I had never been more grumpy in my life. It was almost midnight, and our group had been walking for over 15 hours. On the first day of a multiday backpacking expedition in Iceland, my first time camping, we had gotten quite lost and had doubled back several times to find the trail and continue in the right direction.
Arriving at camp after sunset, we still had to set up our tents and prepare dinner in the dark. This was my first time pitching a tent, and I fumbled with my tent poles and tarp, struggling to ensure that all of the corners were properly staked into the ground. Of course, as soon as I was certain everything was perfect, the tent collapsed in on itself, and I was forced to start over.
My entire body ached. My 40 pound hiking backpack (which contained all of my possessions for the next week) had chafed relentlessly against my shoulder and hip bones, and my knees were bruised from the multiple tumbles I had taken along the trail. I was ravenous — we had not eaten in 10 hours — but the dinner team was struggling to set up stoves in the dark. When the water was finally boiled, I poured it into my dehydrated meal, and, too impatient to wait the full 10 minutes, started eating while the food was still boiling and crunchy.
Surrounded by nine of my peers, whom I had met just two days earlier, I didn’t want to outwardly show my discomfort. However, it was obvious that everyone else felt just as ragged as I did. Camp was silent except for the sound of chewing. In the light of my headlamp, I could see many exhausted expressions. Tired of looking at reflections of my own emotion, I looked up at the sky instead.
There was a vague, green-ish hue. Could it be … ?
“Hey, everyone, turn your headlamps off for a second!”
Everyone looked up and confirmed what I had seen: the aurora borealis. As our eyes adjusted in the dark, we could see green and purple flashes, dim but beautiful colors dancing in the dark. Everyone remained quiet, but now their silence was imbued with wonder at the beauty of nature.
As we wrapped up dinner and retired to bed, I remained filled with awe. Because it was mid-August, the likelihood that we would see the aurora was almost zero. Had we gotten to camp on time, we would have been fast asleep, completely unaware of the light show above us. Our miserable day was the prerequisite for a breathtaking night.
Medical school is perhaps not so different from a long backpacking expedition — you spend hours struggling to master new skills, you get lost in the dense material, and, of course, you endure many late nights. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, but the prospect of an unexpected “northern light” at the end of the tunnel reminds me that the trials we face are worthwhile.
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