It’s hard to put these last three months into words. I thought that by the time I wrote this I might find them.

My favorite pairing of adverbs I’ve recently discovered in writing on this experience is “frustratingly" and “beautifully”. Perhaps that encompasses what it feels like, capturing the way in which frustratingly, no one understands, and beautifully, no one can.

I’ve been challenged a lot over the past three months to deeply understand myself. I went into this year having offered an explanation of why I find “caring over curing” so interesting, but I still continue to ask myself why, and am surprised by the answers I’m met with.

I thought caring was something that was easy to do, but often forgotten. If only we could all slow down enough to listen, and have empathy. But I’ve come to realize how uncomfortable “just” caring can be. Truly having empathy for someone else’s pain creates an itch for action. I heard a quote recently that stuck with me. The common expression is don’t just sit there, do something, but when it comes to terminal illness, we need to invert that — don’t just do something, sit there.

This is the difference between empathy and compassion. And maybe there is a place for both. I spent a long weekend at a retreat for men with brain tumors. In sitting in the presence of painful conversations, why did I feel like listening wasn't enough? Why did I feel I had to do something? I noticed myself always looking for a way to act, while at the same time questioning if this unsolicited support was disempowering. I realized, that as much as I have talked about this year being focused on “caring over curing,” I too was wishing I could do something. I wanted something to fix. And, frustratingly and beautifully, I couldn’t fix any of it. I couldn’t do anything. But I could care.

In the same vein, I’ve struggled to accept how much of my experiences have been, well, experiential. Compared to the end of an academic quarter, this quarter marks both the biggest personal growth and the least professional accomplishment. And while I knew that to be in the spirit of the Watson, I’ve been surprised by just how difficult showing up can be without the comfort of feeling like I have something to give. In this experience, I too have had an itch to do and not just be.

I’ve had to learn to exercise this same empathy and compassion with myself. One of the most challenging aspects of this year is the lack of structure. I find myself searching for a rubric to measure up to, an example to compare myself to. But that’s just a safety I’ve grown accustomed to having. One healthcare designer I met with asked me what success looks like this year. And I think it looks like consistently identifying the boundaries of my comfort zone, and making the decision to step beyond them.

I’ve recently been reading a book called The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. The author talks about how hurry steals our most valuable resource, attention. A sentence in it stopped me in my tracks — “love is painfully time consuming.”

“Hurry,” it seems, leaves no time for love. Perhaps it’s not a question of how to infuse more empathy and compassion into healthcare, but how to create enough time for it. If patience is a pre-requisite for compassion, perhaps it’s time we should be giving our attention to.

The last three months have been filled with meeting researchers, social workers, nurses, doctors, designers, architects, volunteers, patients, caregivers, administrators, and advocates. I’ve been impressed and overwhelmed by the number of people and programs focused on improving quality of care. And at the same time, a bit disheartened. Seeing all the effort already in place makes me realize that it’s more than just awareness and effort to transform the way we deliver healthcare.

One woman I met with said the problem is “care is designed to be delivered, not received.” This infiltrates all aspects of care from the hospital floor plan to appointment times. What if our hospitals had a bit more hospitality? Perhaps this is more imagination than reality. But I’ve met many people who share this vision for a more patient, kind healthcare experience.

Patience is something I’ve been learning to exercise in this experience. Beautifully and frustratingly, I only have control over the parts of this experience I can control. It’s been difficult to transition from the last eighteen or so years of academic hustle into a deliberate and intentional period of reflection and curiosity. Insights have come less in the form of lectures and post-its and more in the form of morning walks and journaling. I’ve felt a bit guilty for how many of my insights thus far this year seem personal and not project related.

I’ve spent part of the last several weeks volunteering with a walking dementia and Alzheimer’s group here in Auckland. One woman in the group is ninety-three. At one point during the walk, she carefully made her way down the steps, insisting the rest of us go ahead. When she re-joined the rest of us, she told me, “You know, you wouldn’t believe I used to run marathons.”

Our conversation and watching the way that members of this group experience the world made me think a lot about identity. What do we find our identity in and what do we do when that changes? Where do we find our identity when we have to let go of something that feels like a part of who we are?

“Losing” my identity as a student has stripped away a safe identifier I always knew I could rely on. Now, navigating introductions without that familiarity has challenged me to articulate what I care about and why. Being in a foreign country not as a tourist, not working, and not studying has turned small talk into an autobiography. But beautifully, every time I’m asked why I’m here, I have the opportunity to ask myself that very same question. And with time and reflection, the answer continues to change.

A great comfort so far has been the feeling that I am most certainly doing this year wrong, and that, in and of itself, has shown me I must be doing it right. But what I’m itching for most at this point in the year is time — more time spent in the presence of others. The experiences thus far where I’ve immersed myself have produced some of the most beautiful and unexpected insights. And though meetings have felt like the safe and sensible option and I move locations every few weeks, as I embark into this next quarter, I am challenging myself to seek out more involvement and investment in the community around me.