How Practicing Bewilderment Helps Medicine

Rumi (a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic,) said, “Sell your cleverness and practice bewilderment.”

Whoa.

I love that.

I feel like he was talking about medicine. Many of you aspire to make medicine a part of your world in the future. I thought it might be interesting to let you know what that could look like.

As a surgeon, I’m always amazed at how children heal so quickly.

And at how patients tell me they felt no pain after a big procedure that would have put me in bed for a week.

And there was a big dose of amazement in anatomy and physiology class when I realized how all the body’s systems work so crazily well together.

To me, it’s kind of shocking that all doctors don’t walk around elbowing each other saying, “Can you believe that?!”

Why don’t we?

I believe it’s the padding. That padding can happen to everyone. Not just to doctors. Maybe you’ve noticed it, too.

The padding of life’s busyness, tediousness, and sleeplessness surrounds us.

It’s as if we’re wrapped up in huge strips of foam that isolate us from the awe and wonder that’s available to us.

We soften our reactions with the padding, too.

As a doctor, I can truly remember all those “firsts” that you will come to know. Like your first kiss or the first time you drove a car, these will be things you’ll never forget.

For me, my firsts are:

I remember the first time I correctly used a stethoscope and heard the murmur of a beating heart.

And the fearful excitement that ignited the air when I helped deliver my first baby.

And the sadness I had to push through when I read a pathology report on an elderly woman with breast cancer.

And the agony of the loss after I put forth my best effort to save a young boy who slipped away after a motor vehicle accident.

Sometimes, we all put on a mask of all knowing cleverness to keep the core behind the padding at bay.

Rather than feel vulnerable and be open to the rawness of our own humanity, we wear a cloak of authority; of professionalism; of “can do.”

Every time we don that cloak, we slip deeper into the padding; we allow it to expand.

Because the truth is, when you cover up your feelings, you also block the wonderment that’s shining around you.

All of us who block that wonderment need to ask ourselves: who does the hiding serve?

Why not try practicing bewilderment?

Wonder is everywhere. You simply have to look for it on your drive in to work, at the dinner table, on your morning run.

In your teacher’s enthusiasm.

In your family’s trust.

Have you allowed yourself to experience the beauty of wonderment lately?