Dear DC, From the Bottom of my Heart, Thank You

Three years ago when I arrived in DC, I was late.

My dad had missed his flight. He flew out of my car like he was on fire. My vision of having help to move in was dashed as he leaped out of my car (yes a 250+ pound man can leap). With his hasty exit he told me that he loved me and that he would never understand how I owned a car without cruise control.

Immediately after dropping him off I got lost in what I still think is the unclear montage of road signs that lead one away from Reagan National. Still not knowing where I was, I finally found myself in front of the "Welcome to the District of Columbia" sign on the Key Bridge. I burst into tears.

I would like to say it was intuition of my nearness to the traffic on M St that instigated this emotional response, but it wasn't.

It was fear. It was the unknown. It was the feeling of starting out and not knowing what was going to happen. It was leaving my amazing friends in Florida. They had kept me together, supported me, and kept me smiling despite the exhaustion and rigors of residency who would do that in DC? I missed them already.

After a slow roll through the absurdity that is the land of Georgetown shopping I found my new building followed by some Spanglish and extremely dramatic charades I found my parking space and my apartment. The movers who my dad had paid cash to get them to actually do there job (Life lesson #1387: Have very low expectations when you hire a moving company that doesn't have a website and answers the phone with "Hey yo.") arrived shortly after. The apartment was beautiful, better than I remembered.

The next statement is something I have been able to say recently as well: "How on earth do I have that much stuff?" The magnificent apartment of one hour earlier was now a mass of teetering cardboard box towers. "How would I ever unpack it all?"

Well I did and I got out. Outside of my apartment. Outside of my comfort zone. Into my new town. DC was amazing from the beginning. Beyond its beautiful exterior, before I met anyone, DC kept me occupied with its history, its majestic monuments, its education, and its people watching. It brought me close to family that I hadn't known. Then when I did meet people it gave me intelligent driven people who were kind and thoughtful with tremendous dreams. It gave me a neighborhood and a community.  It gave me an amazing work place with inspiring mentors and colleagues. People who were heroes. Endless opportunities.

 It gave me big love and then in the most important time even bigger support.

The District taught me a variety things about myself and life. And of the important realizations that stand out there is one that boggles my mind. How could I not have seen? How could I have misrepresented myself for so long?

I have always identified as a tomboy (or maybe just an oddball) but packaged with this I always said that I didn't get along with women. I even avoided pink choosing greens and blues because women "Ick!"  This goes back to my early years when I was afraid of girls being mean to me. Being a preteen is no cake walk any way you slice it and girl paranoia certainly doesn't make puberty any easier. I, like any logical adolescent,  returned that "fear of mean" with an anger of my own right back at these girls.

However, this distrust and proclaimed "dislike" of women could not be farther from what is my reality. Throughout my life human beings both male and female have been my mentors, my rocks, and my guides (I would never want to leave out the amazing and wonderful men in my life, but this thank you to DC is about women.  It is long overdue. I haven't ever taken time in my life to admit my misguided orations on and false opinions of women. I have only propagated them.

DC pointed this out almost upon arrival with a strong woman who is my cousin who gave me a book and even more love and support than I ever could have asked for. This made me reflect on of all of my women relatives: my mother, aunts, cousins, and my sister who have been the best of friends and supporters for my entire life. It made me see the importance of the other women who helped raise me as my "adopted moms".  Then of all of my women friends throughout my schooling who gave me not only their support, love, and wisdom but so many moments of fun, happiness, and companionship. Medical school was no different maybe even heightened because of the intense and intimate environment. 

The women in residency both in the hospital and out were rockstars just like all of the others before them and for some reason I still didn't see.

It was only in my final weeks in DC that a good friend who is male told me, "You know you are hard on women. Followed by, "It is not just you, most women are." And he was right (as he tends to be). I have always held women to a different standard than I hold men. Higher. I expect more and sometimes too much. I could say that this is because I think we are better, but I am not sure that is the case. I am sure there are all kinds of relevant psychology articles on this, but that doesn't change the simple fact: I have been doing it wrong.

  It was not until I was driving out of DC that these thoughts solidified how important the women in the DMV were and how important all of the women in my life have been to me. These women have run the gamut in the things they have taught me, shown me, and given to me most valuably their time, where I got to know them. Thank you DC for making me really see it and thus allowing me to correct the error of my ways. Thank you for the most amazing 3 years of new and old friends and for continuing the wonderful from all of the years and places before.

Just like I arrived late to DC, I arrived late to realizing that my life would not be the same without my friends, all of them, both women and men. I was blind to the fact that the fearful angry adolescent in me was still omnipresent. I have always known that women don't often treat each other well and furthermore that I was guilty of this. I rationalized this with the fact that my wall of distrust was ok because I had a "reason". It turns out that "reason" might be what continues this trend and that is not ok.  The good news is it is easy to change. 

After the District, San Diego has some really big shoes to fill, but so has every place because at the end of the day it's not about the geography. It's about the people and life you are surrounded by.