You are not lucky. You earned it!
Monica Vidaurri (@AstroTraviesa) is a Science Consultant at NASA Goddard Space Flight Center and a senior at George Mason University. In this emotional and inspiring narrative, she opens up about her journey in academia as a minority, first-gen undergraduate student, all the way to NASA.
If you followed me to work every day, you would think that my job is to be a face. Here are the glowing reviews: a NASA Goddard space science consultant, an astrobiologist, a lobbyist on behalf of exploration science, a science communicator, a diversity and inclusion “battering ram,” “firework,” and my personal favorite, “champion” (yes, I have actually been awkwardly named all of this in front of my colleagues. Thanks, I guess?). But that’s not all! I have also been called the knight in shining armor striding from the ivory tower on horseback to save the communities where a police officer is lucky to even show up to the scene of a shooting before it ends, and where schools are at the bottom of the investment priority list; to collect all the brown and black kids and help create some pretty convincing diversity photos as you might see in university ads. And, oh goodness! The way everyone’s heads turn to me when we talk about diversity and inclusion.
The catch is that I am still a senior in my undergraduate degree.
My colleagues love the story of my Matilda-esque life. I remember reading every book and renting every VHS about space and the planets from the library, right from the time I could start remembering things at all. Over time, finances dwindled, my support systems were hospitalized, tragedies struck, and all the arguing and relationship-ending ensued in front of me. And through it all, I always found comfort in the stars.
The first time I remember quitting, I was around nine years old sitting in a school counsellor’s office. And I can still hear her saying, “Latinas just don’t do science.” But I still had friends egging me on, telling me that I would one day pursue science. And so somehow, a small flame stayed lit. Science was cool, and we all knew it. Ultimately, however, I did quit. I started to force myself to dislike science. Maybe I could pursue it in other ways. What was the point?
It didn’t help that my parents didn’t quite want me pursuing science either: “There’s no real point in doing research. You won’t be making any big discoveries, and you won’t be making money. Don’t be naïve.” I was around age 14 when I heard this. If I didn’t quit hard enough before, I definitely quit harder this time around. I guess that’s what science was all about then — ground-breaking discoveries. And I certainly wasn’t “ground-breaking research” material. My counsellor was right. I didn’t see a lot of Latin scientists in general; much less those that came from homes like mine i.e. those that were broken, those that were in so much debt, and those whose conservative minority parents readily assimilated a culture that doesn’t welcome change easily.
I kept my head down, but came home to those old solar system books every day. I paid no mind to my science classes, but still had the stars to look up to every night. Something still tugged at me every day, and I eventually became annoyed with it. I coursed my way through middle and high school and met my match with math. I held my own, but never fully understood it. This was, seemingly, the final door that had to be closed. I hated math, plain and simple. I didn’t understand it. Therefore, I didn’t fit the bill of “scientist,” especially space scientist. When I came home with a D in physics, my parents argued that they never should have let me take that class in the first place. I just wasn’t “good enough.” And by this point, I believed that wholeheartedly.
So how did Monica reach NASA? Intrigued? Want to know more about Monica’s journey? Read her full story here.
