents, but hopefully it will reduce suffering for people like them in the future.
As always, thank you for reading. Writing this (especially the last part) was a really powerful experience for me, and I hope you were able to observe a bit of this passion as you read. I want to extend special thanks to Stone, Faith, Camille, and Sohil for inspiring this post. Have a great week everyone.