Role Models

Alice’s latest livejournal entry sparked a particular portion of my existential crises: what kind of person do I want to be?

When I was little, and we all had to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up, I scribbled out me in a lab coat: I wanted to be a scientist! At that time, my parents also asked me what I waned to do when I grew up. I told them I wanted to “be a scientist and run a Mexican resteraunt.”

“But Amber,” they replied “isn’t that a lot to do? Won’t you be very busy?”

I politely corrected them: “ I’m going to OWN the restaurant, not WORK in it!”

In the years to follow, I’d choose a lot of different careers. After seeing “Silence of the Lambs” I wanted to be an FBI agent like Clarice Starling—she was even from West Virginia! On and off, I’d want to be singer, a performer of some sort, and then back to something more sciencey like a forensic entomologist. . .

Science was always the natural choice, in part because I’ve always liked picking the choice nobody else would choose. By junior high, all the other girls wanted to be veterinarians, or nurses, or doctors, or dental hygienists. Me, I wanted to be a frickin’ SCIENTIST man. Nerdy and respected. I think it made positive that feeling pressed into me from the first day of kindergarten: I was weird and used big words. I couldn’t ever be like everyone else in the class, so I learned to take pride in it. Yeah, it was elitism.

Fast forward to today where I really AM a scientist (although I don’t own a share in any Mexican restaurant currently). And I’ll admit that these days, I wonder how good I actually am at this job I’ve been talking about for years. The thought gnaws at me. Am I really any good at this?

I start to worry that I always turned down other professions (namely, anything to do with the creative arts) because they were too cool and not secure enough. All my best grades were consistently in English. In the standardized tests, I was always strongest in reading comprehension, verbal skills. . . But I do know that I was also good at science—math and physics kindof bored me to death, but biology held me.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I have this conversation with myself all the time. Am I an English Major just pretending to be a scientist? Did I make it this far by being a good writer and presenter, and finally have reached the point where you’ve got to actually DO science instead of talking about it, and just. . . .stalled?

At this point, your guess is a good as mine.