Thirteen years ago I failed at their dream
It was expected that I become a doctor, just like them. They wanted me to become confident, worldly, athletic, respected, important; something they could be proud of.
I was never interested in medicine. I was interested in everything else: swimming in the lake, how hydropower plants worked, Rube Goldberg machines, climbing trees, airplanes. I was left to pursue my own interests though the expectation hovered over me.
I liked my small group of friends, reading, and video games. I was uncoordinated and frankly terrified of sports, of letting people down when I inevitably missed both free throws or flubbed a toss to home base. I had no idea how people tolerate that terror.
22 years ago I started college. Of course I'd major in biology. I didn't have to be told because I didn't have the imagination or encouragement to know that I had options.
18 years ago I graduated a semester late. I had finally earned good grades in my last 3 semesters after learning how to manage a memory debilitated by ADHD. I would only learn that I had ADHD decades later.
14 years ago I took the MCAT after studying intensely for 6 months. I scored above the 95th percentile on my fifth and final practice test. Textbooks were impenetrable to me, so I watched Khan Academy videos and read humorous books about electricity. On the actual test I did merely above average. I'll never know if it was nerves, a fluke, or a subconscious desire to reevaluate my choices. I like to think it was the latter but these "just-so" explanations are too tidy to describe real life.
14 years ago I interviewed at 2 medical schools; waitlisted at one, rejected by the other. Later that year I was not invited to interview at the last school of the dozens I had applied to. I felt immense relief.
13 years ago I started attending a one-year masters program in physiology. The other students were going to go to dental school, medical school, nursing school, graduate school, but had chosen a non-science undergraduate major. Or they were looking to burnish a few years of mediocre grades, as I thought I was doing. Or they didn't know what else to do and wanted to buy themselves some time, as I was actually doing.
13 years ago, after a particularly poorly-taught class, I asked my friend why he was doing this program. He answered "because I really want to be a doctor".
I didn't want anything in life that much.
13 years ago I resigned from the masters program after a single miserable semester designed to reflect the pace and content of first-year medical school. They said that they had assumed I dropped out because I was failing, but I had a 3.8 GPA. They couldn't understand why I would leave when I was doing so well.
13 years ago I failed at their dream.
But 12 years ago I started taking classes in urban planning. I found that sometimes you could actually enjoy learning when the subject matter was engaging and the only expectations were my own. I graduated with a masters degree 10 years ago (2016). I met the person who would become my wife at about the same time.
After a few years of pleasant aimlessness, we moved to a different state. We wanted to live in a place that we liked, not a place that had been chosen for us by our families or the location of universities.
It was the hardest move of our lives. 8 years ago my timeline nearly bifurcated; we almost separated because of the stresses we weren't accustomed to. But we didn't. We found different jobs. We adopted a dog. We moved from a closet-sized apartment into a duplex with neighbors that we remain friends with. We worked at home during the pandemic and took long walks at night. We adopted a cat.
4 years ago I was diagnosed with ADHD. The first time I took Adderall I cried with relief.
Shortly thereafter we got married. 3 years ago we hiked across England. 2 years ago we bought a house and filled it with pets.
One year ago I let go of the notion that every challenge is a setback rather than the stuff that comprises life. I stopped trying to plan everything and started to trust the process. I didn't really have a choice because the alternative was so unfulfilling.
Now contentment settles over me for weeks at a time, sometimes even months. This existence is confusing and overwhelming, but it's my own. 13 years ago I failed at their dream, but it was never my dream. And if it was never my dream then 13 years later I finally understand that it's not my failure.