Brody L.
Photography by Emma Joseph
If you’re reading this, it’s never too late to change direction.
The first time I sat in a freshman-level biology class as a senior, I felt ridiculous. Surrounded by students fresh out of high school, I spent most of the first class nervously scanning the room, half-waiting for someone to ask why I was there. A year ago, I wouldn’t have imagined this for myself. However, at the start of my senior year, I decided to pursue medical school without having completed a single prerequisite.
At Wake Forest, it can feel like we’re expected to lock into a career path as soon as we arrive. Freshman year, people were already asking me what I planned to do after graduation. I never really knew, but I felt that 'I don’t know' wasn’t an acceptable answer. So, I answered with commitment: first as a prelaw politics major, then as a business-forward economics major, and then as a counseling track psychology major. Each shift felt less like a discovery and more like a desperate attempt to convince myself I wasn’t falling behind.
The summer before my senior year, I conducted research on emotion regulation using brain imaging. It was the first time I let myself follow a passion without worrying about where it fit into my “plan.” I was fascinated by how something as infinitely complex as human emotion could be traced back to the neuronal populations that created it. My growing curiosity about the mechanisms of the human body pushed me to wonder what life studying it in medicine could be like. I tried to push it away, wrestling with doubt and denial. Switching paths so late felt ridiculous. Would it make my past few years at college a waste? Was it even possible to turn this thought into a reality?
The intrusive thought of switching paths wouldn't go away, but it was met by an idea that scared me even more: myself, ten years down the road, wondering why I didn’t at least try. This version of myself wishes that I had given it a shot while I was 21 with all of the time in the world to be wrong and to try again. It became clear that I would never forgive myself for not pursuing this passion which became increasingly hard to ignore.
So, that fall, I doubled down – I went deeper into my research, began shadowing, and enrolled in Biology I and Chemistry I. As a senior surrounded by freshmen, I felt out of place in a way I hadn’t before. I avoided conversations with classmates, terrified that they would see me as an impostor. I even lied to them, brushing off my enrollment as merely fulfilling a divisional requirement. The embarrassment carried over to my professors and advisors, too, and for a while, I kept my distance, too ashamed to ask for help.
But eventually, I mustered the courage to be honest with my peers and reach out to professors. To my surprise, I wasn’t met with skepticism or judgment—but with encouragement. The more I opened up, the more I realized that my biggest doubter was myself. What had once seemed impossible began to feel, bit by bit, achievable.
I don’t know for certain that medicine is the right path for me. Maybe a year from now, I’ll realize that it isn’t. Not only have I accepted that, I have come to embrace it. If college and our early twenties are not for exploration and failure, then what is it for?
If you’ve ever felt trapped by a decision you’ve made, I hope you give yourself the grace to reconsider. The paths we take aren’t set in stone—what matters is having the courage to move toward what excites you. If that means starting over, then I encourage you to start over with conviction. You owe yourself the chance to see where it leads.
Sincerely,
Brody L., Wake Forest University
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