Chemicals. Molecules. Experiments. The smile on my face broadened as I examined myself in the full-length mirror of my dorm room, trying on my brand-new, crisp-white lab coat. Just the thought of what the next five years would bring added to my excitement as I snapped a picture of myself to post on Facebook, along with the caption, “Chemist in the Making.”
It was really happening. This dream that I had been harboring since I was 6 years old was finally starting to come true. I was an undergrad at Drexel University, earning my bachelor’s degree in chemistry, and there was nothing that would prevent me from achieving my goals.
However, my plan did not unfold exactly as I had anticipated.
It started out perfectly. There I was in Philadelphia, excited as can be, ready to conduct experiments and write up lab reports. Even the mundane aspects of the field, such as balancing equations and calculating mole conversions, roused my interest. It wasn’t until my A’s morphed into C’s and I found myself constantly staying up all hours of the night that the fear set in and threatened to transform my lifelong dreams into distant memories. Then midterms rolled around, and I knew I was finished.
I spent the majority of that week in tears. Phone calls home were more frequent than ever. My mom was trying to make sense of the situation, my sister told me that all I needed to do was join a sorority and make friends, and my dad, being his usual quiet self, offered no help whatsoever. I was in full-on panic mode. I made rash decisions just to ease my anxiety, including returning home at the end of the semester to enroll in a two-year program at my local community college to become an assistant district attorney, just like Alex Cabot on “Law and Order: SVU.” My mother insisted that I finish the year at Drexel and stop watching so much television.
Despite what I thought was my better judgment, I relented and agreed to remain at Drexel until my final semester ended in June. I still didn’t have a plan, though, and that had me worried just as much as I had been for the previous three weeks. I knew I had to change my major, because there was no way I was going to take the next course in Chemistry, let alone Calculus II and Physics. The damage that would have caused to my GPA would have prevented me from getting accepted into Clown College.
Trying to figure out my future in a matter of days is no easy task, and I wasn’t having much success on my own. I enlisted the help of my family once again, and the vote was unanimous. I printed out the form online and took it directly to my advisor to change my major to English.
Being in the seventh week of 10-week long classes, there weren’t many courses with seats available for me to choose from for my second semester. I must have had a little bit of luck on my side, however, because I was able to enroll in five classes in the Humanities to begin after winter break. With that knowledge, I was finally able to focus on my current schedule and devote all of my strength and willpower to passing my final exams.
With my newfound success, I packed up my suitcases and left Philadelphia in the rearview mirror. My head was now clear enough to allow me to thoroughly think through a decision, and I enrolled in Penn State Harrisburg to finish my degree. Many factors contributed to my decision, including my change of major and the realization that I could save some much-needed cash if I stayed at home and commuted to school. I started my journey thinking that I needed Drexel to make my dreams come true; I am continuing it with the knowledge that the school doesn’t make me triumphant. I alone make that happen.
A year-and-a-half later, I’m preparing for finals once again. Even though I am no longer studying at Drexel, I am still working on a degree in English, and I am confident that I made the right choice. It was difficult for me to realize that the dream I had spent over a decade striving for was no longer a reality, and, although I have a new dream and new goals, I still sometimes wonder if I would have been able to push through and become the chemist that I always imagined myself to be. I try to push those thoughts out of my head. I know I can’t go back; I have to keep moving forward.
Standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom at home, I run my brush through my hair one more time and apply another coat of mascara to my eyelashes. I am not wearing a lab coat. I am not going to school today to dissect gaseous mixtures or combine ionic compounds. I’m dressed in jeans and a soft cotton tee shirt, and I decide I’m ready for another day of analyzing “The Maid’s Tragedy” and learning about ethics in creative writing. Before I head out the door, I take my cell phone out of my back pocket. I pull up the camera and aim it at the mirror. When the focus sharpens, I smile and press the circular icon on the touchscreen. I slip on a light jacket as I log onto my Facebook account, and I upload the picture I just took. I can no longer caption it with the phrase “Chemist in the Making,” so I come up with a better set of words.
When I arrive at school 20 minutes later, I tap the icon on my phone that is alerting me to the fact that there has been some activity on my profile. The information brings a smile to my face again. Seven people have “liked” the photo I posted, the photo with the caption, “Author in Progress.”
Taylor Melhorn is an English major at Penn State Harrisburg.
