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Would you stop eating for a cause you believe in?

That’s exactly what Dr. Govinda KC did. A senior orthopedic surgeon and professor at Nepal’s prestigious Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital, Dr. KC didn’t eat for twelve days. Citing malpractice and corruption in Nepal’s health and education systems, the doctor demanded change. His hunger protest urged government leaders to intervene and take action against dishonest office holders and reassess current policies and practice.
Thousands of medical professionals showed their allegiance, refusing to work and crippling hospitals throughout the country. Civil society members urged Dr. KC to show flexibility as many patients suffered. On the twelfth day of his hunger strike, a several-point agreement was drafted and signed.
I’ve never seen or heard anything like this. For someone to choose to starve themselves for days on end, to refuse food and risk their health in the name of a cause they believe in requires courage, bravery, and perhaps, questionable lucidity.
Regardless, it worked.
The government has formed a task force to monitor and assess existing medical programs. Current appointments will be evaluated and granted based on seniority and merit. Medical colleges that fail to meet standard requirements will be banned. Baseline fees for nursing, paramedic, and medicine courses will be set to eliminate the development of education as a business sector. Free government education has been promised. Policy will be written to ensure the availability of government medical college for all citizens.
While it’s clear a hunger protest seems a drastic means to achieve a desired outcome, it raises the issue of the level an individual must fight to combat corruption and demand good. It’s clear Dr. KC’s actions spurred response from higher authorities. But his act raises questions about one person’s life in context of the collective — and the sometimes drastic steps an individual must take to enact change.
Overthrowing long-standing institutions requires indeterminable patience, some measure of self-sacrifice and relentless hard work. I’m not suggesting we all go on hunger strikes, but I would like to see the equivalent of Dr. KC’s passion and determination more often in our world.
This is the fifth time the doctor has staged such a protest.

I quit

All my life I was told quitting was a big no-no. A character flaw. A deficit. Giving up.
Quitting possibly saved my life.
It’s been almost two years since I threw everything into the dumpster and came to Nepal. Don’t get me wrong, before I stepped onto the plane, I did some major assessment and calibration. I tried switching states, changing jobs, ending a relationship. Nothing worked. I had a relentless void, an absence of satisfaction and enthusiasm I couldn’t put my finger on.
There’s a moment that is scary as hell to recognize “This isn’t what I want.” Daily decisions add up, and habits cement themselves overtime. Suddenly, we wake up. It’s like stepping out from backstage, and the spotlights sting your eyes as you struggle to peer into the audience.
Quitting takes planning and courage. But it should NOT be written off as an option. If you need help deciding whether to quit or stick, I’ve listed seven great resources at the bottom of this article.

Teaching people how to think

I send students home with newspapers and tell them to come ready to discuss one article tomorrow.

Newspapers are incredible learning tools; they don’t carry the “uncool” stigma of textbooks, they’re lightweight and can easily fold into bags and purses and pockets. Not only can papers be scribbled upon (great for note-taking and analysis), they have an inviting quality: “Pick me up! Read me! Pass me on!” I know when newspapers are brought home, it isn’t just the student reading it but family and friends as well.

I stress 6 Ws in these newspaper assignments:

who

what

where

why

when

Instructing my students,

Who wrote it?

What’s the point of the article?

Where does it take place?

Why was the article written?

When was the article written or when did the events take place?

And most importantly,

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

It seems many of my students haven’t been asked this question before. Public schools in Nepal teach obedience and power hierarchy, not critical thinking or self-expression. Unfortunately, even native English speakers aren’t necessarily adept at communicating their own thoughts and opinions.

As you read articles, yes, read them for content, but read between the lines. Formulate your own ideas about the topic at hand. Do you agree or disagree, strongly, or not at all? Why?

The whole point of language is to communicate. To release your thoughts into the world, to express what’s inside. Beyond the grammar, theory and parts of speech, it comes down to expression. Can you express what is in your mind and your heart?

“Live a story.”

I saw this written on a climber’s memorial along the trail to Mount Everest. It haunted me as I walked the ridges leading to Base Camp. Mostly, it got me thinking about the story I was telling. I wasn’t sure if the way I was living was leaving a legacy. I certainly wasn’t convinced I’d be missed.
What’s beautiful about stories is they are always changing. Like a river, our lives encounter different obstacles that can reroute our course. If we remain open to possibility, there’s no limit to the chapters to be written.
I’m grateful I found the guts to quit, even when it felt like stepping off a ledge. I made a few bargains with chance and risk, shook hands with disappointment and failure, but I knew it was part of the deal. I did it because I wanted to see what was on the other side.
No, I’m not immune to anxiety and black confusion. I am refusing to let either get the best of me. Instead, I’m clawing my way towards the unexpected, and it’s taking me down paths of problem solving and giving.
Everyone is writing their story as they go. Listen, and share yours.

On days you don’t feel like showing up

Nothing is right. You feel poorly. The deadline was missed. Your team isn’t pulling weight. The download is taking too long. He shouted as you walked out of the room. A dish was broken. You’re batting less than average. And now it’s raining.

What if you coaxed yourself into believing your “C performance” is OK? That sometimes, being there is enough. Maybe you’re not brilliant, but you’re here. You’re functioning. You’re committed. You’re owning your work: This is you, it’s yours, and you’re not going anywhere.

What if I told you this was OK? You are OK. Could you step into a gentle place of acceptance? Would you have more compassion for yourself and more importantly, the people around you?

On days you’re less than great, sometimes this is when it counts most.

“Maybe this doesn’t work.”

This feeling! It’s scary as hell. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve found yourself whispering it, “This might not work” often accompanies a flailing leap into uncertainty.
But here’s the deal: all good projects, the very best work stem from this idea. “It might not work” is the risk we have to buy into if we want more.
As Steven Pressfield writes, “If we call ourselves artists or entrepreneurs, that’s where you and I have to live too.”