On the first day of my general chemistry lab, something felt amiss; in fact, two “somethings” — my gloves. This is a bit of a dramatization, of course, because it wasn’t just my gloves. I couldn’t stand the foggy goggles on my face, the moisture clinging to my chin from my mask or my sweat-filled, horrific latex gloves. I am someone who can cope pretty well with my sensory issues, though I can never truly move past them. However, general chemistry — and biology, and every other science lab to ever exist — evoked my arch nemesis, my personal “he-who-shall-not-be-named” and deepest vendetta: moisture on my hands.
Even if you know me well, you may never have noticed this quirk about me — it took me a long time to notice it about myself. I can’t deal with sticky hands — I never wear rings in the rain, and I only eat finger foods with a mountain of napkins. Call me nitpicky or strange, but I simply can’t deal with it. It makes me angry, it makes me cry and it makes me irritable beyond belief. Sensory issues are like that: unavoidable, persistent and incredibly annoying. In my case, they caused one of the first failures in a chain of broken dreams. Now, I thank them for giving me a fresh start, freedom and new beginnings.
I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger. In high school, I decided that I wanted to be a surgeon. I was never squeamish — something that knocks many people out of the profession — and I was fascinated by the human body. I went into college with one goal in mind: medical school or bust. Well, here I am — busted. I wish that I could tell you some beautiful, poetic anecdotes about finding myself and growing toward new aspirations, but that simply isn’t what happened. Before the academic probation, the horrible grades and the hopelessness, I had sweaty gloves stuck to my hands that ruined all of my hopes and dreams.
Of course, other misfortunes led to this proverbial fork. I was never any good at math. I loved science, but science did not love me back. Battling weed-out classes in your first semester is a rite of passage that, frankly, shot me down very quickly. I quit pre-med at the end of my freshman year. Yet, I always look back with some sort of nostalgia or regret that I did the wrong thing. If I were in a better headspace, would I have done better? Could I have fixed my unfixable transcript? The truth is that, even if things were different, it would never have worked out. It’s good to fight for your dreams, but it’s better to let things go when they no longer serve you. Holding on to dead weight — even when it used to be glittering aspirations— is never worth it.
The last straw is often the most unassuming of all — the most silly, inconsequential problem of the journey. I had to accept that, even if I were a genius planted on the earth with the sole purpose of being an amazing scientist, I could never have been a doctor: I don’t like the feeling of gloves on my hands. More than that, I didn’t like the goggles, the heavy lab clothes or the endless layering of things on my face that made it impossible for me to wear glasses without looking through a thick layer of steam and body heat. I was overwhelmed from the moment I entered the laboratory until the moment I left. Often, we want our stories to be so beautifully written and tragic that they have a clear antagonist, but life is never that simple. Sometimes, it is just out of your control.
Life has a funny way of putting you in the right place, even if you have to face the fact that the barrier between you and your past dreams is a pair of latex gloves. However, I see this trend all the time in people finding their way in the world: The smallest problems kill the biggest aspirations. I believe that that just means you need to reevaluate, pivot and try something else. I am the world’s biggest believer in following your dreams, but those dreams have to be willing to follow you, too. Life cannot sweep you toward greener pastures if you refuse to change and glue your feet to the ground.
Vanderbilt is a jungle of aspirational people, and it’s exceptionally easy to subscribe to the idea that you are less than these people, especially if you eventually turn away from what you once craved very deeply. I believe that aspirations — or a lack thereof — do not define who you are or your worth as a person. Sure, some people will graduate and follow the dreams that they discovered at five years old, but many, many others will not and will still find great success — whatever that may look like for them.
I have found that more people than not end up changing their minds before they leave college. Changing your mind on something as big as a career goal may go against the grain of everything the “gifted student” is taught — yet, is it not true that those who never explore their options are the very same people who live with regrets? Most people change their minds, yet it’s still taboo to talk about it. Changing your mind doesn’t make you a failure: It makes you a survivor.
Even people who follow through on their original passions can benefit from exploring completely different topics of academia. Either they will realize that they should be doing something else, or they will realize that they are, in fact, on the right path — now with more certainty than before. Branching out can light new passions and hobbies in people who may have never worked outside of their niche, especially since pre-meds are so often pressured to stick to STEM and never look elsewhere.
I am a pre-med dropout — a proud member of the HOD pipeline — and I implore you to listen to your heart. Take the random anthropology class, learn a new language that isn’t useful in your field and search your soul for your true passions. You may find yourself happier than before, and that’s okay. Plus, sometimes your sign that you’re on the wrong path is comically stupid — like a random undying love for the Russian language or strangely sticky gloves. Or, maybe you sit out in the rain and realize that you, a math major, hate math.
Life is about the journey, and college is the perfect time to explore how to spend the rest of your days. What is a person if not an embodiment of the endless capacity for change and discovery?