Tonight was fireworks night at Dodger Stadium, and as I watched bright colorful explosions in the sky from a distant hill, I remembered that it was around this time of year twelve years ago when I made a last-minute decision that would forever change my life in weird and sometimes quite traumatic ways.

By that time, I had gotten all my rejection letters from the med schools I had applied to. This was the second year I had applied, and I had only gotten interviews at two schools.

Right after the July 4th long weekend, I got a letter from Chicago (North Chicago, to be exact) saying I got into a one-year post-baccalaureate program that would grant me a master’s degree and the potential opportunity of getting into med school the next year if I did well. I had less than a week to accept.

After three days of agonizing about the decision, I went for it.

I took a whirlwind three-day road trip with my mom from L.A. to Chicago in a twenty year old Ford Taurus station wagon that we bought from my uncle. We drove twelve hours a day, stopping in Colorado and then in Nebraska. Somewhere between Des Moines and Chicago, I started seriously losing it and thought about turning around right then and there on the interstate and going back.

I’m not sure I could make that sort of decision again. Just thinking about it kind of freaks me out.