When I started university, I chose computer science because it was practical and I was pretty good with computers. Still, everything else interested me at least as much. I filled up my schedule with English literature, physics, German language, and anthropology in addition to my required computer science and math courses.
I was getting some help one day from the teaching assistant for my calculus course. She was an older woman, a graduate student from Eastern Europe, serious and pensive. Between integrals, she asked me what I planned to choose as my major. I said with a shrug that I figured I’d do computer science.
She looked at me, deeply concerned, and said something that has stuck with me for decades: “What if you decide you don’t like computer science? You’ll have wasted a whole year of your life!”
I was mystified by her response, and still am. How could a year of learning ever be a waste? Even if I’d switched to theatre after that semester, I still would have gained knowledge and skill in computers and math – whether I used it professionally or not. I would still have memories of the laughter and commiseration in the Comp Sci lab with my fellow students. I would still have lived that year fully, with all its new experiences and discoveries.
It seemed like in her perception, I was up against a tight schedule, trying to beat the clock… but whose clock? And wouldn’t it be worse to discover I didn’t like computer science, but still force myself to go through with a career in it, all because of some sunk-cost fallacy in which a year of my life had become meaningless?
Fortunately, I did like computer science enough to stick with it willingly, even if I’ve occasionally mutated and diverted the course of my career.
Around that same time, there was a Dear Abby advice column in which a reader lamented that they’d always wanted to become a doctor, but hadn’t felt ready until they got older, and thought it might be too late. They wrote, “If I go back to college and get my degree, then go to medical school, do my internship, and finally get into the practice of medicine – it will take me seven years. But Abby, in seven years, I will be 43 years old! What do you think?”
Abby’s response was a single line. “And how old will you be in seven years if you don’t go back to college?”
That stuck with me, too.
I grew up watching my dad explore and develop seemingly random skills like juggling, photography, cello, printmaking, silk painting, carpentry, perfecting a Catalan lamb recipe, all while his own career path curved from education television to teaching music and art. I certainly don’t recall him ever expressing regret over “wasting” time on these endeavours, even the ones he abandoned. I believe that lifelong curiousity is what has kept him sharp and capable into his 90s.
Today I still enjoy learning things for no good reason. I’m learning Japanese on Duolingo, though I have no particular goal. I took two classes in silversmithing, which was interesting but not my jam (it’s a surprisingly tense hobby). I have honed my sourdough skills and recently baked a loaf from a starter I made from sake kasu. These experiences feed my mind and help me gain a wider view of life. They expand my idea of what I’m capable of, and when I occasionally hit my limitations, I’m satisfied that at least I tested them.
Time is going to pass, no matter what you do. Why not fill it with growth and knowledge?