A Life-Changing Trip to Toronto

How a poster presentation at the APA conference changed my career trajectory

“We need a small group to go to the APA Conference in Toronto. I want you to help present the poster for our Women’s Psychology research.”

It was 2009. My research professor’s request hung in the air between us. Anxiety welled up in my chest while excitement surged through my veins. Was this the nerd’s version of an American Idol audition? The fear and flattery twisted in my chest.

Don’t get me wrong… the next year was going to be pivotal for my career, potentially the rest of my life. I was in full-go mode. Heading into senior year of college, a to-do list a mile long. Study, take, and hopefully crush the GRE. Apply to counseling psychology PhD programs. Hope that the previous three years of honors classes, research, and serving as the APA secretary for my local university chapter would be enough to pique the interest of doctoral programs.

I was excited about this opportunity as well—our school’s psychology program agreed to send a small group with a hotel and food stipend to the August conference. One of my closest college friends would be joining. We were supporting one another, acting as each other’s biggest cheerleaders in preparation for the upcoming application circuit. This would be an amazing springboard for the rest of our lives.

June and July were a flurry of studying for the GRE and early morning training runs. After a sunrise jog on the local trail, I would head to work at the local theater box office, GRE study cards in tow.

“Curmudgeon” - I’d look up from my card at customers. “Someone who is old and cranky?” I’d guess. Correct.

“Vituperate”- "I’d read next. Thought for a moment. No idea… ugh.

This went on for months. Vocabulary words in the box office. Mathematical review at Borders bookstore. Late-night anxiety attacks were spurred on by what felt like impossible-to-understand problems.

I sat for the GRE, feeling equal parts queasy and petrified. When I reached the end, I took a deep, shuddering breath and clicked the button for the end. The unofficial score was beyond what I could fathom. My dreams were coming true.

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We piled into a van for Toronto. Half a dozen broke undergraduate students, with nothing but a dream and some scholarly posters.

We attempted to check into the hotel, but there were some issues with the stipends. Eventually, we gave up; the hotel would have to wait. In a flurry of frustration and exhaustion, we hit the street in search of food. We found a cafe with endless options, helping ease the irritation.

The hotel arranged our rooms for a late check-in. We got a limited night’s sleep, but were excited for the following morning’s APA registration and events. This journey had a rough start, but I was ready for the day ahead. I had never been to a conference before, let alone an international conference aligned with my chosen field. There would be so many sessions to choose from, so many psychologists to meet!

We reached the convention center, and it felt like every psychologist in North America was descending on the convention space. Hordes of people milled about. Staff placed fancy-looking programs and official-looking bags in our hands. They took our meticulously printed posters and guided us to the initial welcome session.

I was in awe of the minds in that room. Intrigued by the backstories and interests of others. Yet somehow mind-numbingly, incredibly bored.

I scanned the faces of my peers. They all looked so invested, so engaged. Why did I wish I were anywhere but there?

In that moment, I tried to shake myself out of that bizarre headspace and refocus on the goal. Present the poster. Apply for doctoral programs. Start the rest of my life.

After the opening session, I immediately sought out my good friend. It was time to choose sessions.

“What are you interested in attending?” I asked her, somewhat lackluster, but hoping she had some motivation to propel my interest forward.

I watched her eyes as she surveyed the list. This particular friend was not afraid to be bold, not afraid to state her opinion. I knew she could take a strong stance on some breakout sessions, as I lackadaisically questioned the myriad of choices.

“I… don’t think I want to do any of these,” she admitted. “I think I want to go see Toronto.”

My jaw dropped, dumbfounded. We used to play hooky to leave our Quantitative Psychology class to go to Chipotle. Were we going to play hooky at the APA Conference in search of Toronto cuisine?

I felt mildly guilty, but also anticipatory. There would still be more events to attend. That initial session was quite dull. Whether it was dull or just way above my head, I cannot accurately recall, but I assume it was the latter. To be fair, I had never been to Toronto, and the dinner the night before was delicious…

The remainder of the day was a flurry of food and friends and laughter. If we returned to the conference that afternoon, I have no recollection. We turned in early for preparation of an APA 5K, slated bright and early the following morning.

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My friend and I lined up with dozens of other students and psychologists at the starting line of the race, right at dawn on the morning of the poster presentations. We had decided that although our goal was nobody left behind, we also each wanted to give the race our all. We would try to follow each other throughout and keep tabs, but today it was every woman for herself.

This allowed plenty of time to think, as each shoe staggered to the pavement, as the sun rose behind the CN Tower.

The weekend had been incredibly fun. Good food. Laughs with my friends. Now running with an awe-inspiring view of Toronto.

But doubt was starting to creep in… questions abounded. Was this GRE study burnout? Temporary wanderlust? Was it going to resolve when my feet were firmly planted back in my off-campus apartment? Was a doctorate in psychology what I truly wanted, or was it something… else?

Questions swirled as my feet rifled along faster and faster, flying through the streets propelled by uncertainty and a possible identity crisis.

Not sure if it was the splendor of the city before us, the guilt of the conference behind us, or the question mark of the future ahead of us, but we both made better 5K times than even our training runs would predict.

We showered, changed, and prepared to return to the conference to present our scholarly poster. My friend and I had prepared for this for the last three years. Early morning research meetings, long hours putting statistics into SPSS, and visiting one undergraduate course after another to invite them to engage in our research. We built everything towards this moment.

Our sponsoring professors had an extensive history and interests at the intersection of psychology and gender studies. Although this would not necessarily be my main area of interest— I was more of an abnormal psychology fan, personally— I had thrown myself into research to learn, procure my skills, and prepare for the doctoral program.

We unravelled our poster and set up our booth. We fielded questions from students and psychologists alike, explaining our research and our statistics. We even wandered through the rows of other posters, looking at research and asking questions.

But the most memorable part was the conversations that I had with others. Asking where they were from, about their history, about their stories. Although I was sure the statistics were meaningful and the research was interesting, I found myself caring significantly less about the words on the posters and caring significantly more about the people behind the posters.

I couldn’t imagine another forty-plus years of research and high-stakes ambition. I so deeply, truly, wish that I could. But the idea of leading a therapy session with a struggling client sounded significantly more enticing than trying to schmooze with other psychologists or desperately seeking tenure.

After the presentations ended, we piled into a van to drive back to our university in the United States. I nodded in and out of sleep. I mentally recapped the long weekend. I felt unease in my chest. This weekend was supposed to be the spark that lit the application fire. The catalyst for graduate school applications and senior year honors research.

Instead, I felt incredibly overwhelmed and underwhelmed simultaneously. Overwhelmed by the to-do list, underwhelmed by the conference.

Before the van had even pulled into the parking lot of the College of Arts and Sciences, a sense of resolve had already settled into my gut.

“I’m not getting my doctoral degree in psychology,” I thought, decisively. I don’t want to spend my career running experiments, completing independent research, or publishing or perishing.

When the most meaningful moments were hearing the origin stories of everyone we met, and learning about my field, and engaging in the work felt excruciating… this wasn’t the path for me.

I grabbed my GRE results from the mail pile and tucked them into my desk drawer. I pared down some of the application tasks on my graduate school application to-do list.

Despite not anticipating this sudden resolution, I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do. I logged into my student account portal, dropped an arbitrary fall semester elective, and enrolled in a course that would change everything.

“Introduction to Social Work.”