Long before I had fancy titles or stood in front of rooms as the resident “expert,” I was just an instrumental chemist. I loved the hands-on part of the work: preparing standard solutions, mixing reagents, operating instrumentation, and dealing with complex issues and unexpected results. I had the freedom to experiment and make mistakes as I figured things out. But over time, my success shifted my way of thinking. As the applause grew louder, I received more recognition, expectations increased, and without even realizing it, I traded my passion and curiosity for experimenting in the lab for the heavy burden of feeling like I had to be the expert; I had to know it all.
Upon reflection, I put on the mask of knowing everything just so people would see me as the authority, and I let that boost my ego. I’m blessed to have a mind that picks up concepts and solves problems quickly, but that sense of confidence turned into arrogance. I stopped asking for help and stopped looking to others for advice or feedback.
Take building a campfire, for instance. I’m an Eagle Scout, but that doesn’t mean I automatically knew everything about starting a fire. Back then, though, people automatically expected me to be the expert because of my Eagle Scout award, so I was obsessed with building the absolute “perfect” campfire. To meet everyone’s expectations, I needed to show off my skills and prove I could do it completely on my own, even in a pouring rainstorm, without needing anyone’s help or advice.
The same thing happened in real life. I was trying so hard to prove I had all the answers that I shut out the help from other people that I actually needed. I was so caught up in putting on a show that I ended up forgetting the passion, the curiosity that kept me going in the first place.
For example, when we try something new just to see what happens, we’re exploring, like a scientist using the Scientific Method. But when we only do things to show off what we already know, we’re just putting on an act. And acting all the time is exhausting. It takes all the fun out of what you’re doing because you care more about what everyone else thinks than about taking the time to enjoy the process. Now that I am older, I’ve realized I didn’t need an audience. Now I would trade everything to get back to doing what I loved, just being an instrumental chemist, working in a lab again. All the titles and recognition do not necessarily equate to true happiness in life. Sometimes it’s best to go back where you started, where your true passion lies.
