When I went for my medical school interview, I had an old

The words of Ethan Canin shimmer with quiet defiance and the fragrance of individuality: “When I went for my medical school interview, I had an old paperback of ‘Henderson the Rain King’ in the pocket of my coat. I was wearing the best clothes I had—a pair of cords and a sport coat—but when I got to the office, all the other interviewees were lined up in their black suits.” This reflection, simple in its telling, holds within it a profound truth about authenticity and courage—the eternal choice between conformity and the honest expression of one’s self. His story is not only of a man applying to medical school, but of a soul standing before the world, unafraid to be different.

In this quote, Canin reveals the subtle conflict between inner truth and external expectation. The black suits represent the uniform of convention, the symbol of compliance to a world that rewards sameness. Yet in his cords and sport coat, carrying a weathered book—a relic of literature and imagination—he stands apart, not in rebellion but in quiet confidence. His attire and his paperback tell us more than fashion ever could; they speak of a heart that values substance over appearance, curiosity over convention, and authenticity over approval. For the book he carried—“Henderson the Rain King” by Saul Bellow—is itself a tale of spiritual searching, of a man yearning for meaning in a world that worships surface. Thus, Canin’s choice of what to carry, and what to wear, becomes symbolic of his deeper philosophy: that a person’s worth is not measured by appearance, but by the contents of their mind and heart.

Ethan Canin, both a doctor and a writer, lived at the crossroads of two worlds: science and art, precision and imagination. His quote arises from that sacred tension. The medical school interview was a gate into a profession defined by rigor, discipline, and conformity. Yet the presence of a literary novel in his pocket reveals the other half of his being—the dreamer, the seeker, the observer of human nature. In carrying Bellow’s book, he carried a reminder of the human soul amid the machinery of academia. It was as if he were silently saying, “I wish to heal bodies, yes—but I also wish to understand the spirit within them.” His story teaches that one may walk among the disciplined ranks of science without abandoning the poetry of the heart.

There is an ancient echo in his experience, one that recalls the philosophers of old who balanced wisdom with practicality. Consider Hippocrates, the father of medicine, who taught that to heal well one must first understand life in all its fullness—the mind, the passions, and the mysteries that drive the human heart. He was both physician and poet, scholar and philosopher. Canin, standing among the black suits, embodied that same ancient spirit: the belief that true knowledge is not merely technical but humane. In a world obsessed with credentials and appearances, he chose the path of the genuine—the path of the healer who reads not only textbooks, but the stories of the human soul.

The book in his pocket is a metaphor for the treasures that each of us carries unseen. While others may adorn themselves in the garments of conformity, the true mark of greatness lies within—the ideas, passions, and convictions that no one can see but that guide every step we take. Canin’s worn paperback was not just a novel; it was a declaration of identity. It said, “This is who I am. I am not only a student of science, but a lover of stories, a witness to the complexity of being alive.” And in the contrast between his modest clothing and the dark suits of others, we see the eternal lesson of the sages: that appearance is fleeting, but authenticity endures.

There is a story from the life of Albert Einstein that mirrors this truth. When invited to formal gatherings of learned men, Einstein often appeared in his plain clothes, indifferent to formality. Once, when chastised for not dressing appropriately, he replied, “If they are coming to see my clothes, then I should stay home and let my clothes attend in my place.” Like Canin, Einstein understood that dignity does not come from conformity, but from integrity. The greatness of a person lies not in how well they imitate others, but in how deeply they embody themselves.

So, my child of sincerity, take this teaching to heart: in every room you enter, you carry not only your body but your essence. Do not hide it beneath the armor of expectation. Be as Ethan Canin was—humble in attire, but rich in spirit. Carry your own “book” within your pocket—the passions, dreams, and truths that remind you of who you are when the world demands uniformity. Let others wear their black suits; you must wear your honesty. For it is not the one who blends into the crowd who changes the world, but the one who dares to stand apart with quiet conviction.

In the end, Canin’s quote is a song of selfhood. It reminds us that greatness does not bloom from imitation, but from authenticity. The world will always have its lines of “black suits,” its rituals of sameness—but it is the soul with a worn book in its pocket, with imagination in its heart and sincerity in its step, that will see the world anew. And when such a soul chooses to serve others—whether as a physician, a writer, or simply a human being—it heals more than bodies. It heals the spirit of the age itself.