Duty vs. Desire
Why Doing What’s Right Feels So Hard
A few years back, I sat in the soft glow of my small apartment, the acceptance letter for my medical internship still open on my laptop, though it had been days since it arrived. My jaw tightened as I stared at the screen, the weight of it sinking in. After years of med school—grueling exams, sleepless nights, and a mountain of debt—I’d made it. In a few days, I’d start the compulsory 12-month internship, the hardest year any doctor faces, a brutal marathon of 80-hour weeks, overnight shifts, and life-or-death calls in a hospital notorious for overworking its interns. Past interns’ stories were grim: burnout, broken spirits, a system that demanded everything. But this was my path, the only way to become a licensed physician.
Sarah sat across from me on the couch, her smile warm but tinged with something unspoken. My girlfriend of three years, my anchor through med school’s chaos, she’d been nothing but supportive since the letter came. “You’re going to be amazing,” she’d said that first night, her voice bright, her hand squeezing mine. But tonight, days later, we were finally facing the truth. The internship meant moving to another state, far from the life we’d built. I’d pictured her coming with me, her laughter filling a new apartment, her presence grounding me through the hellish year ahead. That hope—of us, of her—felt like armor against the exhaustion I knew was coming. But Sarah’s life was here: her family, her marketing job, her roots. She hadn’t said no, but her silence said enough, a quiet struggle between her pride in me and her reluctance to leave everything behind.
My eyes flicked to the hospital badge on my desk, my name etched below “Intern, M.D.” I’d sworn an oath to heal, to serve, to put patients first. This internship was my duty, not just to my career but to the strangers who’d rely on me—patients I hadn’t met, whose lives might hang on my decisions in a fog of fatigue. I thought of my parents, their sacrifices, their pride when I graduated. Staying here, choosing Sarah over this path, would mean betraying that trust, their dreams, and the fire in me that burned to save lives.
I looked at her, her eyes soft but heavy. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice catching. “But I can’t do long-distance again. And I don’t know if I can leave my life here.” Her words stung, but I forced myself to nod, keeping my face steady. The thought of moving alone, facing that grueling year without her, twisted like a knife. But I straightened, my resolve hardening. I’d chosen this path—duty over desire. I’d go, I’d fight, I’d become the doctor I was meant to be, no matter how much it hurt to leave her behind.
Duty vs Desire
Life often feels like a tug-of-war between what you have to do and what you want to do. Duty calls—your job demands late hours, family needs your support, or society expects you to show up in certain ways. Meanwhile, desire whispers (or sometimes shouts)—that dream project you’re itching to start, the hobby you’ve sidelined, or the urge to carve out time for yourself. It’s a clash as old as time: the weight of obligation versus the pull of passion. Do you grind through your responsibilities, or do you chase what lights you up? How do you choose when both sides feel like they’re screaming for your attention? This tension isn’t just a personal struggle—it’s a philosophical one.
Duty is the stuff you feel bound to do—whether it’s showing up for your kids, meeting work deadlines, or keeping promises to others. It’s rooted in responsibility, often tied to roles you play: employee, parent, friend, citizen. Duty can feel like a rock-solid anchor, giving life structure and meaning, but it can also weigh you down, especially when it clashes with your personal wants. Desire, on the other hand, is the spark of what you crave—maybe it’s creative freedom, time to explore a passion, or just a quiet moment to breathe. Desire fuels joy and growth, but it can also feel selfish or impractical when stacked against obligations. Marcus Aurelius wrote, “Do what is necessary, and whatever the reason of a social animal requires, and as it requires.” Duty, to them, was tied to living virtuously within your community, but they also valued inner alignment—acting in ways that resonate with your rational self. The trick is balancing these without losing yourself.
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