Lesson #1: Don't Be Afraid to Fail
I grew up in French Canada, so you'd think that would make all of us naturally bilingual. It doesn't. When you live with your Jewish anglo parents, go to English school, have English friends, and watch American movies and television, you find yourself languishing in a second language class conjugating the verb "to be" for 11 years straight. To say I was bored was an understatement. But I did relish my neat array of 100% report cards.
By the time I was finishing high school, something of a budding linguist and smart alec, my French teacher approached me with the option to transfer to the French literature class. For native speakers. I said "not a chance in hell," but she was persuasive, appealing to my overachiever/perfectionist side: "Mais c'est un défit! It will be a challenge of you!" Fine. I was sold. For two years I toiled in one of the hardest classes I've ever taken in my life (second only to advanced bioorganic chemistry at Harvard, I kid you not), only to get near- failing grades that would forever tarnish my perfect A+ record. Never mind that I still got in to Harvard, that one blip on my transcript followed me to every interview, and was met with quizzical disapproving scowls from admissions officers the world over.
That was the last time I was taking a risk!
When I got to Harvard I was a fish out of water, a small fish in a big pond who thought she was a killer whale. Back home I was the star pupil, the apple of every teacher's eye; at Harvard, I was simply just another genius. Average. Not Nobel material. Not even brighter than the football jocks who outshone me in my legal theory section week after week my first semester.
I struggled through my premed classes, attempting to fill my course load with easy As, avoiding courses with papers because I was convinced I "couldn't write" because I once received a B from an unimaginative English teacher who didn't approve of my comparative analysis of The Day of The Triffids and Coleridge's The Albatross.
I though it was pretty inspired stuff for a 16-year-old.
In my senior year a rare seminar course was offered called "Thinking About Thinking," taught by such luminaries as E.O. Wilson and Steven Jay Gould. It was a graduate level course, but open to 4th year students. I contemplated. I hesitated. I never registered.
It is one of the great regrets of my young academic life.
So terrified of failing, I prevented myself from learning from the world's greatest thinkers, some of whom are no longer with us.
Today, I would be camping out in front of the registrar's office, climbing over other students to be the first to sign up.
Because along the way I've learned that there are no stupid questions. Only fear. And I have a lot more to say.