Dios bendiga tu camino. A path paved in gold.

I woke up this morning and put on my one and only suit. A suit I never wanted to purchase in the first place, and in fact cried in the dressing room when I tried it on, feeling like the act alone was selling my soul. The bright orange color of the blouse and snake skin heels made me feel a little better, and I'm sure the purchase would not have brought me to tears had my purpose for buying it been in accordance with my heart.

Interesting how sometimes we must realize something a number of times before we actually listen to ourselves and make a change. I went for a hike two weeks before this trip and as I trudged up the hill, I clearly envisioned my future, and it had nothing to do with medical school.

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and I felt like I didn't even recognize the girl looking back at me, and it wasn't because of the suit. It was my loss of direction and understanding.

So am I just supposed to show up there and tell them I don't want the golden ticket to a bright future? I think so. And does that make me crazy?

With an economy like this and my gender and my age, shouldn't I be thinking about my retirement like the mute man who lost his vocal chords due to cancer wrote on a pad of paper to me, next to his coffee request, while sitting at one of my tables the other day?

Why would I want to live a long life if the majority of it is spent living a lie? And it was this question that somehow allowed me to will myself into the taxi this morning, stumble across the cobble stone parking lot in my uncomfortable heels and constricting skirt, and tell the truth to the two women waiting to take me to my interview.

When the taxi driver dropped me off, I felt comforted when he referred to me as 'senorita.' Somehow that made me feel like there was still hope left. And the huge billboard that we passed on the way with an image of Jesus that said, "Dios bendiga tu camino" calmed my soul for just a minute. Although I would be lying if I said I didn't wonder, just for a second, if this was Gd telling me to suck it up and go to med school. But then the horrifying image of the skinned cadavers I was forced to inhale and examine yesterday flashed through my mind. And although the doctor I would meet with 20 minutes from this moment explained to me very poetically that part of the journey of a doctor is to face the reality of death and embrace the opportunity to get to know the human body, I still knew in my heart that this was somehow wrong.

A delusion. A desire to please my Father, my facebook friends and my deceased Grandfather, seek vengeance upon the ex-boyfriend who wronged me, his wife, and blast my ego to the world that not only am I capable of becoming a doctor, but I can do it in another language.

So there I sat at a round table, across from an accomplished professor/ doctor with a white board full of important facts behind him, in my new suit with an orange blouse. I have to admit admit a part of me thought how nice it would be to have meetings every day in a room with other colleagues. All dressed in suits. How important I would feel.

What would the doctor sitting across the table from me think if he knew I cried when I bought this suit? He probably would have told me I should have taken that as a sign. But when one's own ego is on a mission to prove something, signs, soulful signs, for that matter, seem to take a back seat.

It only took about five minutes for me to tell him my feelings and then it was over. He told me he was glad to meet me and I believed him. Strange how such intimate moments can happen with strangers, strangers you may never see again, yet are the carriers or vessels that receive and absorb your truth, and then send you on your way.

It was a long walk down a short corridor. He sat me down outside the office of the other doctor who was supposed to give me my "official" interview. He wanted to ensure she didn't want to make an exception and go ahead and interview me anyway. You see the interview cost $1500. $1500 I was not ready to pay. But apparently, to Dr. Maria Elena, her time was definitely worth that money, and I understood. I don't know if the interview would have been much of an interview anyway.

I watched longingly as I waited for her to come out of the office and send me on my way, the curvy Latin women, in their heels, with their lipstick and eyeliner, and tight clothes hugging so femininely their rolls of fat, and I felt filled with desire to be like that. I felt like a little girl climbing into her mother's makeup cabinet and playing with her lipstick, only I wasn't climbing anywhere. I was just sitting there day dreaming about what it would be like to someday be a professional. Wishing I could be one. Dr. Maria Elena never came out to interview me and I made my way out of La Universidad Autonoma de Guadalajara making my peace with the women in the suits, walking their yellow brick road.

How is it that I was wearing a suit and heels just like those other women, but they seemed so different? Could it be that behind those desks and under those clothes they feel just like me, only they are smart enough not to listen to their souls? Or are they living their purpose as I am living mine, and somehow we are both bringing clarity to one another as our high heels clop past each other?

Obviously my 3 minutes on the waiting room couch got a little existential, but who could blame a person for having an out of body experience when turning down what most look at as a path paved in gold, to go back to working in a restaurant in LA?

But as I walked through the streets of Tlaquepaque, a pueblo right outside Guadalajara, today with my loyal mother at my side, I couldn't help but start to see the colors again. I admired Constantino, the man who waited on us at lunch in a whole new way, wondering if he too had winced at the thought of a suit. Maybe he is the son of a famous mathematician, or something of the sort, who always encouraged him to become an engineer, or something of the sort. But, instead he, Constantino, has chosen his heart. To me those are the real soldiers. The ones not living for fame or fortune, but for their truth and liberation.

Skinned. In Guadalajara.

I'm sitting in my hotel room in Guadalajara, Mexico right now, reflecting on the past two hours of which may turn out to be the next two years of my life. How does one go about making a life changing decision? When do you know it's right to jump?

Dr. Mike. I think that was his name. Actually, I forgot his name, but I'll never forget his story. A tall, friendly, gray haired man with a pronounced nose and a North Carolina accent was waiting for me outside the door of his Pathology classroom this afternoon. His wedding ring and an underwater camera case for his kids who like to take underwater pictures were the only two character defining items I could pick out. The rest of him- all white. White scrubs, socks and shoes. Head to toe. A whole classroom full of these characters, almost like monks in a monastery.

40 students facing a slide show of T cells and clotted arteries, or something of the sort. A language I have long since forgotten, considering I haven't touched a science book in 3 years. 3 years ago when I decided I was going to follow my heart and stray from the straight and narrow. Now here I am, and my heart says, I want to help people, but I'm not sure this is the best way. I'm scared. That's all I know: my heart.

Formaldehyde. A scent I never thought I would have to endure again after my freshman biology pig dissection. It's not so much the dead body that bothers me, it's that scent. That heavy, pore seeping smell that I can almost taste and gives me the immediate visual of rotting tissue.

Sitting at an outdoor table, with yellow chairs, facing the windows of the library, crowds of medical students surrounding, smoking, complaining, maybe even flirting, but it was hard to tell. Those white uniforms are awfully dehumanizing. And there I sat talking to Dr. Mike.

It was his story that drew me in and left me thinking, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all... So long as I could find a friend here like him... Someone who seemed to be a little human.

Raised in Panama city. A military brat. The son of a father who told him he couldn't. He couldn't go to college. He couldn't be anything more than a construction worker. So he descended into a life of drugs and alcohol and lived out of his car. The forest ranger who visited him every morning and sometimes brought him a doughnut one day asked him how he was going to get himself out of this situation. Dr. Mike told him he was going to make a million dollars. The forest ranger laughed at him, but Mike had only a dream to hold onto at that point, and why not dream big? Time passed. His experience with construction grew, and he woke up one day at 25 with a wife and kid. And then the next day, he only had a kid. His wife left him. So there he was, a single father with someone else's future in mind. Funny how when we begin to live for someone else, our true power sometimes manifests itself.

So it was then he mastered the art of the construction business. He had 4 of them. And his bank account reached the 1 million mark. But somehow, something was missing. Maybe it was helping others. Maybe it was school that could help him do that he thought, after all, that was all he had ever wanted to do as a kid... So, he began the process of applying. When they asked him about his SAT scores, he couldn't even remember what the SAT was. It had been over 10 years ago that he took the exam. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he took it. Well, when he received an irate phone call from the woman in the University admissions office telling him to get into her office immediately, he assumed, school was out of the question. But, the source of her anger was due to the fact that a person like him, who scored a 1550 on his SAT, wasn't in school earlier. 2 and a half years and a scholarship later, he was graduating with a degree in Microbiology and a wedding ring on his finger to an aspiring writer and English teacher.

His businesses continued to grow, and 1 million dollars in the bank grew to some other number, two more children were born, and it was after a spontaneous trip of luxury to the Poconos with his wife that Dr. Mike realized he was still was unsatisfied. Sure he could pick up at any time, go anywhere and buy anything, but something else was missing. What was it? Fufillment in his job. Giving back to humanity in his every day life. So that's when he sold everything, packed his kids and wife in the car, and moved down to Guadalajara, Mexico with nothing but a trailor in tow to become a doctor. Now, he's almost done with his second year, and says that becoming a doctor and moving to this country was the best decision he ever made.

I couldn't help but ask him if he was a spiritual man. His response was a quick and definite, "Yes. Everyone is on this planet for a reason." And then he plotted out the next 10 years of his life. He will join the air force, have them pay off his medical debt, and then move to Europe to repay his time, becoming a captain, surpassing his father's rank, and then his life will have come full circle.

As much as this story felt like it had a perfect arc, there was a part of it that made me feel like I was in prison. Is this what I have in store for me? Should I just sign my life away and and become a soldier? Is that what becoming a responsible adult is all about? He had a different career before all of this. He clearly has a multifaceted personality, he made it work,. Can I too? Can I make this sacrifice, living in a place without any friends, family, glitz or glamour?

I've preached for so long about how none of that matters, and now here I find myself facing the possibility of selling everything and literally existing as myself, a pair of white scrubs, and a set of books. Part of that sounds liberating, but the other part of it sounds like it could kill me. Kill my spirit. I love color, music, soul. Am I superficial?

So there I was, giving Dr. Mike a hug goodbye, thanking him for his story, and then within the blink of an eye, I was being ushered down a sidewalk lined in cement walls with steel chimney/ vents. One after the other. I knew we were headed for death, just by the walkway. Rounding the corner I could smell the formaldehyde. The 1970s yellow color of the doorway reminded me of a dated horror movie, like Poltergeist, and when I was handed off to the anatomy professor, in the blue smock, and white gloves, with the lazy eye, I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't actually in a horror movie. He almost shook my hand too, even though his hands had most definitely just been inside someone's intestines.

I saw a pair of ankles peaking out of the doorway from which he exited. There must have been some fairly gruesome dissecting going on in there because I watched him consciously decide to take me into the room right next door where only 2 skinned, dead people rested on the table. Organs, teeth and hair. That was all that remained. How strange that the spirit leaves and the body remains. I had no idea where to look. "Should I look in his lazy eye, or his normal eye? There are skinned corpses on either side of me, be tough Sarah, if you're going to be a doctor, you better be able to handle this." These were the thoughts racing through my head as the formaldehyde seeped deeper into my nasal cavity. As he showed me the heart, the stomach and the intestines, I felt myself wanting to puke and say a prayer all at once.

He opened up the body with such ease. He was totally un-phased by the heart. He put everything back carefully when he was done and then touched his forehead when he wished me well and told me he would be my professor in January if I decided to attend the University. I was thankful he touched his forehead. It felt like a spiritual gesture in the midst of what was a horrific ten minute span.

So here I sit, looking out the window of my hotel room in Guadalajara. It's hot out, but the air is so heavy it looks like it's cold. When does one know when to jump? Don't worry, I'm not talking about jumping out of the hotel window, I'm talking about jumping off the proverbial leap of faith cliff. When does one run towards the fear or flee from it? Is my heart aching because I'm abandoning myself or is it because I'm afraid of taking a risk? At least I know one thing for sure, I will not be becoming an anatomy professor any time soon!