Lilly

I sit at the end of my bed by the window and close my eyes and empty my mind and then I hope. I hope that the disillusionment is temporary, that I am overthinking, overreacting, reading too much into interactions with upperclassmen and professors. I let myself entertain the impulsive thoughts, curled up and too isolated to follow through on any of them. They are tantalizing, though. “Sometimes you have to let your brain go wild,” says my mother. “Switching majors! Transferring schools! Dropping out! It’s OK to have those thoughts. It’s OK to have them and not be serious about any of them and it’s OK to have them and be tempted.”

I know that last one is not for me. I believe that college is the best place for me, personally, to continue my pursuit of knowledge, my desire to learn; it’s been far too important to me my entire life to stop now. But other impulses are not so straightforward. I find myself wondering if I’ve made the right choices. I read blogs written by physics graduate students and postdocs and find few, very few, that resonate with me. One article tells physics hopefuls to choose their hobbies widely, citing physical pursuits as the most acceptable and time-intensive mental processes, like writing, as the least. Another suggests that students who aren’t looking to spend nearly 100 hours per week in a lab simply aren’t devoted enough to their field and should consider other options. A third, addressed directly to undergraduates, instructs us to feel flattered when our professors expect as much work out of us as graduate students seeking their PhDs.

But forgive me for keeping my hobbies, for wanting a life outside my work, for not feeling flattered.

It’s on me, I agree. I sought out this research opportunity. I promised to help a student with a semester presentation despite not even being in the class. These were decisions that I made.

But I’m scared anyway. I have so much to do and I can’t focus. It’s not going to get any easier, and have I really made any of the right decisions? I tell my mother I’m changing my study away plans to pursue the math major and she says, “When you talk about math, your voice changes.” I go to capstone presentations all week and find myself immersed, practically at the edge of my seat, listening to students talk about robotics and topology and abstract algebra. I’m scared of that feeling, too, because what if it’s just a phase? What if I make some huge choice that effectively changes the structure of my future college career and find myself full of regret before the calendar year is up?

I could play what-if all day.

I try to tell people here about it and they just smile and go, “But you already know what you want to do! You have such a good place in the astronomy department already!” and a chill goes up my spine, because everyone seems to think that’s already set in stone, ironclad, and here I am trying to melt it down with a Bic lighter. I don’t mind having these impulsive thoughts, because I’m good at not acting on them. But now that seems to be the problem. I’m running out of time to figure out whether or not these feelings are meaningful.

My mother draws the High Priestess from her tarot for me and says, “Go with your gut.”

That’s hard, but I’m going. ♦