Via Basel: Early and Bold Decisions

…from Journey Into the Red Book (of Carl Jung)

At certain times, we all face critical and difficult decisions—the forks in the road of life where we must choose one path or another. Even hesitation or indecision is a choice, which frequently results in continuing on the easier, less controversial, and more traveled path. It has always been the case that the road less traveled is the more authentic and transformative one, leading to growth and, ultimately, to being your truest self. The price, however, includes hardship and heartache, but that is part of the human experience. Furthermore, early decisions in life tend to be the most consequential in the long run.

Part memoir and part response to the younger generation’s anguish regarding the difficulties they encounter in today’s messy, volatile, and fast-changing world, here are three bold decisions I made before I was thirty years old. Each generation faces its own unique challenges, and each likely believes they had it worse than those before them. However, such comparisons are useless and unproductive.

Until I was twenty-four, all my major decisions—in education, profession, and military service—were made or strongly suggested by my parents and societal norms. I had graduated from medical school two years prior and was serving in the military, stationed in Jordan where Iraq maintained troops following the 1967 Arab-Israeli War. When our class was released to return to civilian life, practically all my colleagues headed home for their required internship year. I had always intended to complete my medical training abroad, and though I had my passport, I had little else. Within a few hours, I made my first major, gutsy decision: I headed in the opposite direction, to Syria and Lebanon, to get my affairs and credentials in order before traveling to the United Kingdom. I had not consulted my parents, but luckily, I received their blessing once I informed them. That was not the case with my next major life decision.

Five years later, while completing my orthopedic residency in Chicago, I fell in love with a divorcee of a different faith. When I wrote to my parents to tell them we planned to marry, they were enraged and vehemently opposed. I married anyway, risking alienating them forever. As the oldest child and only son, I carried a significant responsibility in our culture and tradition. It was a wrenching decision, but I followed my heart. It took time, but we eventually reconciled; they were happy for me, especially after Roz and I had our firstborn, Christopher. A few years later, Mandy arrived and completed our family. The gifts and challenges from Roz, Chris, and Mandy would define my entire life. I have never for a moment regretted that momentous decision.

Just a few years earlier, I encountered a different challenge, this one related to my profession. I was a first-year general surgery resident in Rochester, N.Y., after being rejected multiple times by orthopedic programs. We were overworked and under-educated; six weeks in, I was exhausted from being on call every other night. Furthermore, as part of a pyramidal system, I wasn’t even guaranteed a position for the following year. Out of the blue, I received a call from a childhood friend and classmate who was an anesthesia resident at a major hospital in Chicago. An orthopedic resident there had suddenly quit, and the program was looking for a replacement. I was on the next plane to the Windy City, where I interviewed and was accepted. The problem was my one-year contract in Rochester. The Chief of Surgery was adamant that I stay for the remainder of the year, when I asked for a release or at least a promise of a second-year residency. Knowing I might not get another chance at orthopedics, I resigned and left for Chicago. I took a risk that the influential Chief could derail my future board certification for reneging on my contract, but that never materialized. I went on to complete my residency and certifications, practicing my favorite profession, orthopedic surgery, for over forty years, followed by another nine years in office orthopedics—and I’m still counting.

Basel Al-Aswad, father of EIL founder Christopher Al-Aswad, is a yogi trapped in an Orthopedic Surgeon’s body. His loves in life include reading, writing, hiking, enjoying nature, meditation, and spending time with his large Iraqi family; now, semi-retired, he is exploring new avenues in medicine, education, public speaking, teaching, and social engagement.