The grand essentials of happiness are something to do, something to love and something to hope for. Thomas Chalmers
Five years ago today we retired from the Army.
I say “we” because it was a journey for all of us: my wife who as a young girl decided she never wanted to marry a soldier or a doctor, my children who without complaint endured the range of challenges and sometimes the trauma of the moves and military life as well as having a dad who was not around as much as he wishes he could have been, and for our extended family whose children and grandchildren spent more than a decade six time zones away from them. I had to visit three different floral shops to find 30 red roses for my wife that day; one for every year we served together as a family.
We were fortunate right away to be offered a full-time faculty position in pediatrics at the F. Edward Hébert School of Medicine of the Uniformed Services University in Bethesda by my life-long mentor, CAPT (Retired) Ildy Katona. Dr. Katona is a clinician and researcher whom I met as a young resident three decades earlier. We were blessed to be spared the angst of deciding “What’s next?” I treasure my academic appointment in Pediatrics and Military and Emergency Medicine at “American’s Medical School” to this day.
A year after retirement my wife noticed a position listed on an Internet jobs-board at the University of Maryland Medical Center in Baltimore where my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter lived. I applied, and six months later started work for the medical center as an executive in population health. I wasn’t exactly sure what population health even was, but sensed that what we had experienced in our integrated military health care system began to approach it. It’s safe to say that the definition continues to evolve as the state and national healthcare landscape changes.
In West Baltimore we have found Chalmer’s grand essentials. This is the steepest professional learning curve I have ever been on. The “something to do” provides lessons in leadership and life (including failure) on an almost daily basis. It is a new role, a new “rank,” new organizational culture and system, a new model of healthcare finance and delivery and a new patient population. My wife would say the same thing about her position as a school social worker.
We love the work. (Well most of the time.) But mostly, we love the people we have met. They have welcomed us into their church, their neighborhood, their community, city and civic organizations. After what seemed like a lifetime of working for and serving with service members, we have found new friends and colleagues. They are our “something to love.”
As I have written here before, working in Sierra Leone in the winter of 2014 was a “red pill moment” for me when Dr. Paul Farmer challenged us to consider that the mortality of Ebola was due at least in part to health care disparity. The uprising in Baltimore after the death of Freddie Gray happened two months after I returned. Our nation’s attention was (too briefly) turned towards the stark examples of health care disparity in both rural and urban America. There are few better examples of this in the United States than our city, where disparity and inequity were engineered by what can only be called racist laws and practices in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
But we have “something to hope for.” I tell people routinely that we have not been here long enough not to be optimistic. I meet men and women almost weekly who have dedicated their lives to righting these wrongs and advocating for those who have been oppressed and dispossessed. Our medical systems are awakening to the idea that health is more than the absence of disease and that health care includes things we have historically ignored: employment, housing, food security, transportation, education and literacy. I see it in the eyes of the medical students, residents, nurses and other professionals at our medical center and across the city. They get it. There is hope.
My mother taught me as a boy that there was a difference between joy and happiness. She told me that happiness is a transient feeling, but that “Joy is a decision.” Joy is the decision to view the past honestly but without regret, the present with openness and zeal, and the future with hope.
Chalmer’s grand essentials of happiness are really then the grand essentials of joy: something to do, to love and to hope for.
We knew them well in our decades of military service.
We are blessed to have found them again in our new home.
Chuck Callahan Henry V 4.3 – Lead from the Front https://henryv43.wordpress.com/