Like many trainees, I (D.E.R.) carry flashbulb memories from residency training: a relentless pager tone; postcall resuscitations; the first patient I pronounced dead, tucked alone in the corner of the intensive care unit at night. There were also moments when it felt like everything I had learned and experienced was not enough. A young man with incurable prostate cancer asking me not if but how he would die. Managing both massive hematemesis and self-reproach after initiating anticoagulation for a pulmonary embolism. Or leading a nuanced code status discussion when a young woman with severe pulmonary hypertension was admitted with mild influenza but subsequently died of respiratory failure. In each case, my supervisors afforded me the space to find my own way as a communicator, leader, and medical decision maker. These moments burn in my memory as crucibles in which my identity as a doctor was molded.