Control

Justin Kosman

MD Class of 2024

Control is everything. Each day is filled with the gut-wrenching anxiety of a never-ending pursuit of academic progress with a hovering fear of the unexpected. What happens is not up to me. Relief is necessary whenever possible and for however brief. For my entire life, that oasis took the form of a hardwood basketball court and a ball where, regardless of our amateur status, we would battle each Friday for the humble title of a day’s champion. The world melted away when we took the court. With each play, I was nothing short of present. The smell of a sweaty gym, the grip of tight laces around your ankles, the un-mistakable ping of a newly inflated ball, and the absolute solitude of arriving before everyone else to shoot around. Each sensation providing a deep refuge from the uncontrollability of my world. The outcome was dependent on one thing, me.

For those two hours, I was in control. Every move, every cut, every pass, every shot, every decision required unconditional concentration. The subconscious instinct of each move was welcomed without excess thought or analysis. For those few hours, a different person took over. It was meditation. It was therapy. It was music. It was channeled frustration. I felt invincible and my identity was molded based on my physical ability to produce ecstasy through hoops. I was unstoppable. Until something stopped me.

A wayward landing struck a sensation that was altogether perplexing, unfamiliar, and immediately obvious. In one fraction of a second, everything

was taken from me. One fateful twist on a lifetime of skeletal wear and my oasis was removed. My control was taken from me. Not only of the game I loved, but the body I once housed. For the next two years, I would wake and greet a body unfamiliar to the one I had known. A leg that suffered an injury so detrimental to its function that it assumed its own sentience, seceded from my body plan, and set out to taunt me. In one slight moment, my athletic career had ended, and with it went my self-confidence. The world changed for me. I had been forced to evict my entire identity because of some torn cartilage I could not even see with my own eyes. It was about more than giving up a sport, it was about giving up a mindset I had constructed my entire life, and missing out on a mindfulness that few activities could reproduce. I existed for months with an emptiness that is only recognizable to those with nothing to look forward to. It was as if I was no longer in control over anything, even my body. I was trapped. One day, I encountered something that reawakened what it felt like to be present. Until that point, I had coasted with an aloof disregard for the world around me due to my never-ending inward focus toward understanding the new body I was given. What I encountered was a dish at a restaurant. Some pureed something or other with some meat on top. At least at first. For whatever reason it became more than that, all in an instant. The sight of radiant pink with a dark brown sear on top. The ambient fragrance of ginger and apple. The smooth texture of pulsed parsnips coating the roof of my mouth. The precarious balance of salt, acid, and fat demanded my attention. I had no

choice but to enjoy each bite. For a few moments, I was amnestic and existed wholly in the moment.

I had to make it for myself and so I did. I chased that feeling. The following few months were met with reinvigoration as I baked, basted, broiled, stewed, steamed, seared, sautéed, and simmered every type of cuisine I could think of in pursuit of achieving that taste of control that I once had. I gripped a pan with the same unadulterated passion that I once gripped a basketball. With each meal I was transfixed in time, bathed in a sensory experience that commanded my attention. The end result depended on me and the reaction my body produced to the ingredients laid in front of me. I was in control once again. For those few moments with the stove alight and the range hood roaring, I felt like myself again. It was about more than trading hobbies or filling time, it was about appreciating my body again and what it can do. It was not in a way I could have imagined at the time, but in this case, a lateral move felt more like a leap forward back to the feeling of pride. My frustration melted into appreciation and compassion for my circumstances. Although I relish the appreciative hums of satisfied friends and family as they eat what I make for them, I am going to keep cooking for myself and the body I now occupy.