There have been many moments in my life when I have been faced with a question: Do I take the path that is expected of me? Or do I try to find my own way, following my strengths and passion?
For years, I did the former. When I was twelve years old, I really wanted to be a cheerleader. Some of my friends were trying out for the basketball cheerleading squad. While I had little interest in basketball, cheerleading sounded like fun and also like the type of activity I was supposed to do.
I raced home that day to talk it over with my parents. They had the annoying habit of questioning my choices, of trying to make me see all sides of a decision. I was nervous about the conversation because I was so determined to join the cheerleading squad with the other girls, and I didn’t want them to ruin that.
As we sat down to dinner, I presented my case. Actually, I begged my parents to let me try out. If I didn’t join the cheerleading squad, I told them, I would be excluded from all my friends’ social activities for the rest of my life, and it would be their fault for raising an antisocial outsider as a daughter.
My folks considered my plight for about thirty seconds. I saw their blank stares turn to pity and then to resolve when they firmly said “no way.” They knew my strengths—and deep down, so did I—and suggested that I would be better suited to hustling on the lacrosse field than attempting to do splits. At first, I felt crushed. But then I thought about it, and as usual, I had to admit that my parents were right. I joined the girls’ lacrosse team and loved it.
I went on to attend Cornell University to pursue a degree in chemical engineering. I figured, hey, I’m pretty good at math and science, and I hear that engineers get jobs when they graduate. At the time, I thought I was leaning on the lessons I had gleaned from my adolescence, namely, to make a choice that suited my individual strengths. As a girl, I had considered cheerleading because I thought that was what girls were meant to do, and it was what my friends were doing. And now, here I was, pursuing an engineering degree, something girls didn’t often do. But I hadn’t thought through my plan. I had no idea what an engineer did for a living and hadn’t even considered if I would enjoy being one.
As graduation approached, I had no sense of what I wanted to do with the degree. My classes hadn’t inspired me, and my job interviews were going terribly. So I sat down with a professor whom I admired and asked him the big question: “What should I do with my life?” I remember throwing it at him like I was trying to make casual conversation, just a nonchalant chat about the rest of my life. Meanwhile, the backs of my knees were sweating, and I had ripped a piece of my notebook paper into five hundred teeny tiny pieces.
He gave me a meaningful look and said, “You should go into pharmaceutical sales.”
My heart sank. An image flashed across my brain of me in a professional yet embarrassingly flirty outfit convincing a group of doctors that my drug brand is better because it only kills people less-than-sometimes whereas the competitors’ brand kills people more-than-sometimes. That was definitely not what I wanted to do, and I had this nagging suspicion that he made the suggestion because I was a woman.
THERE HAVE BEEN MANY MOMENTS IN MY LIFE WHEN I HAVE BEEN FACED WITH A QUESTION: DO I TAKE THE PATH THAT IS EXPECTED OF ME? OR DO I TRY TO FIND MY OWN WAY, FOLLOWING MY STRENGTHS AND PASSION?
I didn’t take his advice, and I was nowhere closer to getting a job. So I did what many people in that position do: I kept studying. It’s the moment in life that I call “When in doubt, get a master’s degree.” I got mine in biomedical engineering. When I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after that, I applied and was accepted into a PhD program in neuroscience.
As the start date of the program loomed, I found myself feeling more and more stressed out. I wasn’t taking care of myself; I wasn’t sleeping or eating. I finally decided to take a step back and think about my life.
Just before this moment, I had taken a monthlong trip to Zambia to build houses for Habitat for Humanity. While I was there, I was surprised to see families and children who were happy despite the fact that they appeared to have little in the way of material possessions. When I looked back on that trip, it dawned on me that I was profoundly unhappy in my career path. Here I was, someone who had been given every opportunity in life and could choose to do whatever she wanted to do but couldn’t seem to find happiness. I realized that if I started that PhD program, I was going to spend seven years (or more!) pursuing something I wasn’t passionate about, followed by a life in a job that I wouldn’t enjoy. I knew I could not fake happy for all my life. So, without knowing what I was going to do, I quit the PhD program two weeks before it was supposed to start.
For the first time in years, my life had no structure. Even though I hadn’t particularly liked my studies, they had given me a sense of purpose. My parents praised my good grades. It felt good to brag to friends about my accomplishments. It was amazing to say the words “PhD in neuroscience” out loud and just watch the faces light up. But at the end of the day, I felt unfulfilled—I needed to find a path that brought me inner joy, not just gratification from others.
When I thought about every time I had been happy in life, I realized food was involved. Helping my mother with her catering business when I was growing up, trying out different recipes to keep sane while cramming for exams—those were the happy memories that had stuck with me. I decided to try to find a job in the restaurant industry. I set out, résumé in hand, to the best restaurants in Washington, DC. No one would hire me to cook, but the general manager at one of José Andrés’s restaurants, Café Atlántico/Minibar, offered me a job as a server.
From my first day, I knew working in restaurants was what I wanted and needed to do for the rest of my life. I loved the energy, speed, pressure, and precision that went into the restaurant business; I only had to figure out how to make my way into the kitchen. Still, it felt as if the moment I made the career change—to go after something I really loved—doors started opening for me. I met Felix Meana, who is now my husband, who supported my career change and helped me meet the right people to make it happen. I moved into the kitchen during an internship at Jean Georges in New York City and then in Los Angeles at the Bazaar by José Andrés. I had the opportunity to work in the kitchen at elBulli, a Michelin three-star restaurant in Spain and the top-ranked restaurant in the world for five years. I took all this experience and moved to Asheville, North Carolina, to open my own restaurant with my husband and my parents.
Six years later, at the time of this writing, I am the chef and co-owner of two restaurants in Asheville. I was named one of Food & Wine magazine’s Best New Chefs, I was a finalist for the James Beard Rising Star Chef of the Year, and I have published my first cookbook. Life is rolling right along, and I can’t wait to see where this career takes me.
When I look back on that moment when I decided to drop out of my PhD program, I think, “Thank goodness I finally figured out what makes me happy and where my strengths lie.” Doing so changed my life forever.
Bottom line: Do what you love, not what you think is expected of you. Follow your true passion no matter where it leads. It will help you find your strength in life and success, but more important, happiness will follow.