To Hold Your Dreams Close

I don't allow myself to reveal my dreams to very many people. I like to keep them close, nurturing them, hoping that they will come to fruition. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to set high expectations, I already do that too much in my own mind; I don’t need the same nagging external feeling that I’m not doing enough. Maybe it’s because I don’t like being vulnerable with people I can’t trust. Maybe, I like to hold my dreams as secrets. So that when I achieve them, I will be happy for myself. I don’t need outside praise or approval, I can find it within.

I’m sure there are many other possibilities as to why I don’t tell people my dreams. It could be both positive and negative, but I just let it live as is. It’s something I just do, I keep them to myself.

This is why it may come as a surprise to say, my high school physics teacher was in on them.

***

I had no interest in physics.

Well, maybe not no interest. Interstellar is my favorite movie and I can get kind of nerdy over math proofs. But I had no interest in doing it again, after this class.

My physics teacher knew that.

But he also knew that I put in the effort to do the best I possibly could. And that, I do the same for everything I’m passionate about. So, even if I wasn’t going to pursue this, I could still be passionate about learning and understanding.

See, physics didn’t (well, doesn’t) come naturally to me. You might think, “Does physics come naturally to anyone?” and the answer to that would be, yes. Absolutely. To the other kids in my class. It’s not that they didn’t put in a lot of work, it's that they put in a lot of work and could get further ahead than me. In the same amount of time.

Again, I had absolutely no stakes in physics. None, whatsoever. So this fact didn’t bother me as much. Yes, it was frustrating getting a 20% on a quiz when I put in 10 hours studying but hey, I just had to get through this class.

And to get through this class, I had to go to extra help. Every other day. I honestly don’t understand why they call it “extra help” in high school. It makes it sound so deprecating, especially when it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be embarrassing for kids to want to do better in their classes. They should change it to “office hours” like in higher education, but this is beside my point. I was at “extra help” often.

All of my circumstances didn’t keep me from trying. Just because I didn’t love it or wasn’t the best at it, didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it. I put in an abnormal amount of effort for someone who never intended on taking a science course in college.

I was constantly asking questions, trying to understand the material on my own, and then going back to my teacher for more questions. This is where he came to see my natural urge to get things right. No matter how many times I failed.

***

Over the beginning of the year, I shared snippets of myself in everyday conversation. But everything I said came to be because of something else; I was giving excuses for bringing topics of myself up. I would mention I had to leave extra help early (because I was cast as the lead in the school play) and I will not be in class tomorrow (because I have an audition for a college BFA program).

Now, these excuses were necessary. For me, at least. I never felt like someone who could just say “Sorry, leaving in five minutes,” or “I can’t come.” I’ve always needed to give the why.

It turns out, someone I had never thought would share something in common with me, did. If I hadn’t mentioned the why, I would have never known.

My physics teacher used to be a performer.

He did the whole high school musical gig, even sang in college.

Because of this, he turned out to be one of the sole teachers I told my dreams to. Not in a stereotypical way of saying, “When I grow up, I want to be a…” but more so just in casual conversation; “Right now, at this point in my life, this is what I’d like to do in the future.”

He encouraged me to pursue them, even though “I could have a future in science if I wanted to.”

What I appreciated the most was his unwavering idea that if I wanted to be something, I could. It is a non-competitive mindset that is difficult to find within the world of performance. And because of it, I found confidence in the world of science. Comfort, even.

Maybe the uncertainty of the universe, the undiscovered space, the vastness of the oceans, and the indescribable phenomenons created his worldview. That there is very little we can be certain of, but when we are certain, when we can solve the equation, it can be glorious. Whatever it may be, it helped. I could imagine new worlds for myself, new options, new goals.

There is a peculiar sense of tranquility in knowing and understanding this uncertainty.

***

As it has been years since his class, it is interesting to think that he may not even remember. I don’t remember the equation for surface tension off the top of my head like I once did. Polarization is a word that has left my personal dictionary. Perhaps my name would ring a bell and he would remember the many times I stood at the whiteboard. But I wasn’t an extremely outgoing person at school. I’d like to call myself funny, but school wasn’t a place where I felt I could joke around. I took it pretty seriously. Regardless, I hope he has knowledge of his significance.

I truly have never had a teacher cultivate a safe space in a subject that felt so incredibly foreign. It simply didn’t seem so scary anymore, even after the 20%. In a place where I would often feel my lowest, I also received the confidence to pursue whatever I wanted.

And if my dream changes, it changes. Things can be uncertain and exciting.

I don’t need to be stuck to one thing, one idea of who I am and what I can do. I am more than that. So, I hold my dreams close. And only allow those who understand its malleability to see them.