Choosing the Impractical Path
During my sophomore year in college, I struggled in biology class. Despite my rigorous note-taking and extensive study sessions, I always found myself a step behind my classmates and in the curriculum. For someone who’d always been a high achiever in school and only ever imagined myself pursuing a career in medicine, it was a humbling experience.
I started attending my professor’s office hours on a regular basis. He was a stern and serious man who always seemed exasperated with my questions. One afternoon, he interrogated me about why I’d enrolled in the class. When I told him I was pre-med, he impressed upon me how every physician should have a strong foundational knowledge of biology and listed several follow-on biology classes I should consider taking during my junior year to bolster that foundation.
I then shared with my professor that I was going to spend my junior year abroad in Paris. He reacted with derision, strongly encouraging me to reconsider. A deeper understanding of biology will make you a better doctor. Going to Paris will never do that for you.
His words stunned me like a shock of cold water. I’d been planning to live abroad in Paris since I was a little girl and had never questioned it. It had always felt like an inevitability, as if the pull was so strong that I almost didn’t have choice. I had a sense — however absurd — that like Paris was waiting for me, like we had each written the travel plans into our respective calendars and it would soon be time for an auspicious, year-long visit.
Now, here was a respected professor, teaching a subject core to my future profession, telling me that my Paris plans were ridiculous and that only more biology and science classes would serve me and my future career well. Yes, he was dismissive, but still — he sounded reasonable. Practical. Sensible.
Night after night, I lay awake, contemplating the certainty and intent of his advice. I weighed that against the allure of Paris. To me, Paris was more than a destination. It was the culmination of years of thinking, contemplating, planning and yes — a gut instinct that I needed Paris. That my mind and soul needed Paris.
In the end, I went to Paris, leaving those biology classes my professor’s skepticism behind.
To be fair, I can’t say for sure that there wasn’t some truth to what my professor said. But what I can say with conviction is that my year in Paris altered the trajectory of my life. It was intoxicating, breathtaking, daunting, and wholly impractical, in the best way. It opened up my view of the world and gave me permission to dream about a different life.
I didn’t know it then, but it was the start of something bigger and longer lasting than simply a year of my life. The experience would go on to influence and shape my mindset and choices in unexpected ways from my career path as physician-turned-marketer to the way I’ve approached my marriage and raising kids.
Recently I listened to a podcast interview in which Tony Hale, the actor best known for his roles as Buster Bluth in Arrested Development and as Gary Walsh in Veep, discussed the constant and ruthless rejection and cycle of negative feedback that actors receive in the normal course of auditioning for work. Referencing the contrast between how casually that feedback is given versus the lasting and agonizing impact that it can have on actors, he noted, “Words aren’t treated as precious as they should be.”
Frequently, we hold onto other people’s words and opinions as valued dogma, when so often those words are expressed unplanned, off the cuff, or impromptu. Words are freely given and tossed around lightly, bantered about like something of little value. Yet we hold on.
I don’t fault my biology professor for playing his “role” perfectly. His life’s work was biology and he was only expressing what he felt to be true. He also didn’t have any idea what tremendous impact his words had on me — the doubt they seeded and grew. With a few brief words, he upended my confidence. My guess is that he promptly forgot he shared that advice with me. Yet for days and weeks afterwards I was so ready to give power to those words.
Because my path, choices, and transitions have often not been practical, I need to continually remind myself people don’t always treat words as precious. Whether I’m quitting my job, starting my own business, moving to a different country, or pursuing any outlandish dream — the naysayers and their un-precious words have always been there to point out the impracticality of those plans.
Words are not precious. And so I let go.
Looking back, I can’t imagine my life without that impractical year in Paris. In fact, it’s been my most impractical life choices that — while often daunting and overwhelming — have been the most rewarding and brought me the most joy.
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When was the last time you chose an impractical path? What impractical life choice would you make if you followed your gut instinct or weren’t afraid. I’d love to hear from you. Drop me a line!
