Each year around this time, I have conversations with gals on the threshold of launching into new chapters: college, grad school, a first job. And often mixed in with the excitement and pride of accomplishment is a palpable fear of the future and the unknown. Many gals I work with feel pressured to have it all figured out—to know exactly where they will be and precisely what they will be doing as much as 5, 10, 15 years down the road. And sometimes, I choose to share with them a piece of my story.
From a very young age, I knew I was going to go to Texas A&M University to study veterinary medicine. I was going to go on to specialize in equine orthopedics (taking care of horse bones, joints, and supportive tissue) because I was (and continue to be) absolutely horse crazy and couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve taking care of horses.
I entered A&M as a biomedical sciences major; made it through calculus with the help of my incredible roommate, who called me her “proud ‘C’ student” because I have never worked harder or been more proud of the effort I put forth in a class; and then got to organic chemistry and totally hit a wall. Yes, I am that cliché—I was miserable, hated what I was studying, and started to doubt myself and everything I was so sure the rest of my life would look like. I had some incredibly hard conversations with myself and the people who loved and supported me and decided I needed to make a change.
I have immense gratitude for organic chemistry kicking my butt because it was the reality check I needed. It forced me to look honestly at my values, interests, strengths, and growth areas instead of beating myself up and allowing my childhood expectations to hijack my present and future life. Ultimately, there was no wrong or right direction—stay the course or chart a new path—except the one I could embrace and live with.
So now, I love helping gals sort through the big decisions and find their own path, and I often tell them that life is a lot like a silly straw. The path is frequently not a straight line, it can sometimes feel like you are going in circles and doubling back on yourself visiting places you thought you’d moved past a long time ago, and you can eventually get there in the end if you keep moving forward.
Each year around this time, I have conversations with gals on the threshold of launching into new chapters: college, grad school, a first job. And often mixed in with the excitement and pride of accomplishment is a palpable fear of the future and the unknown. Many gals I work with feel pressured to have it all figured out—to know exactly where they will be and precisely what they will be doing as much as 5, 10, 15 years down the road. And sometimes, I choose to share with them a piece of my story.
From a very young age, I knew I was going to go to Texas A&M University to study veterinary medicine. I was going to go on to specialize in equine orthopedics (taking care of horse bones, joints, and supportive tissue) because I was (and continue to be) absolutely horse crazy and couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve taking care of horses.
I entered A&M as a biomedical sciences major; made it through calculus with the help of my incredible roommate, who called me her “proud ‘C’ student” because I have never worked harder or been more proud of the effort I put forth in a class; and then got to organic chemistry and totally hit a wall. Yes, I am that cliché—I was miserable, hated what I was studying, and started to doubt myself and everything I was so sure the rest of my life would look like. I had some incredibly hard conversations with myself and the people who loved and supported me and decided I needed to make a change.
I have immense gratitude for organic chemistry kicking my butt because it was the reality check I needed. It forced me to look honestly at my values, interests, strengths, and growth areas instead of beating myself up and allowing my childhood expectations to hijack my present and future life. Ultimately, there was no wrong or right direction—stay the course or chart a new path—except the one I could embrace and live with.
So now, I love helping gals sort through the big decisions and find their own path, and I often tell them that life is a lot like a silly straw. The path is frequently not a straight line, it can sometimes feel like you are going in circles and doubling back on yourself visiting places you thought you’d moved past a long time ago, and you can eventually get there in the end if you keep moving forward.
