The other day, I was interviewed by the U.S. News and World report regarding why someone would make the financial decision to become a physician. My best answer was: “You don’t go into medicine to become rich, or famous, and definitely not to be well-rested. You go into medicine because it is a calling.”

12 years ago, I left my law practice to start the long, arduous journey of becoming a physician. Making the decision to leave law (a lucrative path at that!) to pursue medicine was an incredibly difficult one. If I had continued as an IP lawyer, I would be able to retire in the next 5 years, and enjoy a very comfortable retirement. But I would’ve lived only for my own comfort and the accumulation of wealth. But now, I am the person that is there for people on the worst day of their lives, and to me, there is nothing more meaningful.

If you start working as a plumber at 18yo, you will save more for retirement than if you become a doctor. With 12+ years of training, 8 of which you are paying into the system, and another 4+ of residency where you are barely paid enough to cover rent, the numbers don’t add up for doctors. But rationality has little to do with the decision to go into medicine. We make this decision because medicine is a calling. Because you can’t imagine doing anything else other than caring for those who are suffering. Because you have been so close to the human condition that you just want to alleviate other’s suffering. And any other life than that would be unsatisfactory.

I sometimes joke around that if I had stayed in law, I could be relaxing on my yacht on weekends, rather than working extra moonlighting shifts to pay down a mountain of loans. But life isn’t about dying with the most money, it’s about living in alignment with your values with the most meaning. There is a saying: “You may love medicine, but medicine will never love you back.” Whether or not medicine loves me back doesn’t matter to me. Medicine has taught me so much about being a compassionate, selfless, giving, empathetic human. And in that vein, medicine has given me so much than I will ever give to it.

Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it lends meaning to life. Yes, it’s worth it.

This decade has been a doozy for me. Has it been for you, too? Over this past decade, I left the practice of law, broke off an engagement to pursue my dream of medicine, attended and graduated medical school and two residencies, wrote and published a book, moved into and out of a three states, completed my yoga therapy and 500-hour teacher trainings, led many yoga retreats, made friends, lost friends, fell in love, had my heart broken… and in some ways, I ended up right where I began. That’s right, 10 years ago, I was living in San Diego, and 10 years later, I have found my way back here. Teaching at the same studio (Prana), enjoying time with some of same people (that’s you, Nico), driving home to see my parents with the same dog (Rusty)… yet I, the Ingrid that was a decade ago, is so different. My heart is different. My soul is less rigid. My heart feels flexible and accepting. My soul feels open and ready. Instead of judging, I seek to listen. Instead of fear, I choose hope.

Halfway through my medical training, I almost lost hope. Seeing so much “unfairness” and suffering life (and death)… watching how human stories unraveled in the most heartbreaking ways… it almost broke me. But somehow, with the support of amazing friends and mentors, I went from thinking: “We’re all going to die, what’s the point?” to “Wait. Yes. We are all going to die… THAT’S the point!” I went from thinking that everything was hopeless and meaningless to realizing that our time is so short, so fast. And that was incredibly freeing. It made me embrace all the clichés, all the inspirational quotes. Because life IS short. So, I had better do what I can with the time I’ve got.

So here I am, giving it all I’ve got. Staying open to it all. Not knowing where this decade will take me. Knowing there will be twists and turns. Uncertainties and fears. But doing my best to keep my heart open to whatever may arise. Because… that’s the point