This time last year, I was one month into a botany course at my local community college. It was the first science course I’d taken since 1991. In the almost thirty years since undergrad (gulp), I’ve taken courses in writing, graphic design, web design, painting, computers, and engagement coaching. Absolutely no science.
There was a very good reason for that. I respect science. I believe in science. But for most of my life I believed I was not good at science. I clung to that thought despite a number of science successes: fourth and fifth grade science fair ribbons; highly-praised, tenth-grade dissection illustrations; and helping my study group balance chemistry equations. Instead, I focused on science flops like nearly failing high school physics (never mind I’d just moved to a new state/school halfway through the semester). Struggling with math and science became as much a part of my identity as brown hair and hazel eyes.
Well into middle age, what I finally realized is that “bad at science” is just a story I told myself — a false story — because I loved my botany class. I frequently found myself reading beyond what was required. It was like untangling a puzzle. I learned precisely why the leaves of deciduous trees turn colors and how that process happens. I learned that what I thought of as a single blossom on a cone flower was actually many individual flowers. I learned how to use the identification key in front of all those field guides I keep buying.
Most importantly, I learned that I am actually good at science. It’s true that some concepts come easier than others, but I’m perfectly capable of the extra effort required to learn those trickier topics. I can even enjoy the process. It’s a freeing revelation.
That said, if you don’t mind, I’ll steer clear of physics for a while.
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