I’m currently writing this on my break at work—yes, it’s 3:30 AM.

Today’s prompt feels especially fitting because I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on my life and career lately. Growing up, medicine was always around me because of my mom. It never felt like a distant or unusual dream. It felt familiar. My first toy set was a doctor kit, and instead of just an annual check-up, my dad had to sit through daily “exams” where I’d check his ears, nose, and throat with my little plastic tools (sorry, Dad).

So naturally, since I was five years old, I’ve wanted to be a physician.

When we hear the question, “What did you want to be when you grew up?” we usually think about careers. But now, that question feels too small for what life actually is.

Working in healthcare, I’ve seen real suffering. I’ve seen how fragile life can be. And with every shift, that awareness makes life feel more valuable.

Now if I were to answer the prompt, I’d say this: When I grow up, I want to be healthy so I can keep exploring, keep pushing myself, and stay adventurous no matter my age. When I grow up, I want to stay close to the people I love. I want to practice gratitude and balance.

Because at the end of our lives, our careers make up only a part of who we are and were.

I was reminded of that during my shift today. One patient I was sitting with had lived what she kept calling a “wild life.” She had stories of parties that lasted days, traveling on a whim, saying yes to everything and anything, figuring out her mistakes. Her voice carried this mix of pride and exhaustion.

At one point, she looked over at me and asked how old I was. When I told her, she laughed softly.

“Good,” she said. “That’s when you’re supposed to live.” She continued, more seriously, “Don’t rush through it. Don’t just work all the time thinking life starts later. It doesn’t.”

It wasn’t advice I had asked for, but it stayed with me for the rest of the shift. Here I am now, at 3:30 in the morning, thinking about everything I still need to accomplish, everything I still have to become. And she was sitting there, looking back, reminding me that work shouldn’t cost me of actually living.

Before I left the room, she told me, “Just make sure you enjoy it while you can.”

And I think that’s what I’m learning to carry with me: gratitude and presence.

Gratitude for the people in my life, for the work I get to do, for the long nights that remind me how precious time really is.

When I grow up, I don’t just want to be a physician.

I want to be someone who lived.

Love, Moesha.