TL;DR: What I Wish I’d Known (if you don’t have time to read the whole thing…)
- You don’t need to have it all figured out.
I started medical school thinking I’d be a neurosurgeon. Now, I find myself drawn to endocrine and pediatric surgery. Interests evolve, and that’s okay. The skills you gain matter more than getting your “niche” right on the first try. - Mentorship doesn’t have to be perfect to be valuable.
Some of my most helpful mentors respond once a year . Others prefer a phone call at 8pm every day. Learn how each person works. What matters is mutual respect and growth, and knowing when it’s time to move on. - Show up prepared to lab meeting. The meeting before the meeting matters.
Come with specific questions, send materials in advance, and be honest about where you’re stuck. You don’t need all the answers. You just need a starting point. - Say yes (strategically).
Not everything has to be a check box. If something helps you grow, connects you with a mentor, or serves a community you care about, it might be worth doing. - Your voice matters, even as a student.
Some of my most meaningful opportunities — helping lead a task force, starting initiatives, working across institutions — came from speaking up or sending a cold email. You don’t have to wait to be invited. - Take up space. Just being in the room matters.
I showed up to my first academic surgery conference not knowing anyone. I left with mentors, collaborators, and lifelong friends. Being in the room matters, even when you’re unsure if you belong.
I still remember arriving at my first in-person Academic Surgical Congress. I had never been to a national meeting before, had no mentors or classmates attending from my institution, and knew only one person there. I started my slides the night before (some things don’t change…), didn’t realize you were supposed to practice with your mentor beforehand, and walked into the conference room with hands and voice shaking.
The one person I did know, a mentor from an external institution who just happened to be the incoming AAS President, must’ve sensed how nervous I was. She showed up to both of my presentations, despite being pulled in a million directions, and gave me thoughtful, constructive feedback. She introduced me to students, residents, and faculty, helping me feel seen in a room where I felt small. At the time, I assumed this kind of mentorship was rare, maybe even a fluke. But over time, I realized that this wasn’t the exception. It was the culture of the AAS. It’s what kept me coming back. And ultimately, it played a huge part in convincing me that I wanted to become an academic surgeon.
The following is a reflection on lessons I’ve learned, starting in many of your shoes (haphazardly running stats in Excel, not knowing how to do a lit review or write an IRB proposal, showing up to conferences unprepared) and now preparing to begin general surgery residency at the academic program of my dreams, having collaborated with mentors across the country and published in leading surgical journals.
Being involved in national surgical societies has shaped my journey more than I ever imagined. Every mentor I now work with outside of my home institution was introduced to me through a society initiative or someone I met through the AAS. There’s truly no substitute for being in the room. For example, showing up to an institutional reception at a national meeting led to a conversation with a resident at an external institution (who’s now a mentor and friend) and a published perspective in JAMA Surgery, something I never would have believed was possible when I started medical school.
And while it’s easy to feel like you’re “just a student”, and maybe shouldn’t take up too much space, I’ve learned that your voice does matter. Not only are national societies open to student perspectives, they’re eager for fresh ideas to keep future surgeons engaged in the specialty. Some of my most meaningful experiences have come from being bold enough to share ideas with society leadership. Helping to build the AAS Medical Student Task Force and proposing the new self-nomination system for student involvement in AAS committees were born from simple conversations, a willingness to speak up, and several mentors receptive to help me see the vision through.
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is that it’s not only okay, but necessary, to have more than one mentor. I have mentors I turn to for research, others for career advice, and a few I lean on during tough moments in training. Some are at my home institution; many are not. I’ve also learned that not every mentorship is meant to last forever and it’s okay to politely “break up” when it’s no longer a good fit, just try to follow-through on any existing commitments or make a plan to hand things off responsibly.
Like many students, I felt pressure to figure out exactly what my research “niche” was early on. I remember attending conferences where it seemed like everyone had their ten-year plan mapped out down to which rare disease they want to study, while I was still just trying to find a surgery mentor who did research at my institution. I used to wonder if I was behind because I didn’t have that same clarity. I’ve since learned that most plans evolve. Interests shift. It’s okay to pivot. I started medical school thinking I was going to be a neurosurgeon. Naturally, my first research projects were in that space. Even though I ultimately changed paths, the skills I gained from those early experiences — learning how to write an abstract, revise a manuscript, and understand basic stats — carried forward. And in some ways, those foundational skills mattered more than the topic itself. Focusing on skill development, especially early on, helped me feel prepared when the right opportunities came along with mentors whose interests aligned with mine.
That said, not every experience has been smooth. One of my first mentors never responded to emails. I mean never. The only way to get feedback was to find them between cases, open the draft on my laptop, and make edits in real time while they skimmed through the document in front of me. It taught me quickly that building research relationships is less about rigid rules and more about understanding how each person works. Some mentors want meetings set weeks in advance. Others prefer a Slack message the morning of their academic day. I’ve also learned to make meetings count by showing up with specific, actionable questions and, when possible, send them ahead of time. Surgeons are busy. I think they’ve been late to meetings more than on time. Coming prepared helps you make the most of the small windows of time you get.
Another important lesson: say yes to (almost) everything. Medical school is busy, and boundaries are important, but a lot of the most meaningful opportunities I’ve had came from saying yes, even when the relevance wasn’t immediately obvious. For example, saying yes to leading a multi-institutional study helped me build relationships that later led to individual projects with four of those institutions during my dedicated research year. Over time, my personal decision tree has evolved to look something like:
- Will this help me develop a skill I need?
- Does this directly relate to my future career goals?
- Will this connect me with someone I want to learn from?
- Will this serve a community I care about?
- Am I being asked by someone “important” (Dean, Chair, etc.)?
If the answer is yes to any of those, I seriously consider it. That said, I’ve also learned I don’t have to say yes immediately, and it’s okay to ask follow-up questions. One of my go-to responses is: “This sounds like a great opportunity — do you mind if I think about it and get back to you in a couple of days?” (unless it’s someone really important…then I usually just say yes and figure it out later).
Looking back, what’s stayed with me the most are the relationships — the people who showed up, believed in me, and taught me how to carry myself not just as a student, but as a future surgeon. I now look forward to conferences not just for the academic content, but for the chance to reconnect with students, residents, and faculty from across the country. If there’s one lesson that underpins all the others, it’s this: don’t over-engineer who you think you need to be. Students often feel pressure to present a perfectly polished version of themselves, but in my experience, what opens doors and sustains lasting connections is showing up as yourself.
Reagan Collins
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