What to Be or What Not to Be—That is the Question

Neferty Amooyan

Features

With the deadline for university applications inching closer every day, the minds of many grade twelve students are clouded with thoughts of, “what do I want to do in the future,” or, “is it too late to change my mind?” Maybe even, “who am I and what do I love,” and, “why are university applications so expensive?!” Although there are no definitive answers to these mind-boggling questions (especially the last one), a little advice can slow a student’s plummet into the existential wormhole of the future—and what better way to offer advice than with some storytelling?

Flipping between pursuing a PhD and teaching, with Toronto, the corporate world, and Algonquin Park in the mix, Dr. Williams has truly been through it all. His journey begins in the UK in a biological chemistry course, created from complaints that a biochemistry degree had more to do with the first three letters than the rest of the word. His undergraduate program provided the craziest schedule: Mondays and Tuesdays were reserved for labs lasting up to 7 hours a day, leaving the rest of the week to pack the rest of his courses. Understandably, Dr. Williams had zero electives for the first two years but has no regrets—the labs were worth it.

Just about to begin his graduate program at the same university, his supervisor decided to venture off to a new country. Dr. Williams could not follow, so he decided to halt his PhD and pursue his new interest—teaching. But right after getting accepted into a teacher's college, another supervisor asked if he would like to pursue his graduate studies under her jurisdiction. He thought a lot about whether to pursue teaching or a PhD, but ultimately decided on the latter—he would end up teaching during it anyway.

In the midst of his graduate program, Dr. Williams traveled halfway across the world to Toronto and ended up at Mount Sinai’s Lunenfeld-Tanenbaum Research Institute. He found a chemist who conducted fine cell work he never tried before, took a chance, and knocked on his door. Three hours later, he had a job on the condition that he finish his PhD. He flew back to the UK, finished up his thesis, and forgot he was supposed to be a teacher…but, that could wait.

After five years, Dr. Williams learned something essential about the chemist—he did not want his job, spending all day writing grant proposals so others could conduct fun experiments. He had resolved to his role as an administrator but Dr. Williams was a bit of a wanderer—he did not want to stick with one thing the rest of his life. His slump was interrupted when a new machine arrived and Dr. Williams was required to install and train others how to use it. He began to see a pattern, as the highlight of his time spent there was teaching.

Dr. Williams got into the University of Toronto’s teaching college but was approached by a big law firm that requested he teach lawyers science. He accepted and eventually underwent training to be a patent agent. Dr. Williams had officially ventured into the corporate world and discovered it was absolutely not for him. The entire debacle lasted a year and concluded with a break from everything. He took off to the middle of Algonquin Park and after a near-death experience involving a tree, decided to go back to what he knew he loved most—teaching. He thanked his boss for the opportunity, departed, went to teacher’s college at the University of Toronto, and ended up as a teacher candidate at Earl Haig—though that was all a decade ago.

Dr. Williams’ academic adventures as a wanderer, trying to explore several interests, closely resemble the conflict many seniors currently face. However, it is his journey that matters, and Dr. Williams said it best himself: as much as he loved science, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life studying one molecule. The same applies to students: you shouldn’t decide the molecule you’ll spend the rest of your lives studying right now, if ever—focus on learning to love the process. That’s where you’ll find the answer to your mind-boggling, existential questions—probably not the cost of university applications, though.