Five years ago, I had a good thing going – an established career with steady income, regular hours, no major debt, and plenty of free time to hang out with friends. But it felt like something was missing; I was unfulfilled at the end of my days. After 14 years with one company, it was time for a change. The question was, do I stay in my field or turn my life upside down?
I knew at the ripe old age of 14 that I wanted to be a journalist, connecting people to information. My plan was etched, and I worked diligently toward that goal. Along the way, friends told me I should have gone into biology, but I thought they were joking. There’s no way I was smart enough to go into the sciences.
In my mid-thirties, I discovered “edutainment.” I almost exclusively watched shows investigating life, like Blue Planet, Veritasium, Brain Games, The Nine Months that Made You, Cosmos, etc. I widened my reading material to include scientific articles and books. So, when my husband said, “You should have gone into biology,” my curiosity was piqued. Maybe I should give this biology thing a try.
At 37, I enrolled in chemistry at a community college. My class was at night, and my classmates were mostly working adults like myself, trying to better their lives. I felt a kindred connection with these students; we were all searching for something more.
My next group of classes were in the morning, with more “traditional” college students. I felt out of place in a room teeming with youth. In one class, we worked in groups; I was partnered with a 17- and 18-year-old. During a lull in lecture, my group members were looking at their phones. I asked if they were reading the news, and they looked at me like I was crazy. No, they were watching videos of people flipping their shoes. I’ve never felt so old and removed.
But I ventured forth, transferring to UT Dallas to continue my degree, managing to find the one or two older classmates with whom I had more in common but still feeling very alone. Four-year universities are designed with the full-time student in mind. As a working adult, I struggled to fit education, work, and life into a manageable ball of frenzy.
At the same time, I changed jobs and began working at a pathology lab. I went from an assistant newsroom supervisor with all the answers and autonomy to a part-time newbie in an industry I knew nothing about and zero authority. I was supremely vulnerable, and I hated it. I didn’t know how to not be in charge; I didn’t even know I liked being in charge until I had given it up. I also discovered I didn’t know how to learn and give myself grace when embarking on a challenge. Yes, taking classes at the community college was new, but I had the steady familiarity of my job. Then, there I was, at 39, restarting my journey from scratch.
Like an ogre laying siege, in walked imposter syndrome. I wasn’t a “real” student or scientist, and one day everyone was going to find out I’m from the liberal arts, playing dress up in a lab coat and scrubs. I didn’t look or behave like my classmates, and I’m pretty sure I was older than a few of my professors. I was married, with a mortgage, and more than a decade of the corporate world under my belt. I didn’t understand my classmates who whined about not getting extensions on assignments or who asked questions about topics easily found in the syllabus. In a lecture hall of 300, I was the ancient sea turtle flapping through the current, trying to find my way.
When I did poorly in class, I berated myself – I should have stayed in my lane. Why did I think I could do this? I was right all those years ago; I’m not smart enough to be in the sciences. Friends and family patiently listened to my bemoans, but it was their awe in my struggle that kept me going. Plus, I’m stubborn. Getting through my classes was like scaling a climbing wall. I purposefully planned my path – read the textbook, read the lecture slides, go to class, take handwritten notes, reread the lecture slides, and meticulously fill out a study guide. The last-minute and late-night cramming sessions of my youth were no good to me. Structure and scheduling became my recipe for success. It also eased my anxieties to see fellow classmates struggle. I wasn’t dumb; this material was difficult.
When I landed at the Aging Well Lab, I felt grounded. I joined a handful of other nontraditional students, past and present, who could understand my feelings of wanting more. Here, I am not lost, not a misfit; instead, I bring experience and diversity, a background rich in different thought processes and methods. I can be a scientist and a journalist, a bridge to the world outside of academia. This makes me an asset, not someone going through a very expensive mid-life crisis. It’s hard to play the role of imposter when the aspects I’m trying to hide are the very things desired and appreciated.