p a g e 1 4 | N ove m b e r 8 , 201 8 | Vo l u m e 1 03 | I ss u e 0 6
You Are Smart By Tobi Brown When I first came to Walla Walla University, I enrolled as an engineering major. I was proud to be an engineering student. Every time I told someone my major, I was met with “Oh, you’re smart then.” It was an exciting feeling to be called smart without having proven anything. I met so many interesting people in my first year— some of whom I considered mentors. I recall them filling my head with determination, saying things like “We try hard to keep our female engineers here.” They wouldn’t have to try hard to keep me here. I saw being a female engineer as a challenge and a chance to prove people wrong. I spent most of my time on schoolwork and climbing the engineering ladder to ensure my future success. A few of my classmates gave up engineering along the way, but the rigorous coursework did not deter me. Compared to most of my peers though, I was a weak link. They were naturally gifted at science and math. They didn’t doodle in class. They didn’t have to stay up until 2:00 a.m. to get stuff done. They could rest easy by 10:00 p.m. I felt dumb compared to them, but when I told someone that I was an engineer, they still replied “Oh, you’re smart then. I could never do that.” I began to despise this answer. I questioned them when they said that: “Why do you think I’m smart?” They told me, “Well, because I could never do that!”
Illustration by Tobi Brown.
They could do that, I thought, if they just tried harder. I could do it too if I just tried harder. So, I did. I tried harder and was met with greater success. But still, I was discouraged. I wasn’t good enough. I recall conversations with my fellow engineers going like this: “What’d you get on the test?” “Not good.” “Me neither. But what was your score?” “85 percent.” Eighty-five percent! Boy was our “not good” different! But I was an engineer and I’d just have to try harder. I needed to have higher standards. Despite my struggles, I still felt as if I was a part of some elite club. The teachers would make light fun of other majors, calling them “easy.” They wouldn’t mention specific names, but we all knew which ones they were referring to—we made fun of them too. The ones who dropped out usually went for majors such as business, graphic design, elementary education, and psychology—pretty much anything that wasn’t engineering was considered “easy.” Someone I considered a mentor talked about how “product design was the graveyard of engineering.” I thought these kind of jokes were funny too. I was better than everyone, they told me. I was an engineer, and so I was smart.
Though I liked these jokes, every inch of my body began to dread the typical response. When I told them, “I’m an engineer,” I added, “And yes, I’m smart” so they didn’t have to say it. Peers who had dropped out of engineering were being gossiped about. They had given up their permission to remain in that elite club. The only logical reason behind this was because they weren’t smart. A society of subconscious narcissism was being cultivated by teachers and students alike. I finally rejected this society after long prayer and deep conversation with God. When people told me I was smart, I responded, “Yes, and so are you! You go to college, you love the Lord, you are smart. Just because I am good at something you are not good at doesn’t mean you’re dumb. There are plenty of things you are good at that I am not.” That response seemed to enlighten the listener. They walked away with a perk in their step having been called smart. I learned so much after just that one year. Meanwhile, my mind was drifting. I had felt a wind of change push me towards a different path, but whenever it came, I threw on my windbreaker. I knew I was smart, but I was afraid. Afraid that if I dropped out of engineering, I would be the butt of the jokes. Afraid that I would be excluded from the elite club that so generously accepted me before. But after a year and a half, I had finally had enough of pretending to be somebody I wasn’t. Another of my mentors had lent me a book by Ellen G. White called “True Education.” In a chapter called “The Lifework,” she writes about how God wants you to go where you have a general aptitude. My mentor assured me that I would be an excellent engineer, but she knew me well enough. She knew that I was truly keen on creating things, and that I had a natural gift for that. In fact, most of my mentors knew that. But my mother, a great inspiration to me, knew that I also had a “math brain,” as she liked to call it, and I wasn’t too keen on giving up all of the math and science credits I had earned either. I made a compromise between “starving artist” and “billionaire philanthropist.” I decided that I needed to switch and God was calling me towards something else. I was incredibly fearful of the engineers’ judgement, but my really close friends assured me they would understand that I need to do what I am called to do. So I made the switch to the graveyard of engineers: product design. The change felt
good for a while. I explained my decision to a good friend at dinner one night, mentioning how I knew everyone was going to think I was dropping engineering because I was giving up. I assured her it was simply because I had seen a greater plan on my horizon. She asked what I was switching to and I responded with product design. Then, nonchalantly, she said “Oh, I understand why they think you’re giving up. Product design is like engineering, but ... easy.” And then she turned to another friend to talk about something else. I was silent the rest of the dinner. I felt rejected, written off as just another one of those “not smart” people. The kind that gives up when things get tough. In reality, it would have been so easy for me to stay in engineering—done my work like I was supposed to, stuck to the plan like I was supposed to, faked a smile like I was supposed to. The hard thing was never staying in engineering, it was being vulnerable and being rejected. And that’s what happened. Although it stung, remarks that I “took the easy way out” helped me understand what was and is problematic with the label of “smart.” I believe that engineers are called “smart” too often. It is ingrained in their brain that they are somehow special and privileged to be a part of this society. They have convinced themselves that the reason they are putting themselves through such hard work is because they are doing the hard thing, and because it is the hard thing, then it must be the right thing. They have a picture of themselves subconsciously painted in their heads and it is arrogant. It is vain. And it is incorrect. Many people, not just engineers, have similar beliefs. They believe because they know something you don’t, they are better than you. Classier, more unique, smarter. I am not giving up engineering—I am choosing a new, more applicable way to utilize my inventiveness and creativity. I am continuing my journey to find myself and serve God. I challenge you to think before you speak. Humble yourself. Consider the other person’s journey. And remember that God’s plan for you may be different than someone else’s, but it is not better. Each and every one of you must remember, it’s not just for engineers. You are smart.