The Amnesia of Mandated "Success"

African Americans rose up out of slavery, fought through the tundra of Jim Crow segregation and achieved Civil Rights for the betterment of all Americans. Somehow, along the way, either out of necessity or mimicry of best practices, black people moved to cure themselves of the ailments of injustice by a calculated prescription of: school + work + opportunity = healthy American dreams. Sense I can remember, I have been indoctrinated into this ideology of success. However, recently I have been flooded with so many emotions - a sea of feelings that not only overwhelm me but they cause the projection of images in my mind that hint of more innocent and vibrant Johmyrin. Someone not so bent on gaining as many degrees as possible. Someone who is dangerously unfamiliar. Someone who knows that the prescription for success was faulted - anachronistic for its purpose in my life. 

My parents have always preached the value of education. I bought that sermon on DVD. I've seen how my mother elevated herself from the vicious cycle of poverty even with some very substantial obstacles standing in her way. For some reason this formula worked. It worked so much that my father had my educational path chosen for me the day I enrolled in nursery school. "He's gon be a doctor!" My dad's words would always evoke a very plastic smile on my face. I was very much so capable of becoming a doctor but where did my strong distaste of hospitals and research fit in? Kind of a hard pairing. I never wanted to be a doctor and it took many sleepless nights to convince me that I was insane - I was going against the formula. 

In my darkest of hours in reflection and revelation, I started to see glimpses of that young boy again, memories that I should have been able to incorporate into the success formula. Somehow, they were going to force themselves out of my mind one way or another. The most startling scene was me with several bottles of my mothers hair products sitting on the back porch stirring up concoctions in the new tupperware. My mom always thought food walked out the house with the tupperware so I was never suspected of crimes of wasteful behavior. However, I was inquisitive. Seeing color changes, creating gases, and observing two liquids turning into solids was vastly more intriguing than anything else going on in the neighborhood at that time. The lower class black boy's chemistry lab. It didn't dawn on me until yesterday, as I sat at this computer in a general malaise, that chemistry had always been my first love. So why in the hell did I choose Biology pre-med as a major in college? Because the stupid success formula mandated I do so. I was supposed to give up my talents and maximize my skills in order to be something I did not want to be. Granted, I would make a ton of money, but at the greatest expense - my happiness. 

Now don't get me wrong, I feel like my black family along with many others around the country had to prescribe to some ideology in order to survive in a country set up to keep them down; however, as times had changed they, like those other families, never revisited that prescription. My career was dictated from the things I did well - not the things I enjoyed the most. And with shutting out those things went the memories of my youth. Its weird though because the human soul is raw and eerily noncomplex. It responds to passion with a smile - an ease felt only when one does something successfully in their career that they would likewise do for free. This is where we derive happiness. How unfortunate for me that I had this revelation at 26 years old? But, in opposition to this, I think "Thank God this wasn't 10 years from now..." 

So, now I am at square one. I have earned three degrees and yet, because I am breaking away from the prescription and following my passion, I can finally apply to schools that have my real interest - Pharmacy - the delicate combination of the 11 year old inquisitiveness in me with that of a driven scientist. I get to impact the lives of others and do it through Chemistry. The little boy on the back porch is alive once again. He can smell the various aromas of a vast array of chemicals, observe the amazing effects of  phase change, and incorporate his passion into a profitable business that serves several people's needs. 

My soul is rebuilding as I take the first step away from the path of success.