Breaking Away from the Herd

I was hanging off the edge, one foot inside, one foot out, while the wind whipped against my face. My fingers gripping tight, my foot planted on the door as best as I could, and other vehicles just inching past me. The bus was crowded as always, packed so tight you could barely breathe, and there I was, hanging on like some kind of action hero. Only it wasn’t a movie—it was just a regular Tuesday, and the soundtrack was honking horns, diesel fumes, and a stranger’s elbow lodged into my ribs. Just another day of Nepali bus acrobatics.

I’d done this a thousand times before. Growing up in a middle-class family in Nepal, it was part of life. We never had fancy meals or vacations. No big adventures. In fact, I hadn’t traveled anywhere outside of Nepal. 

By my 20s, I somehow got into medical school. My parents had to take a huge educational loan to support my tuition. I hadn’t worked hard enough to get into a scholarship. My path was already chosen when I was born- I was either going to be a doctor or an engineer (as long as I was decent enough in my studies). I had taken a biology major in college mostly because I hated maths and I loved drawing. And engineering school was no longer an option. So there I was, a very average medical student. The road ahead felt predictable—set in stone.

But something about that particular moment on the bus hit me differently. Maybe it was the monotony of it all, or maybe it was the realization that I was just going through the motions. Whatever it was, something inside me snapped.

I let go.

I stepped back, watching the bus pull away, the smoke and the dust swirling around me. 

My mom’s confused face stared back from the window, but I just stood there, feeling something shift inside me. In that moment, I knew I was done. Done with the crowded buses, the same predictable path. I wanted something different. I wanted my own story.

The Spark Of Change

In that messy, uncertain moment, the world seemed to slow down, each detail coming into sharp focus with a clarity I had never experienced before. Dust rose in swirling clouds as the bus rumbled away, and I stood still, rooted to the ground. People walked past, their faces lined with fatigue, eyes dulled by resignation. They moved like ghosts, as if this was all life had to offer. 

And then, it hit me like a punch to the gut: I was one of them. I had resigned myself too, drifting aimlessly like a leaf caught in the wind, moving without intention or purpose. That realization was terrifying, a jolt that woke me up from my stupor.

I didn’t want to live like that. I didn’t want to be someone who just clung to whatever life threw at me, barely hanging on. I wanted to be the one steering my own course, setting my own direction. Everything started to become clear. Almost like a veil had lifted from my eyes. 

It was time to let go of the status quo. It was time to leap, to take control, to create my own story. 

I knew: it was time to jump.

Taking the Leap into the Unknown

Three years later, after two grueling years of USMLE exam preparations and countless hours spent in the library, I found myself stepping off a plane and into the United States. 

It felt like a dream—like I’d stumbled into a parallel universe where everything was shiny, new, and intimidating. All those nights cramming medical textbooks, those bleary-eyed early mornings, the moments of exhaustion that almost broke me—all of it led to this. I was finally here, ready to embark on the journey of medical residency.

But this new world was nothing like what I had known. The culture, the people, the expectations—everything was different. I had to learn an entirely new medical system, and at times, it felt like I was drowning. 

Understanding electronic medical records was like decoding an alien language, and every single day felt like a pop quiz on whether I could keep up. The cultural nuances added another layer—things no textbook could teach. The non-verbal cues, the unspoken expectations, the subtle ways patients conveyed their fears and hopes. I had to learn it all from scratch.

And then came the biggest shift of all: learning to see the patient as a whole, not just a collection of symptoms. Back in medical school in Nepal, the emphasis had always been on diagnosing and treating the illness. Here, it was about seeing the human being behind the diagnosis, understanding their story, their struggles, and how the disease fit into their life. It was a complete shift in mindset. It was challenging, but also deeply fulfilling. It made me realize that medicine wasn’t just about science; it was about empathy, connection, and truly understanding people.

I went from hanging off crowded buses to navigating crowded hospital corridors, from being just another face in Nepal to being a resident physician in a new country. And those long shifts? They made bus rides feel like a leisurely stroll.

Residency was a whirlwind. Long hours, critically sick patients, and learning to adapt quickly. There were moments I questioned myself—whether I was capable, whether I belonged. But each time I thought of giving up, I remembered that dusty roadside where I chose to step back from the bus. That choice to break away fueled me through the toughest of days.

The Second Mountain: A New Challenge

Once again, just when I thought I had conquered one mountain, I found myself at the base of another. I had finally adjusted to the long hours, the patient care, and the clinical demands of residency—feeling like I had things under control. But then, something unexpected began to stir. 

A new challenge was calling me. It started as a small curiosity with reporting an interesting clinical case, an interest in clinical research that grew slowly at first, but soon, it consumed me. The challenge was that I had no previous research experience at all—I had zero publications before this time. I went from writing simple case reports and case series to diving into the complexities of systematic reviews and original studies. The more I explored, the more intrigued I became. The deeper I got, the more it pulled me in, and I knew—this was the new path I had to follow.

It felt like a natural extension of everything I had already learned, but also something entirely new. It required me to let go of the familiar all over again—to learn the language of clinical research, a language that was foreign but thrilling. I had to figure out how to write grants, how to secure funding, how to make my work sustainable. It wasn’t just about practicing medicine anymore; it was about pushing the boundaries, making discoveries, and contributing to the field in a bigger way.

I traded clinging to bus doors for clinging to new opportunities—to research, to discovery, to making an impact. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth every late night and every setback. Each step took me further away from the status quo and closer to the life I had imagined for myself. 

Looking back now, I realize it was never just about the exams, the libraries, or even the residency. It was about that leap—taking that brave step into the unknown, trusting myself enough to let go and reach for something more.

Letting Go of the Familiar

Sometimes it’s not about having a well-defined plan. It’s about that moment when you decide—really decide—that you’re done with the familiar. That you’re ready to step into the unknown, to let go and see what happens next.

What about you? What would you let go of today? Maybe it’s time to rewrite your story. One where you’re not just hanging on for the ride, but steering your own bus, your own ship, to your next adventure.

Let go—and you might just discover something more incredible than you ever dared to dream.