lucy murdock
Photography by Greer Diaz
If you’re reading this, allow yourself to evolve.
At midday, along the busiest street on campus, I walked home with my head down, tears streaming down my face, so consumed by distress that I could hardly make out my surroundings. I felt hopeless as if I had lost my very sense of self—a devastating threat to the identity I had unknowingly clung to for so long.
In retrospect, it’s hard to believe that such a profound, world-shifting experience was triggered by a single homework assignment. But that’s the nature of attachment to ego. As Pema Chödrön says, “Ego clinging is our means of denial. Once we have the fixed idea of ‘this is me,’ then we see everything as a threat… it can become devastating.”
As a child, my dad would give me lessons in simple arithmetic, filling the chalkboard in our basement with long division problems and guiding me through each solution. I loved it—and, more importantly, I was good at it. Like many of my childhood hobbies, math became a defining part of who I was, a pillar of my identity. I wasn’t just good at math; I was determined to excel.
This rigid self-perception shaped many of my choices in middle and high school, leading me to chase the joy of academic validation over the fulfillment I found in subjects like creative writing or art. I loved to draw and paint, but I was never exceptional. Because of this, I dismissed my artistic interests as “bad”—they threatened my sense of identity and pushed me outside my comfort zone in a way that felt uncomfortable.
When I started college, I chose to major in both graphic design and computer science—a combination that, at the time, felt like the perfect balance of my interests. It allowed me to excel in STEM while still giving myself a creative outlet.
In my first semester of art school, I quickly realized that my work didn’t measure up to many of my classmates. Yet, instead of feeling discouraged, I found the challenge deeply fulfilling and was determined to improve.
The following fall, I enrolled in my second computer science class. I had done well in the first, but to my surprise, I found myself dreading and procrastinating the assignments—something that felt out of character for me. I had always prided myself on staying on top of my work, yet here I was, avoiding it.
By the time the second project rolled around in CS 300, my anxiety was so overwhelming that even opening my laptop made me feel sick. It wasn’t that I doubted my ability—I knew I could complete the assignment if I pushed through. But deep down, I realized the real source of my fear: I no longer wanted to be on the STEM track. My heart was pulling me toward design.
I left the library in tears, unable to fathom losing the fixed identity I had held onto for so long. In the following days I realized I had two options: resisting the overwhelming emotions, allowing them to fuel my anxiety, or to lean into them with curiosity and try to uncover what they could tell me about my own desires. What felt like my world falling apart became, in hindsight, a powerful opportunity for growth.
Now, I have shed the computer science classes and have focused all my efforts into becoming the best designer that I can be; it has fueled my soul and brought me success in ways I wouldn’t have imagined 2 years ago.
You are not your fixed view of yourself. When we encounter things that threaten our self-identities, rather than feeling afraid, we can approach these challenges with curiosity and celebrate the opportunity for growth that they provide us.
Lucy M., University of Wisconsin
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