Here we are again. Another day, another story where I have to dig deep into the public health school archives of my brain and find a way to explain to myself how something like this still needs, well, explaining. I will start by saying I am proud to see the outpouring of support in cities all over the country for what is arguably one of the most important civil rights movements of my generation, and I am exceptionally proud to see medical schools all over the country coming together to make the statement that this is precisely, a public health issue that must be addressed. While I’d hate to let the voice of the angry and ignorant few even make it to the stage on a blog as sacred as mine, I may have finally snapped (oops).

Though many of the things I have seen certainly do not warrant a response, there seems to be one main trend among those who can’t wrap their minds around why the tragic deaths of Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and MANY more just like them well, matter. That trend is fear. If you take a hard listen (trust me, it is hard) at the talking heads on the forbidden cable channels, Facebook, etc, and dissect their arguments (as if this was something that really needed to be so vehemently argued at all) it is painfully obvious that the underlying thesis is always this notion that if #blacklivesmatter that means “my white life matters less”. Its almost like some sick person on a radio show somewhere once was so determined to maintain a cultural divide in this country that he decided to create a false dichotomy in which the improvement and support and equal treatment of one entire race of people was somehow an obvious and oh so dangerous threat to white people, and that position of privilege that we hold oh so dear. 

I am white. I was born in a white town, went to a white school, and rode in a car with white people who listened to white people talk about white people. I have seen racism, I have heard bigotry, and it really took me about 1 week after leaving that environment to confirm that something really was a miss with that way of thinking.

OK, so this is a great chance to realize where the discussion derails. Right here. Just three paragraphs in, I have already lost a lot of the people who I am describing. I have made the bold statement that they are missing something, that they might be wrong, and that their way of thinking could be improved. Tread lightly, thats what I would normally do here.

Today is not a normal day.

Something is a miss with the way that many of the white minds in this country jump to fear, jump to defensiveness, when someone questions their morality, their prejudice, their image as good people. It really doesn’t have to be like this. People make mistakes, people are raised in environments their minds don’t belong in, people change. (Yeah, I actually still believe that’s true). Everyone is born ignorant, but everyone is NOT born prejudice. That part is taught, and the ignorance maintained through isolation and reinforced by those whose minds remained trapped–and yet somehow got a hold of microphones.

My point is this, #blacklivesmatter. With absolutely no threat whatsoever to the lives of anyone else, #blacklivesmatter. While it is true that in addition to that statement, other kinds of lives matter as well; right now we must focus on black lives. Right now there are people in this country who do not include black lives in their count of lives that matter. Right now, that is the problem.

When we take the most marginalized in our society and give them opportunity, when we treat all human beings as human beings, we all benefit. Every problem we face in medicine and public health comes back to this issue that our country IS still dealing with. Crime, violence, chronic illness, teen pregnancy, abortion, hunger, the list goes on, and each one of these has a statistical relationship with poverty, which has a statistical relationship with discrimination, social and institutional racism and segregation, which has a statistical relationship with lack of opportunity, lack of access, lack of resources, lack of support, lack, lack, lack, and LACK OF HOPE that one day it might be better.

Too many people, white people, have wanted “racism of the past” to be swept under the rug. To save ourselves the embarrassment of our forefathers, to not have to deal with something emotionally difficult…as if that for some reason was remotely or arguably harder than being black in America in 2014. Well, while some may not want to address this issue, while towns like where I came from may not be addressing this issue–my city is. Both of them actually, Philadelphia and Chicago. My teaching hospitals are. The emergency room at Cook County Hospital is. Our community clinics are. My public health school is. My medical school is.

Prejudice and inequality are alive and well, and if you even just believe in the basic science that allows pasteurization of your morning milk (or allows this computer to run)–then you should believe in that scientific fact as well. No one is yelling at white people to pack our bags and move out of town, no one is asking white people to trade in their #whitepriveledge for #blackpriveledge. All these protesters, myself included, want is #equality, a basic recognition that all human beings deserve the same rights, respect, protection, but most importantly a recognition that right now–not all human beings are getting it. We want this country to come to an understanding that its okay to admit that our implicit (and not so implicit) biases still exist, but we have to make them better. We are harming people. We have to admit we have a problem.

We, as human beings, have to accept that we should be much more afraid about what will happen to all of us if we don’t make our society more equal and turn our attention to those in our society who need it most. I as a white person have nothing to loose and everything to gain when I work towards living in a world where there is equality, where my fellow human beings have the same privileges I was lucky enough to be born with. Even if I have never had to sit on the other side of inequality to begin with, I have eyes, I have feelings, and I have a voice that will no longer stay quiet. My black friends, colleagues, and fellow human beings have too much to loose if we don’t stand with them on this issue.

This is why tomorrow I will join my fellow medical students and health professionals from Chicago in demonstrating our support for this movement, our fellow human beings and our belief that #blacklivesmatter.

For more on how these undeniable issues surface in our everyday lives as health care professionals, check out this awesome article by a fellow medical student: http://in-training.org/lack-care-medical-students-focus-ferguson-8031

My mom was a writer. She kept stacks and stacks of journals about all sorts of things. When she passed away at only 48, those journals became much of her story. They are her way of still talking to me, and teaching me. Every year on my birthday for the past four years, I have written little messages to my future self in much the same way. I think it helps me maintain perspective on all the changes in my life, and it reminds me how far I have come each year. Also, life is short and I have a lot to say. (Duh).

So today, as I turn the big 2-5, I decided to get a little deeper than chemical-free soap on ya’ll and share my progress note. Not because everyone needs a reminder of how wonderful I am (although really that’s what birthdays are about), but because I think this milestone can create a little bit of an existential crisis for a lot of people—especially us ladies.

I don’t know if its because I am constantly confronted with my own mortality at school or in clinics or what, but have been thinking and talking to people for months about what it means to be 25, and what makes this time in our lives special. Most of the conversation usually turns to “you can rent a car!” or “OMG we are so old” or “seriously stop, I am twice your age”. Admittedly, as young as I may actually be, I have been a little scared about getting any older. I have been caught up in the engagement photos and baby pictures and the doctor shows about sad, lonely 30 something’s still having random sex in call rooms.  I find myself at a crossroads between my crazy young self—and the grown up, professional me. Is there a happy medium where I should exist without constantly feeling in limbo? (Do I need to make a Britney Spears reference here?) Well, this morning when I woke up with “22” by Taylor Swift stuck in my head, instead of thinking it was the aging gods taunting me, I realized that being 25 is going to be wonderful.

For starters, I have survived and moved past a lot of other milestone ages (this is a big deal if you knew me in high school). I can navigate the world as an independent adult. I have lived in four US time zones. I went away to college. I got a masters degree in a big city. I’ve had relationships good and bad. I’ve made new best friends and grown with the old. In the past 25 years I have lived a lot, lost a lot, loved a lot, and grown…a lot. Perhaps I am starting to finally accumulate the kind of experience that I think makes one wise, and I still have plenty of energy and momentum to use that going forward.

I may not be going out for a power-hour tonight, but I am certainly still young enough to be a bit of a slop-a-potamus in a bar and send some quality drunk texts. I may occasionally not get carded at liquor stores, but I can still eat and drink and keep my figure. I am starting to fathom having a family and being a doctor someday, but I still sleep with Mr. Moose and hashtag #everything. I still enjoying being a student, and learning everything I can while I can. Right now I am a backpack-by-day and black pumps-by-night kinda woman, and that to me is living the dream.

While it may seem like there is a lot of pressure to do things a certain way, or in a certain order, or by a certain time—there really isn’t. Everyone makes their own way in life, in their own time. The grass doesn’t have to be greener on the other side. Some people could never imagine doing what I do, why should I spend so much time looking over at their lawn? Ultimately, I think the answer is that there isn’t a happy medium for the mid twenties. It’s being in this limbo that makes this time so great, so exciting. At 25 we are products of our past, but our slates are still clean enough for our future.

I know its scary sometimes hoping that the mystical unicorn called “the future” works out the way we always hoped. Come to think of it, the future I imagined as a little girl, or even a year ago, looked nothing like this moment in time right now. This is why I have decided I am exactly where I should be. I have chosen to be happy. I am surrounded by love, and truly living every day.

So the rest of this decade is dedicated to me, my wonderful friends, my career, boycotting Sea World, and all of the adventures that come my way. My glittery cup has never been more full, and I am so truly thankful for all of the people in my life who unconditionally contribute to that.

T-Swift can have her 22, because I am taking 25 by storm.

Cheers!

Courtney