Dearest Gentle Reader,
If you’d have asked me at any point before starting college what I’d be doing as a (super) senior, I can say with confidence that my answer probably would not have had anything to do with research—let alone being a designer—who's managing a research team!
I was a member of the infamous class of 2020—meaning I both completed my senior year of high school, as well as my freshman year of college, remotely from my bedroom in Los Angeles. Until this point and even for a while after, I never had a real answer to the questions that adults would ask me about the future. What kind of work did I want to one day spend every day of my life doing? I was over the moon if there were chocolate muffins in the cafeteria that day (honestly, I still am).
I had applied to USF because it was a good target school for me in terms of academics, location, and it helped that USF was the only one I’d liked that also had an undergraduate design program. I've always had a strong but vague interest in pursuing creative endeavors, but couldn’t hold a pencil or paintbrush to save my life—so any sort of art school was never a consideration. I’ve also always loved participating conversations with people about mental health, feelings, and interpersonal problems—all the “touchy feely” stuff. When it came time to consider what I wanted to study in college, it seemed sensible to major in Psychology and minor in Design to see what “design” actually was. It was always scary to me that college was considered a place to explore, because you’re spending a lot of time and money to possibly realize that the thing you’ve spent all that time and money on isn’t for you! I wanted to start off with a program (or two) that seemed promising and aligned with my interests, and hopefully something would stick.
I failed my Psych Stats class that first year—which, let me remind you, was on Zoom. I have always been more of a creative/writing girl, but growing up seeing my friends easily excel in their advanced-level math and science classes while I was one of four seventh graders in an additional, supporting class called “Math Lab,” definitely contributed to me developing some kind of inferiority complex. Fast-forward to after graduating high school, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD after years of feeling like something was always off when it came to numbers and holding information in my head. But, by that point, I had already internalized the feeling that any STEM-related endeavor was to be dreaded, a class to just-get-through-and-be-done. That meant research was also off my radar.
You can imagine my surprise, when I attended my first Coffee and Bagel Chat on campus in sophomore year, and a professor’s lab actually caught my attention! Professor—Dr.—Reese spoke about his social psychology research team and their personal, collaborative process with a warmth I had never before heard from a teacher of sciences. Their conversations sounded fascinating, and not only did the “flavor” of psychology I'd been interested had a name, but it was their sole focus! Now that I realized this, I was on a mission.
That mission came to a quick halt when my RA application that semester was rejected; oh well, I guess research really wasn’t for me. I was bummed, but at least grateful that I discovered my interest in interpersonal psychology. That gave me some kind of direction to hold onto with my major, while at the same time I was having a whole bunch of other learning experiences in my design classes. Fast forward another semester or so, I was now a double major in both and taking Research Design with the famed Professor Reese himself! His class structure and emphasis on understanding over grades really worked well for my nonlinear brain. When it came time for our final study proposal presentation I was inspired by my own experiences to propose a study exploring how individual self esteem progresses over the course of a romantic relationship. You’ve got to understand that this proposal was DENSE, created in a state of hyper-focus and intrigue with the literature I was referencing. Because I was able to approach it in unstructured ways that made sense to me, I ended up building a really strong proposal for a social psychology study, exactly like the ones Professor Reese conducted in his lab! Maybe I wasn’t able to articulate all of my understanding and passion in a cover letter and a short Zoom interview, but I was able to apply them in a way that was relevant, practical, and compelling—and that’s how I ultimately got invited to the lab.
I joined at a weird point over the summer, when all the studies had been well on their way and the team was undergoing a vast transition in membership. I worked on the Daily Diary Study of Diverse Relationships, but found that I didn’t have nearly as much to contribute because the study had already been developed. However, the team was very conscientious of the learning curve, and I was made a part of the environment regardless. Eventually I started making more contributions to logistics and recruitment—even suggesting the implementation of a text-reminder system that the study currently still uses!—and started realizing how integral both of those are to the process. What I lacked in data collection and analysis I made up for in practicality, communication, and support. My various previous experiences, though they might not seem it on paper, came in handy often in the lab! The adaptability and show-must-go-on team spirit I developed from doing backstage theater came in handy when at the last minute, I had to present a short, semi-formal speech about our study at the Dean’s Circle. My experience as a student listening to many different presentations throughout my education showed me what qualities make a compelling speaker, and how to present information in a way that is engaging. My ADHD helps me catch small details that might get overlooked, and sometimes they end up being as important as the “big” stuff! My design background comes in handy when it’s time to revise conference posters and fliers, but most importantly, it fundamentally overlaps with psychology.
People always tell me that my choice of majors makes sense together, but no one has ever really articulated how or why they intertwine so deeply. Recently I’ve come to realize that it's because at their core, both fields are about understanding people and placing them at the center of problem-solving. As psychologists, we design when we choose the measures for our studies, when sharing our findings through writing and information visualization—heck, even the questions we ask, or don’t ask, ultimately shape the landscape of what kind of information is deemed important! As designers, we determine what problems are addressed by virtue of what we create, and who is being considered when we create it: a space is not accessible when stairs are the only way to navigate it, a book is not readable when the text doesn’t achieve balance between size, height, and spacing, and a website isn’t accessible when its user interface is just plain terrible *cough, Amazon*
It takes all kinds to do the work, and if you had said that to me anytime before now I probably would’ve rolled my eyes out of frustration (I’ve always been impatient in wanting to have things figured out already.) However, you would’ve been absolutely right—and credit where credit is due, the people who practice this attitude as much as they preach it are the ones who make it so. “The work” is not one particular thing done by one particular person, and that’s what makes it so special. This lab is home to some of the most brilliant, remarkable people—who have brought me into worlds I would’ve never discovered on my own! And in turn, I’ve been able to pay that forward as lab manager by utilizing my own strengths for things that benefit the whole team: designing a visual identity system, building a centralized Canvas page for project management, giving good, constructive feedback, organizing the structure of lab meetings and notes, and taking a direct, open-ended approach to lab projects and activities. A few lucky people really are born awesome, but for a lot of us it has to be developed with a lot of trial and error, and with the support of others. That development is where the work actually happens; rarely does it occur in a vacuum.
Yours Truly,
Hayley (Whistledown)
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