He knows what’s best for you, but he doesn’t know what makes you happy.
He knows what will make you live longer, but he doesn’t know what will make you want to.
He knows you well enough to give you something you’d like and keep, but not well enough to know what you’d love and treasure.
I see the way he looks at the people around him, like they were going about aimlessly simply because they don’t have his guidance. I also see the way people look at him, like he has everything the world could possibly give. They only see him that way because that’s the only side they see. That’s the only side he wants them to see. And truth be told, he’s very good at making people see him the way he wants to… especially when he wears his white coat.
I, for one, have tried but failed to understand why that white coat is tremendously powerful. So it might make people look up to him; it might even make hot nurses drool over him. People would do anything for him to give them even just a flicker of attention.
I have to ask this, tough. What happens after he takes his coat off?
It’s a gloomy reality, really. A job like his trains him to think that he knows more than enough when, in truth, he knows too little.
I think it’s pitiful. So I say this.
Mr. Doctor, you may be the one wearing the white coat. But stop a moment and think about this for once when you feel like you have “saved a life:” What in the world has happened to yours?
A life is only just a life. People lose theirs every day. Some day, I’ll lose mine too, and so will you. What isn’t lost, however, is how people remember you living it, how you made the most out of it.
Some of us may not be fortunate enough to have a white coat. But in the end, when all is said and done, we will be happy and contented in our t-shirts and jeans.
You, on the other hand, won’t even know what that coat is for anymore.