And, here’s a little JDS for you, easily translatable to surgery (one of my favorite blog posts of all time, particularly when I start to feel a bit lost):
You won’t be asked if you were working on a wonderful, moving piece when you die. You won’t be asked if it was long or short, sad or funny, published or unpublished. You won’t be asked if you were in good or bad form while you were working on it. You won’t even be asked if it was the one piece of writing you would have been working on if you had known your time would be up when it was finished—I’m so sure you only get asked two questions. Where all of your stars out? Where you busy writing your heart out?
If you only knew how easy it would be for you to say yes to both of those questions. if only you’d remember before you ever sit down to write that you’ve been a reader long before you were ever a writer. you simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart’s choice. The next step is terrible but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it. You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself. I won’t even underline that. It’s too important to be underlined.