27 lessons and 27 years young
I turned 27, but honestly, I feel older — maybe even little wiser?
If the world ended tomorrow, I think I’d feel at peace with the life I’ve lived so far: a patchwork of chapters that feel like past lives, all shaping who I am today.
There’s been a part of me itching to put into words just how chaotic — and transformative — this past year has been. Maybe 26 was one of the most defining years of my life, the last one being when I was 21. As someone who always prided herself on being “comfortable with the uncomfortable,” I found my ego challenged in new ways. If there’s been one constant lately, it’s been change.
A year ago, I started my third year of medical school — clinical rotations. Every six weeks, I entered a new specialty, a new hospital system, and a new team. Sometimes, I even moved cities or states. Just as I found my footing, it was time to start over again. I learned how to adapt fast, be okay with not knowing, and show up anyway.
And yet, what made third year even more humbling was how much of our evaluation was based on perception. How we were seen — not necessarily how hard we worked. That disconnect stung initially. But as I learned to let go of external validation, I found myself coming back to my "why": to learn from my patients, to stay curious, and to grow into the physician I once looked up to.
Parallel to this, my personal life was shifting. I went through the end of a long-term relationship. Close college friends moved away. My med school friends scattered across five different states. Suddenly, even my sense of community felt unstable. I realized how much I had leaned on my relationship to feel grounded — and now, that foundation was gone. So, I channeled all my energy into medicine and whatever small things brought me joy. Long days at the hospital gave me a new perspective: medicine is demanding, and the personal sacrifices are real. I began to see, more clearly, what I had chosen — and what I had let go of.
I think back to last year, right around my 26th birthday — it felt like everything was unraveling. I remember being on the bus to the children’s hospital, holding back tears, overwhelmed by everything I was carrying… and then wiping my face and pulling myself together for the patients who needed me to show up. It was a quiet kind of resilience I didn’t even know I had.
Fast forward to now. A year later. And while time is a funny, slippery thing — I’ve learned that it really does heal. I still believe everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not clear in the moment.
This past year taught me that when you lean into unfamiliarity with curiosity, you open yourself up to unexpected experiences, relationships, and a version of yourself you didn’t know existed. When one door closes, another really does open. I couldn’t have predicted how much life could change in a year.
In the past 12 months, I traveled to eight countries. Reunited with old friends, even those living across the country or world. Found novelty in Seattle. Discovered new hobbies and rediscovered pockets of joy. Ran two marathons. Surprised myself with what I am mentally and physically capable of. Been present for family and friends. Learned to be selfish and how to ground myself.
And along the way, I kept coming back to a piece of advice that Jane, a resident I befriended, once gave me: "Medicine is demanding — so figure out your non-negotiables."
This year became about protecting my peace. About figuring out what fills my cup, and choosing that, even when time felt scarce. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s this deep-seated need to feel human outside of medicine. But I kept going, proving to myself that I could do hard things and still make space for what matters.
So, here’s to turning 27 — and to sharing 27 lessons from a meaningful year. :)
27 lessons at 27
People remember how you made them feel, not what you did.
Active listening is healing.
Our bodies are capable of incredible things. Do hard things!
Protect your peace. Cut out whatever adds stress instead of joy.
Let them. We can’t control others’ actions, but we can control how we let them affect us.
Intentional friendships are worth the effort.
We don’t ask people “How are you really doing?” enough.
Sometimes love means letting go, so you can both grow in the directions you’re meant to.
There’s no correct timeline to live your life.
Comparison is the thief of joy.
There’s always novelty to be found in the familiar. Sometimes, you don’t have to travel far to find it.
The worst answer you’ll get is “no” — so ask.
Health is wealth.
Movement is medicine (and free therapy).
Advocate for yourself and for others when you can.
Sometimes distance is necessary for love to grow.
Time heals, and old relationships can be rekindled.
As a kid, you want to grow up. As an adult, you miss your inner child.
Every choice comes with tradeoffs. Be okay with that.
Healing isn’t linear — but it does happen.
Vulnerability doesn’t make you weak — it builds trust.
As we get older, so do our parents. Call them. Check in. Make the time.
When motivation fades, discipline carries you. What once felt impossible can become your baseline — if you keep showing up.
Age is a mindset.There are still people you haven’t met, places you haven’t seen, and chapters waiting to unfold.
Happiness is a feeling. Contentment is a state of mind.
Reach out to the people you care about — even if it’s been a while. A simple message can go a long way.
Romanticize your life. Celebrate the little victories. Give yourself some grace.
A few of many moments of life this past year — here’s to more life!!
