You Aren't Born With Your Passion - Part 2

Last week, I posted the story of how my dream to become the pilot of the space shuttle died at age 12.  I promised to finish the story this week because it does have a happier ending.  I left off with the aimless wandering between 6th grade and junior year, a time in which I considered nearly every profession that existed.

Enter my chemistry teacher.  No, this is not the inspiring story of how she turned me into a chemist.  Life's not a movie; it's more interesting than that.  I was at a school that required teacher approval for the next year's classes from the current year's teacher.  That meant my Algebra II teacher had to approve my signing up for Trigonometry or Calculus or Discrete Math after a five-minute conversation in which we looked at my grades and my interests.  I was taking Honors Chemistry, but I was hesitant about taking Honors Physics because I didn't really know anything about physics (and because the teacher of the regular level course was super-cute - let's be real about high school girls, people).  My chemistry teacher, Mrs. Demby, refused to sign off on the paper if I didn't sign up for honors.  While there was a process for overriding the teacher recommendation, I wasn't a person who bucked the system, so I conceded to Mrs. Demby and signed up for Honors Physics.  I doubt she knew it, but this was one of the most important decisions of my young life based on her advice.

When I got my schedule that summer, the name of the teacher listed was Jim Barbara.  My brother said, "Oh, you'll like him.  He's cool."  You cannot know what high praise that is from my brother.  He didn't like teachers; so if he thought a teacher was cool, that was like having the Queen of England bestow knighthood or something.  He was not wrong.  Mr. Barbara may have been the most interesting teacher I ever had.  Every day, we learned really difficult things, but I didn't realize they were difficult.  Somewhere near the first week of that class, I knew that I wanted to teach physics.  My notes are perfect because I figured I was going to need them.  I still use them, by the way.  Here they are in a folder so tattered from use you can't even hold it with one hand.

To say I fell in love with physics is the understatement of the year.  It was my last class of the day, and I would go home and do my homework in reverse class order so that I could do physics first.  I badgered poor Mr. Barbara to death with a million questions about how things worked.  I would be sitting in church and think how cool it was that I knew how the microphone the preacher was using worked.  

Here's the point I'm trying to make.  Mrs. Demby could have given in to what I wanted.  It would have been easier for her to sign off on my paper than to talk me into something she felt I would enjoy.  I don't know if I would have fallen in love with physics in the easier class (My speculation is that I would have spent more time staring at Mr. Gore).    Others have a similar story of the first time they discovered their passion for art, writing, music, math, etc. simply because a parent, teacher, or friend insisted that they take a class or go to a camp.  You don't know what you are going to love, so stop thinking you have to take only those practical STEM classes or that you don't need science because you are going to be a musician.  What you want now doesn't necessarily reflect what you will love later.  Take evey opportunity given to you to find out what your passion is because you were not born with it.  It may just take that one class.