Story of Self

Tonight at our leadership workshop I was asked, "Why are you here?" It's the theme of this year, repeated over and over, because it is so easy to forget. I could get lost studying statistics and economics, going out in the city, and doing what some people refer to as "the n-word" (aka "networking" - the dirty word you should never use when talking about what you are doing here at Harvard...). But tonight I was pushed further. It is not enough to say, "I am here to learn how I can be an effective public servant. I'm here to learn, and I'm here to lead." Well, why? Why do you want to be a public servant? And why do you want to lead? In response, I often refer to the quote that I leave at the bottom of my emails:

The moral test of government is how it treats its people in the dawn of life, the children, in the twilight of life, the aged, and in the shadows of life, the sick the needy and the handicapped.

Is that not enough? Can't I tell you story after story about patients I've met and how they have affected how I view the world? It's not. It's not because I could've had these experiences, developed these relationships, viewed the world differently, and still not thought that we need to do more. Still not thought that policy changes can be made for the greater good, and I have a responsibility to be part of that change. So again, I am asked, why am I here? Why did I go to medical school, and why am I interested in public service?

After I got home, the first thing I did was call my parents. I needed a debrief. Why am I here?! Someone please tell me a story from my childhood that in some way embodies the values that I believe in today. Where was my life changed? As my parents sit on speakerphone listening to me babble and push back, I keep thinking that I don't have a story. I didn't grow up in poverty, work my way out, and feel like I needed to go back and make a difference in my community. I didn't struggle most of my life with being gay, growing up in a society that doesn't accept me for who I am. I didn't have to learn English as a second language. I'm a white male from the suburbs who went to a high school with a golf course on campus.

I got off the phone with my parents and looked at the screen. We talked for over 43 minutes. My first thought was, "Those are the only two people in the world who would drop everything and listen to my quarter-life crisis." My grandmother would as well, but unfortunately she is no longer with us. And as I was thinking about these three individuals, what they have (and would) sacrifice for me, I realized I had a story.

When I was 17 years old, I had an opportunity that I wish every child could have as well. During a high school retreat, I received a packet of letters. These letters were from the people who cared about me in my life. Some were from friends and mentors, some from distant relatives, but there were a few that meant much more. A few letters that still bring tears to my eyes, even just thinking about them. Three letters in particular, all of which have had a lasting impact.

Tonight I reread those letters. It has been a number of years since I have gone back and poured over them, but I always remember the kindness, love, and hope they embody. Much in these letters is private, but there are a few quotes that I do want to share. So again I ask myself...

Why am I here? My mother writes, "We hope in our hearts that you will come to know certain things when you become a man: that you will know in order to gain respect from others, you must give them respect; that you will realize it is not whether you control others that matters, but whether they choose to follow your leadership... that you know all the money in the world can never buy back your good name if you have disgraced it; and that you will understand you can expect many people to treat you worse than you treat them, but you can never expect anyone to treat you better than you treat them."

Why am I here? My father writes, "Now we wish we could prepare the world for you, but we can't, so we have to prepare you for the world. We want to provide you with the tools you will need to cope with the challenges of the fast-paced, demanding, and all too amoral world waiting for you. When you think about it, your appearance came near the end of a century that saw immeasurable evil and cruelty. It was a century that ended any illusion that there is a limit to the atrocities of which human beings are capable. But that wasn't your century; your century is that of the twenty-first... To your generation comes the burden of the past, but also in your generation lies the hope of the future. And the future will depend in large measure on the character of the men and women growing up now, as you are."

Why am I here? My grandmother writes on a theme that I will never forget. It is the one quote in life that I will hold with me until I die. I can literally hear her words, both spoken and written. "Rob, with great power comes great responsibility. 'To whom much is given, of him much shall be required' - Luke 12:48."

There is so much more I could share, and in so many ways I have failed these letters. But I, like my parents, haven't given up hope. So what is my story? My story is built on the values my parents taught me. They are the values that are at the core of the passages above. Hope. Love. Respect. Sacrifice. Courage. There are many ideologies in this world, but when I see patients who are disabled, poor, marginalized, or silenced in a world that does not allow them to speak, for me I hear their story. How I intertwine my story into their narrative is with the values that my family have tried to instill in me.

My story is to hope. To hope that our generation can overcome the poverty and hate that holds humankind back. My story is to love. To love every person like they are my mother, my father, my grandmother. My story is to respect. To respect those without a voice, and to be their voice when the time comes. My story must be to sacrifice. To sacrifice my time and energy for something greater than myself. My story is to have courage. The courage to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

That is my story. That is why I am here.