In the night of February 13th, 2023, a fracture occurred, though we didn't know it yet.

I discovered a love for photography on a family trip to the Southwest in high school. Walking amongst the spires of Bryce Canyon or beneath the stone cathedrals of Zion National Park or along the lip of the unfathomable vastness of the Grand Canyon, I was pierced by the landscape in all its majesty and its intricate detail. The experience was overwhelming and I wanted to capture it, to share it, to keep it with me always.

Two and a half years ago, before tests, before PCRs and RATs, I fled my family at the first bout of sneezing and chills, fled to the forest, afraid of what had begun and afraid to drag others down with me.

I walked through our backyard, out the gate, and down the public access path to the beach. As soon as I rounded the corner of the hedge, the expanse of ocean came into view and the wind hit me full in the face. I thought about waiting for a warmer day, but spring was a long way off. It was the first time in the month since we had arrived that there was a low tide in the middle of a day off, and I was going to seize the opportunity, no matter the weather.

We stepped out of the clinic room and headed for the front desk. I instinctively pulled out my wallet, ready to present identification, insurance cards, and a credit card to pay. The secretary glanced at the paper, looked up, and said, "Thank you, have a great day!"

When I left my position in North Carolina, one of the hardest things I faced was how to explain what I was doing to the residents and students I was helping to train in the art of medicine. I wrote a letter to the program in which I tried to explain why exactly I had chosen to leave a place and a group of people that were so special to me. I share it now for the same reason I shared it then: in the hope that my experience might plant the seed of possibility we need to help transform what is to what might be.

I have not learned so much so fast since those early days of residency training when I felt I was learning medicine all over again. There are the new phrases and new units and new systems. But I also find myself unlearning much of what was ingrained over my prior 7 years of medical practice--the necessary costs of practicing in the US.

We arrived in Gisborne on the 28th of April, exhausted from our travel but exhilarated to finally experience this place we had thought so much about during our months of preparation.

We arrived in Seattle late last night on the first stage of our journey West. As expected, getting here had its challenges. Despite months of purging and trying to pare down what we were bringing, we still ended up with 10 suitcases, 4 backpacks, 2 ukuleles, 1 booster seat, and 1 purse. Hauling that much baggage is not easy.

After months of anticipation, we are now two weeks from departure on the wildest adventure we have ever undertaken. I hope that sharing some of our experiences here with you will invigorate our connections while we're apart and might even deepen our understanding of how to build a fulfilling practice in medicine and in life.