I recently spent a period of three days in an identity crisis. My future seemingly lay before me in one decision - would I dedicate myself to science, the path I’d always been interested in, or would I consider a future in the humanities, an idea I’d barely allowed myself to think about?

Ever since I was a child, science has been the bedrock of every comforting daydream of my future career. Growing up listening to my father’s stories of medical school and the melodic jargon of medical academia, I’ve always been easily able to picture an adult, self-assured version of myself striding through a hospital, heels clicking and lab coat flying behind me, spouting urgent phrases with gusto. For a kid who could never decide between salad or a burger at restaurants, or between this or that shade of pink t-shirt to wear, I took for granted that this one decision, the most important decision - my future - was seemingly set in stone.

So, when it came time to apply for a rigorous biology program in eleventh grade, my enthusiasm should have been unwavering, right? Well, what you eventually start to learn about childhood dreams is that your chosen future is undeniably going to challenge you. And when I’d switched schools, the responses other people had given me when I said I wanted to be a doctor had abruptly changed from “That’s so cool! You can do it!” to “Everyone here wants to be a doctor” or “You know how soul-crushing medical school is, right?” Those fears, combined with the fact that I’ve always enjoyed writing and was momentarily struggling in my biology class, started to give me pause. At the arts-focused school I’d attended before, I’d felt like a science person, but at my new science-focused school, I sometimes felt like a misplaced humanities person. What even was I? Was I both, or neither?

All of these feelings whirled in my stomach like a tornado of insecurity as I stared at the application. I was tasked with creating an experiment idea, but in that moment, no idea I could think of seemed palatable to me. I thought, If I’m not inspired, why am I doing this? The idea of a future of rote memorization and uncreative routine latched into my chest suddenly and painfully, like a fist grabbing my heart and squeezing. “I’m not applying,” I proclaimed to my parents, closing my laptop. “I don’t even think I want to be a doctor anymore.” As soon as the words escaped my brain and hit the October air, I felt more free. My future was no longer a tunnel but rather an open plain of possibility.

Those three days when I thought I wanted to dedicate myself to the humanities were much less enjoyable than I’d expected, though. Granted, certain aspects of myself, like my love for overly specific extended metaphors and my insistence on color-coordinating my outfits, started falling into place if I thought of myself as a words person, but the problem I kept running into was that I still loved science. Even as I was struggling in my biology class, the concepts we were learning, of altering the DNA of actual living organisms and changing life itself, still enthralled me. As much as I was terrified of life without creativity, I was just as sad at the thought of giving up science. Plus, from realizing that what I truly cared about was people, I’d finally come to a project idea that I could actually argue for with passion. Even if I wasn’t as sure that I wanted to be a doctor, I thought I might as well try for every opportunity I had, so in the end, I did end up applying to that program. I realized that I’d perhaps been slightly overdramatic to think that my whole future hinged on this one decision, but nonetheless, it caused me to open my options and gain a more realistic view of what I could plan for.

For the purposes of fictionalization, I wished this story had a neater ending, but in actuality, I’ve come to appreciate the intermediate shades in between the extremes of pure art and pure science. Right now, I’m content being less of an ardent worshipper of one path, since wherever I go, there will be people to care about and words to write for them. Creativity is part of me, and it won’t go away if I choose to pursue science. Even if I don’t always know exactly who I am, I’m ready for what the future will teach me.