By Katherine Marcus ’19
I decided to pursue a concentration in STEAM at the end of my sophomore year. It seemed like a natural progression, as I had always loved math and science, and taking a few extra classes didn't seem too bad. That decision came back to haunt me my first day of senior year when I had to go to the STEAM room to start my year-long independent project.
I don't know why, but I began to panic. Even though I had survived computer science the year before, as I sat down and looked at my 8 classmates, I began to feel very, very out of place. All around me were members of the robotics and math teams — people who built computers for fun. I felt intimidated, and I worried about what I had gotten myself into.
These feelings only increased during the first week. Everyone, it seemed, already had ideas of what they wanted to make. I, on the other hand, had spent most of the first class staring at all the contraptions that lined the walls of the rooms. Everywhere I looked I saw boxes of wires, sensors, and things labeled with words I didn't know. I felt as though I had entered a French classroom — I take Spanish, by the way. I wanted to join conversations, but I felt as though I first needed to know what a rocket nozzle was before I tried to comment on which configuration would allow for the best air flow. I felt dumb, and I felt like I did not belong. Nevertheless, I decided to give it more time, hoping it would get better.
It didn't get better. In fact, in each class I began to talk less and less, and only contributed when forced to. Staying quiet in class is not my norm, and it felt odd to have so little to say.
For one activity, we had to pick three random words from different categories and make an invention. My words were bugs, glass, and footwear. My invention: glass shoes for bugs. Groundbreaking, I know. Unfortunately, I had the pleasure of presenting first. As I awkwardly held up my drawing of a caterpillar with shoes on, I was met with an even more awkward silence. Thankfully, the next person, Alex, quickly got up to present his idea. Alex's words were eyewear, water, and something else I can't remember, and his invention was glasses that could change prescription by flooding the lenses with water. As everyone oohed and aahed over Alex's really cool product, I told myself I was done. I was embarrassed by my idea, and by my lack of knowledge in general. I was too far behind. I had the engineering skills that my classmates had when they were in Lower School. I just didn't see myself ever being able to make anything, so I decided it would be best to just quit. I felt as though I was wasting everyone's time including my own.
However, as I lay in bed that night, I thought about what I had to lose by continuing the class, besides a free period and my self-confidence. The answer was: nothing. Everyone knew that I knew nothing. I had already humiliated myself. I also felt like I would be letting down women in general if I dropped the class: there was only one other girl in the class of nine (quick shout-out to Leah!).
So, I became determined to make the most of it and decided to be proactive instead of silently suffering. If I didn't know something, instead of sitting there and berating myself, I would ask questions. Instead of wishing I knew how to use the 3D printer, I would ask Will to show me. For the next month, I asked lots of questions. And, sure enough, I started to progress. Slowly, but surely.
My progress was different than my classmates, because everyone's progress is. For me, it was not having to ask which wire to plug into the breadboard. It was using the laser printer by myself. It was doing things that many others found simple. And that's okay. Progress is not linear. I had to learn to not get caught up comparing my beginning to someone else's middle. I won't lie and say it was easy, that I was suddenly cured of all my embarrassment, because that's not true. Just a few weeks ago I had to summon up the courage to tell Ms. Smith that no, I didn't do my homework because I didn't even know how to plug in the light sensor, let alone use it. There still are times where I don't want to ask really simple questions, but I have to set aside my pride, because it's the only way I'm going to learn.
As I stand here today, about five months after that first class, I have learned a lot. I've learned how to use arduinos and linear actuators. I've learned how to solder. More importantly, I've learned to be vulnerable. I've learned how to ask for help. I've learned that people really don't care if I sound "stupid," they're just happy to help. I've learned that it's okay to say, "I don't know." It's okay to be bad at things. Everyone was once a beginner, even Dr. Kuhn. I've learned that there is no timeline to your life. It is never too late to start something new.
We all feel like we have to know exactly what we're supposed to do in life, but I've learned from my family and my friends that there is no due date, no rule that says we can't change. My sister picked up rowing as a sophomore in college. My other sister changed her major twice before discovering her true passion. My brother, well, he's still figuring himself out, but he's taking a route that is genuine to himself, and he's not rushing.
I've spent the majority of my life doing what has come easy to me, but I'm so glad I stuck with STEAM this year. Even if my project doesn't work in April (and I'm sorry to say there is a strong chance it won't), I have learned so much from the experiences and have felt so much satisfaction from sticking with it.
If you want to pick up a new language or sport or activity, go for it. Even if you fail initially. Even if you have no idea what you're doing. Even if it's scary. As the wise Caroline Myss said: "Always go with the choice that scares you the most, because that's the one that is going to help you grow." So, as you choose your courses for next year, and to my fellow seniors, as we go off to college, I encourage us all to take risks. To ask stupid questions. To go with the choice that scares you the most.