Direct Care - If We Are Lucky Enough (Poem)

Zach Bryan’s Lucky Enough is a quiet inventory of a life well lived — not measured by fame or perfection, but by presence, truth, and the courage to choose what matters. It’s a song about growing older honestly, learning the hard way, loving deeply, and ending up exactly where your heart was pointing all along.

That spirit feels deeply familiar to those of us who believe medicine can be practiced the same way. What follows is a reflection on Direct Primary Care, written in that same cadence — not as a rewrite, but as an interpretation of what it means to build a life, and a profession, rooted in care.

The Work Worth Doing

If we’re lucky enough, we’ll know our patients by first names and tired eyes.
We’ll see fevers break and anxiety loosen in rooms where no one is watching the clock.
We’ll trade waiting rooms for conversations and never waste a day pretending medicine is supposed to be rushed.

This kind of care doesn’t scale well on spreadsheets—but it scales beautifully in real life.

The Long View

If we’re lucky enough, we’ll care for people long enough to see life change shape.
Wrinkles where worry used to live.
Confidence where confusion once sat.

We’ll remember stories without opening charts.
We’ll stop fighting battles that don’t matter.
And we’ll only die on hills closest to our hearts.

Simplicity Is a Moral Choice

If we’re lucky enough, we’ll tell the truth every chance we get.

Because care made complicated is just honesty delayed.
A clear answer now beats ten regrets later.
Simple pricing beats surprise bills.
Access beats authorization.

This isn’t radical. It’s respectful.

Continuity Counts

We’ll walk with people through ordinary days—
Coughs and check-ins, grief and quiet wins.
Sufferin’, smilin’, all of it counting.

If we’re lucky enough, we won’t just treat moments.
We’ll know the whole arc.

And that changes everything.

The Courage to Leave What’s Broken

Enough people will tell us,
“That’s not how healthcare works,”
that we’ll know we’re doing something right.

If we’re lucky enough, we’ll have the courage to leave systems that forgot why they exist.
To build something smaller, simpler, and more honest.
To trust that relationships still matter.

Gentle Medicine

If we’re lucky enough, the hard things will make us gentler.
With time.
With questions.
With the space people need to heal out loud.

This is medicine that listens first.

What Success Really Looks Like

If we’re lucky enough, we’ll make it exactly to where we’re standing now.

A place where care is human.
Payment is honest.
Access is expected.
And medicine feels like keeping a promise.

Direct Primary Care doesn’t promise perfection. It promises presence. And if we’re lucky enough— that will be more than enough.