Yesterday I was checking the job listings board posted outside the Anesthesia office when I noticed a posting for a staff Anesthesiologist position in Oahu, Hawaii. And even though I do have this well-documented phobia about living anywhere outside of New York City, I started to have a little fantasy about taking this job and moving us all to Hawaii once my residency ended. We would have a nice little home in the hills, with a view of the ocean. There would be fruit trees growing outside our windows, and we would learn to make all sorts of edible delicacies from the tropical bounty. Our blood pressures and basal heart rates would decrease. We would wear linen all year round. Cal would grow up to be a tall, strong, bronzed god, all outdoorsy and one with nature, though not in that creepy hippy way. Maybe we would learn to surf.
But then I thought about the isolation and tropical storms and the high price of living dictated by needing everything flown in from the mainland and melanoma and volcanos and shark attacks, and started to think maybe it wouldn't be such a great idea to live in Hawaii after all. Still, it was sort of a fun fantasy while it lasted.
Currently reading: The latest issue of New York Magazine, as well as the latest issue of The New Yorker, in tandem. Sometimes it is hard to convince people that these are, in fact, two separate, and very different magazines from each other.