The Anxiety of Aptitude

Photo by Impartnow.org

High school report card. All As and A+s. Calculus teacher comments: "Has aptitude in this area."

So what?

Aptitude is a fancy word that simply means "a natural ability to do or learn something" according to Merriam-Webster. When I finally realized that, I remember processing my report cards, which always had that phrase next to my math and science courses. Granted, I'm pretty sure those report card systems just have coined phrases that teachers can choose from, so maybe it didn't really mean anything, but these comments always set me into a minor panic. Aptitude in math and science? Does that mean that's what I am supposed to pursue?


I was always fine - good, even - in math and science, just like any other subject. The only thing I ever really bombed was Freshman biology (until the dissection chapter, that is). Even though I aced the classes though, my heart was never in math and science. I wasn't the kid who sat at home with my own chemistry set. I was the kid who set up camp on the living room floor reading for hours while everyone else watched TV - or did productive things like clean the house. Words were where I believed my aptitude lay.

As I moved into college and had to choose a major (one of the hardest tasks ever), I settled on English, but aptitude continued to nag me. I took a Biology of Birds class, and contrary to high school, I excelled and found great joy in the information. I never had to take a math class in college thanks to my AP Calculus score, but it often occurred to me that I missed math. I missed having the challenge of a derivative, and seeing numbers and x and y strewn across a blackboard, taking up panels and panels, to only be erased before the next class came in. Sure, I hated Geometry, but algebra? Give me an excuse to do it any day.

Thanks to all the positive reinforcement as a schoolyard youth, I never really questioned my ability to do anything. I had my favorite subjects, and I knew where I excelled best, and I would put myself in those subject areas, but really, I was pretty confident I could do anything.

Enter stage left: the job market. Suddenly, aptitude is a whole different realm. The key difference between school and "real life" (have I mentioned how much I hate that term?) is that in school, a person gets to - HAS to - do everything. Dabbling is required. Down the line, this dabbling is supposed to help a person narrow down the subjects to one option that s/he really prefers, but even then, even as an English major, I still had to fulfill liberal arts requirements. Most of my time was still spent learning a broad variety of topics. I left college with the presumed intention of finding a career, finding something I wanted to do. But what if I simply want to continue dabbling?

Dabbling in the job market is difficult. Whereas I paid to take a class on Soviet Russia, in a job, someone is paying ME to have a certain skill set and produce a certain level of work. The employer has all sorts of expectations, not least among them, an expectation of time and dedication. Turnover isn't always the best thing for a growing company. But what if I can't commit to an expectation of time? What if I want to take your class for a semester, or a year, and move on?

How do I know if I have aptitude in a job, if I don't do the job? Because despite taking everything from ancient religions to modern economics, I still don't know exactly where I could apply that or what practical skills exist that I haven't had the opportunity to learn. And how will I ever know without doing it? Yet, the job market being what it is, no employer - or employee - can really take that risk.

"Neither do men light a lamp and put it under a bushel, but on a stand."

Here's the thing: I had to get through ten years of math I didn't care about, to eventually learn the math that I still miss. When, then, does aptitude manifest? Does it develop over time, or does it pre-exist? And do we realize we have it, only when we have committed to something else and it is too late?

Everyone has different gifts, different talents, different aptitude toward different things. For some, it's toward one great passion; for others, it's towards many. We need to make a better space in our job market - particularly entry level - for the dabblers. Some minds are not meant for specialization; so - what can they be meant for?