I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like I'm caught between the generation that kept "journals" and "diaries" for one's own edification and self-loathing and the new breed of online exhibitionists who feel the need to let every human being with a working set of eyes and vocabulary know what he or she is wearing, eating, thinking, smelling, tasting, reading, feeling, buying, selling, or looking at. I have a Twitter account collecting cyber dust, a Friendster account that dates me in the early 2000's, a MySpace account that makes me feel like the creepy old guy hanging out with high schoolers, and a Facebook account with 401 "friends".
And yet I find myself increasingly keeping things to myself. It's not that I don't talk (believe me, folks around me can attest to this), it's just that I don't feel any desire to commit any of it to paper, or emails, or anything that could be construed as documentation. I say this with some degree of sadness, because I would love to one day look back and maybe write a memoir, or pass along something meaningful to my kids, or even simply reminisce, but I am realizing more and more with each passing day that my memory truly sucks. It's atrocious. I don't know if I'm squeezing things out with the mass of knowledge I've had to accumulate over the last 8 years, or the fact that I'm decrepit and old at the tender age of 31, but some of my most reliable memories and stories are becoming fuzzy, at best.
So, going forward, I'm hoping to start anew in San Diego. Oh yeah, by the way, I'll be heading out to San Diego for my Maternal-Fetal Medicine fellowship. That's about the biggest news I have since my last post. That's not to say I haven't had a shitload of fun and excitement navigating the SS Ballas through the shark infested Bermuda triangle that is residency.
It's just that I'm having a hard time remembering it right now.
Onward and upwards, I guess...
