I was born in Starachowice. Like my parents, I am also a child of the Świętokrzyskie region. When I was 8 years old, my parents and I visited a cousin living in Magdeburg. It was my first trip abroad. And what an adventure it was! I remember my excitement to this day - the German highways, the zooming cars, my very first tourist experience, not counting the school trips to Kazimierz on the Vistula. There might not have been anything extraordinary about it if it weren’t for the fact that Papa Józef instructed me and my brother to write about this trip. Our attempts didn’t prove to be of the highest quality, nevertheless, the concept of writing endured. In high school, I did not bother to write; I was busy preparing for medical school. It seemed as though writing would not be my path. I believed I could not write. Besides, my teachers confirmed my belief, and this included the Polish literature teacher at the esteemed High School of Tadeusz Kościuszko. And yet, I passed my Polish language exam with flying colors.
College brought forth an entirely different atmosphere. I fell in love with books. I started to read like a mad man and even wrote about what I read. These attempts taught me quite a bit. I have not chosen fiction, but reportage, cultural essays, and historical accounts. When I was twenty-two years old I wrote a piece about ancient Egypt, after having visited this country. The next ones were about Japan, Brazil, China. I was curious about the world. I wanted to talk about it, but more so write than speak. If I could, I would wander about endlessly. But this, I could not do. I was a physician at an important cardiac center. I was a practicing doctor, finishing up my specialization exams, and writing my doctorate. All the while, I could not decide what was more important more to me, what brought me more satisfaction - medicine, the world, traveling? I had a feeling that there was a conflict, that something was distracting me. However, I wasn’t sure if it was the medicine that distracted me from writing or if it was the writing distracting me from the medicine. Some of my professional or scientific challenges were so absorbing, there were months when I did not write anything. Naturally, I was writing medical pieces: reviews, articles, chapters, and even specialized books. The gap widened. I cannot say that it was a frustrating feeling. I wrote and I defended my postdoctoral dissertation, I became an expert in an important field of image diagnostics. Could such achievements be unsatisfactory? Of course, I was satisfied, but I wanted more. A few years after defending my postdoctoral dissertation, I wrote a book about Africa: The Secrets of the Sahel. I worked on it for a long time. I would write in the evenings, at night, consistently adhering to my schedule. I would speak about the genesis of the book at author readings. I had hoped to promote the book more, but at that time, I did not succeed. I tried to explain this to myself and not give up. After all, we are living in a time when people are reading less and less. Who would even be interested in jihadism, and at that time, a practically impenetrable part of Africa? Who would be interested in learning about the heritage of the medieval civilization of the region? I pitched one television network the opportunity to have a conversation about passion in life. I wanted to say that everything in life is possible. It is in fact possible to earn the title of professor in an important field of clinical medicine and also write books about Africa. But the topic did not catch on, it simply wasn’t interesting enough.
I told myself that writing was not worth it. Creative efforts were not proportionate to their reception. Despite the setbacks and disappointments, my love of writing remained. It was saved by Pulse of Medicine and the role of a columnist, which was offered to me in 2017. I didn’t think I could refuse. After all, I was a traveler, I have seen my fair share of the world. I started talking about different countries, outlining in my essays what I have experienced and believed to be important. Through this, I developed my discipline for writing and the ability to synthesize. Once again, writing brought me pleasure. I understand and accept the fact that I will not reach thousands. However, if I manage to reach those who find something in my writing, something which interests or inspires them, then all this is most definitely worth the effort. Apart from the satisfaction in reaching the reader, writing also carries with it a sense of freedom. One is able to write without having to ask for permission, without the need for schemas and connections. When I think about my life, not the one which has passed, but the one that lays before me, I connect to it through my writing. It’s probably one of my greatest joys, apart from music, which my adult years can bring me.