As the clock ticks closer and closer to my graduation, the focus of my life shifts even further from high school onto college. Of course, this makes sense--as one chapter in my life ends, a new one is born. Inevitably, the two questions I get asked most often are the following, which tend to occur in quick sequence of each other:
1) Where are you going to college?
2) What are you going to major in?
Now, proud as I am about my college choice, I'm not about to go on parade announcing where I will be spending the next four years of my life to the Internet. As overprotective parent will tell us, if the Internet is chock full of anything, it's chock full of creeps, and who wants a bunch of creeps knowing where you live? (This classification, of course, excludes my lovely readers. Yes, I'd be happy to share coffee with you sometime, but no, I'm still not going to tell you where I live.)
On the other hand, I'm more than happy to talk about my intended college major. After all, if I'm planning to have my parents pay thousands of dollars of year for a fancy college degree, I'd really prefer to have a fair sense of what I'm going to do with this opportunity. So, after much deliberation, I'm here to announce, for the whole world to know, that my I plan to major in...(drum roll)...neuroscience!
There, was that so hard to say? Well, apparently it's easier said than done. If you were to approach me in person and ask what I'm going to major in, I would say something along the lines of: "I'm thinking psychology or neuroscience." Why not just say "neuroscience," the keen reader asks. Well, dear reader, the reason is that maybe it's just me, but every time I would say "neuroscience," the conversationalist next to me would nod his/her head, speechless, leading me to assume this person has no idea what I'm talking about. (Because, let's face it, all of us nod like bobble-heads when we're clueless as to what the other person is blabbing about.) But wait, urges another dubious reader, perhaps you're just paranoid; you can't assume that everyone is ignorant.
Fair enough, random reader, but after overhearing my own father tell my grandmother that I am majoring in "microbiology, or something" maybe I'm not so paranoid after all. Even my mother, watching over my college application process, didn't see why I wanted to make the distinction between neuroscience and psychology. "Because," replied my nerdy self, "neuroscience is a discipline within psychology. They're not the same, and I want to reflect where precisely my interests lie." And my parents aren't by any means clueless cretins. (Although, in all fairness, they too have been known to bob their heads, especially when my uncle, nicknamed Dr. Science, has long conversations with my brother about the scientific wonders of the universe.)
So, dear readers, I don't think I'm overgeneralizing by helping the masses understand neuroscience better by always linking it to psychology. In the grand scheme of things, by doing so, will I have done anything worthwhile? Probably not. After all, people are only making conversation in the first place. It would probably serve me well to stop overanalyzing everyone's responses and assume they don't understand me. Just like I've learned to tolerate explaining where my college is to everyone who asks the first question. HRMM. Funny how that works out...
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