A knight stands atop my desk, reminding of days long passed. Rescued from the corner shelf of a thrift store, hidden behind an old tire, missing shield and sword, he gazes through visor slits toward my maroon leather chairs, meant for keeping patients comfortable during long homeopathic intakes. But the knight’s purpose has little to do with entertaining my patients during long intakes.
The knight is there for me. The doctor. The naturopathic physician that would rush headstrong, into charging at windmills or oppressors of my cause, my all-important ever-so-bombastic quest.
Honor, duty, and the dangers of romantic idealism sometimes swirl around on this medical path. Tempted at every turn to fix your own insecurities by embellishing that savior complex, you have to fight not to spin the yarn that all the world needs is for you to show up in your suit of armor, sword in tow and knock that evil disease off its horse. (brilliant, shining knight that you obviously are.)
Yes, you can heal people.
And yet, not everyone.
Yes, you might even cure some.
And yet, not all. Fighting for your cause, you must remember that those visor slits create blind spots. That visor might be nothing but blind spots. Therefore, occasionally, it might be a good idea to get off your high horse, remove the cardboard head gear and look around. You just might discover, like Quijote, a few of those giants conjured themselves out of the reflection bouncing off your own romantic delusion of yourself.
Excellent.
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