One fact that I have always found to be true is that High School Musical’s “Stick to the Status Quo” lyrical masterpiece will never fail to be painfully relevant. No matter the stage in life, human beings construct these arbitrary yardsticks to measure our social value and tear each other down. The question of “How well am I doing on the ladder of socially imposed success?” is a heavy weight on all of our shoulders. In my college experience, this status quo has not been an array of high school stereotypes like in the film, but instead an expectation of who I am that I have created for myself.
I put myself into a box, feeling as though I needed to be one-dimensional to meet some definition of commitment or success.
For me, writing has always been an inescapable passion — an undying flame illuminating the back corners of my brain as I search the front for chemistry flashcards. I found myself, again and again, gravitating towards literature, towards words and the stories, opinions and emotions they capture. The ability to self-express and understand others through reading and writing is one to which no other medium holds a candle.
Unfortunately, writing does not fit into my narrative. Or I thought it didn’t.
While my brain gravitates towards the soft nuance of the humanities, my heart has always been set on helping others through medicine. I am fascinated by my science classes and want to be able to apply this science to the real human beings in front of me. I am a case of split identity.
When presented to prying relatives and future employers, the career aspiration of “doctor” fits into a neatly wrapped box, all tied up with a little pink bow of esteem and praise. The realities of preparation for such a path are a bit less sparkly. As I have embarked on my undergraduate years, I have come to know well that the Pre-Med student is one who is no stranger to the immense time commitment working in STEM requires. I no longer saw a place for writing in my life. A course load filled to the brim with biology classes left little room for the electives I dreamed of taking, and the subsequent extracurriculars left even less time for leisure reading or composition.
I found myself justifying all along the way as words dripped slowly from my life, constantly telling myself it wasn’t a hobby worth spending time on.
I am here to tell you that you are not a single narrative. College is not seamless and neither is the identity you have constructed for yourself. I am not “interested in biology.” I am a human being who happens to be interested in biology. It is so easy to fall into the monolithic mindset of interests when, in reality, we are, as people, intersectional conglomerates of hobbies and passions and talents and hopes and dreams.
I write this to you as I sit at my lab bench, waiting for the protein solution I’ve been working on to be ready to assay.
Humor yourself. Put yourself out of your comfort zone and honor every minute interest that has ever occupied that neglected corner in the back of your mind. You cannot ignore the parts of yourself that are begging to come out — instead, pursue them wholeheartedly and watch as a life of well-rounded joy emerges.
Submitting an application to the Her Campus writing staff was wildly out of my comfort zone and a far-reaching edit to the path I had planned for my collegiate self. This forum has legitimized my love for writing, giving me both an audience of young women to share ideas with and an invaluable support system of friends. My writing has never felt more whole, and I have never felt more confident in what I once considered a trivial pseudo-interest.
My favorite piece of advice for the planner stands: lose your way just a little bit to find yourself.