At West Point, a young cadet felt completely miserable. His mother knew a sharp man who happened to be the 16th president of the United States, and he wrote this message: stay true to your plan for a military education, and you’ll soon feel better; falter and you’ll regret it for life. I never would have imagined those words would apply to someone like me trying to figure out his life more than a century later, but they did.
In the summer of 2016, I found myself at a crossroads after finishing my Master’s and thinking about doctoral study in health behavior. But fear took over. My mind filled with worries: “My life won’t start until I’m done, and I’ll be 31,” “I’ll be far behind everyone else,” “What if I decide I don’t want to teach and do research after all?” A PhD would mean four more years of school, and I wasn’t sure I could commit to that when I just wanted to move forward.
So I panicked and started exploring other paths. I would drive to a health and fitness center in Ithaca to talk about becoming a dietitian. I drove to Syracuse to discuss nursing with someone I knew. I called my cousin in California to ask about being a physician’s assistant. I spoke with Cortland faculty about entry into PA programs. I talked to physical therapists and even began the application process for physical therapy school. Everything seemed like a safe, high-paying option with a clear path ahead. I felt pulled in many directions.
But each time I considered a new path, the fear of four more years and an uncertain future eased temporarily, only to come back stronger. Then a few moments gave me real insight. Beyond the advice I read from old voices, I pushed myself physically—running trails, trying to clear my head. One night, as darkness and rain closed in, I began to see the pattern: none of those careers would let me use my voice to make a real positive impact. If I didn’t pursue something I was genuinely passionate about, I would be miserable for the long run.
Fear is an emotion I can’t control, but I can choose whether it drives me or not. I knew that if I didn’t follow my real purpose, I would regret it. A modern take on Churchill’s idea helped me: change is not just a sign of improvement, it’s a difficult, sometimes painful process. My version is simple: if you want to improve, you’re going to have to deal with some stuff.
When faced with a choice, I decided to take the leap and embrace the fear. I applied to PhD programs, I was accepted, and I’ll be joining the University of Massachusetts Boston this summer in the Exercise and Health Sciences program.
People often look at others’ achievements with awe and wonder how they got there. Most likely, they did it by dealing with some tough stuff—working hard, stepping out of their comfort zone, and getting used to being uncomfortable. For me, it was about an eight-month stretch of confronting uncertainty and years of work to become a strong candidate.
I’m sharing this because a simple “I’m going back to school” post wouldn’t tell the full story, and I hope my experience can help others. Taking a leap is scary, but I’m excited for what’s next.
