Late Explorers?

I’ve often been told that I’d find it hard to stick to just one subject—even as early as the 10th standard. And honestly, I already knew that about myself. I liked the literature parts of language, the stories and questions in social science—especially history—and the mysteries of science too (though math, not so much). When it came time to choose a stream after the 12th, I picked physics. Probably because I liked the teachers. And yes, I did like physics.

But as I moved further into higher studies, my choices were shaped more by what the people around me were doing. I was good at it, and I didn’t yet know what else I was good at. I’ve always admired those who discover their calling early. Some people transition from science to science communication during their master’s or PhD—they begin engaging with it while still doing science. I hadn’t done that. I hadn’t yet figured out where or how to tie my passions together.

There have been moments—many—of identity crisis. I’ve asked myself: what’s the point of this life? Where is it all heading? Sometimes I find answers. Dreams I can hold on to: building a community, opening a school, creating a space to talk about women in science. For me, people have always been the answer. Or rather, the community. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to leave academia. I found it to be a solitary space—perhaps because of the kind of work I did, or the kind of institutions I was part of.

Still, I tried to do well. I tried to excel at what I had once, accidentally, chosen—maybe a decade ago. But I changed. And I think I’m allowed to, aren’t I? I didn’t want to stay confined to spaces with strict borders. I didn’t want to choose between Science and Arts, or between the individualistic and the social. I wanted to cross boundaries and see what existed on the walls. Blessed are those who climbed those walls on time.

But exploring in your thirties comes with its own cost. It doesn’t pay the bills. It doesn’t offer financial stability. And it takes time away from linear career paths—the ones that move forward without detours. I’m still confused. At 30, I obviously don’t know exactly what I want to do. I only know that I want to exist at the boundaries. I’m just not sure if I can go back into spaces where I might still fit, or be easily accepted.

Now, the people around me—those who once believed I had it all figured out at 21—are worried. They’re concerned about my instability, my uncertainty, my future. I’m scared too. But they don’t understand that I’ve always

chased excitement and experience more than stability or progress. That doesn’t make me any less afraid, but it does make me feel free—and sometimes, happy.

The world of rigid social constructs—career, money, sexuality, family—has always felt too narrow for someone like me to fit in comfortably. And the world is not always kind to late bloomers, or to old explorers.

Still, maybe there’s something waiting on these walls I keep walking along. Something I haven’t found yet—but might, if I keep going.