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I just stopped writing. Not just here – everywhere, for the most part. It wasn’t planned or premeditated. There was no precipitating event. I was fully aware of the situation, but not moved to do anything about it. Should’ve, could’ve, just…didn’t.

On this side of it, with words once more unfurling in my mind in splendid plenty, I can see what I might have been trying to do instead. Something very un-me. Something that felt fine, then just OK, then went from bad to the extremes of worse.

I work at one of the best pediatric academic medical institutions in the world. Almost two years in, I still have to remind myself – on a near-daily basis – to believe that this truly is my real life. Impostor syndrome hit me hard and didn’t quit. So I decided that I would be extraordinarily excellent at my work and lower my standards in other parts of life. Maybe expand is a better verb. Trying to be kinder to myself, every day.

It seemed like work-life balance could be the outcome of this compartmentalization.  Dedication and drive and attention to detail on the job, freewheeling good times otherwise. Relax. Take it easy. Be on at work, off at home. How this delusion took such firm hold I can’t adequately explain.

It took 3 short-lived relationships in a row to wake me up to the fact that what I deep-down desire out of that aspect of life is worth holding out for. A sandwich on my relationship timeline (the standout among a few notable feasts, some enjoyable hors d’, several sublime desserts first…), if you will, with two insubstantial and unsatisfying slices of refined carbohydrates on either side of the equivalent of lunchmeat. Salted fatty meats of quality are all well and good in my world, let me be clear. But in putting what I craved on hold, neglecting to factor in my actual interest level, and just taking what came easily, I ended up in a place of nonsense and numbness.

And then it finally began to dawn on me: I want roast pork. Sharp provolone. Spicy broccoli rabe. All piled onto the best, most flavorful and unquestionably irresistible breadstuff I can get my hands on. Nothing less will do. After all, I’m from Philadelphia now.