As a college student, you are guaranteed to get asked one question multiple times: what is your major? It’s the go-to question for everyone, whether you’re at a party, applying for a job, or talking to your Great Aunt Gertrude at the family reunion.
For some, answering this question may exert a sense of pride, confidence, or arrogance. Every time you have the chance to say you are a business major, health sciences major, engineering major, or a computer science major, a feeling of satisfaction crawls deep under your skin as fast as your future paycheck will grow. When you tell strangers you’re planning on being a doctor, or an accountant, or an engineer, they look at you like wow—this kid is going places.
For others, answering this question could be more difficult. Whether you are undecided or are studying a career field which others don’t believe is important, you feel embarrassed or ashamed telling people your major. I used to be in this category; telling people I was a writing major usually resulted in them saying, “Oh, isn’t that just a hobby?” or “There aren’t any real jobs out there for that major, are there?” or the ever hurtful reply of just, “Huh..” There were no wows or impressive gasps, just a look of puzzlement and a lack of amazement. People weren’t impressed with my career choice and doubted my decisions. This started to make me doubt myself as well.
It was so much worse when you were surrounded with friends who were business or health majors, because I just looked like the unmotivated, stupid, and unsuccessful student compared to them. Getting these types of reactions definitely hindered my confidence in what I wanted to do, and I almost switched majors in order for others to be happy with what I was doing.
But then I realized it wasn’t up to others to decide what I should pursue. I know with all my heart that I want to be a writer. Not an accountant, not a doctor, and not a computer genius. No amount of judging looks or disconcerting questions should ever sway what I love doing. Okay, it will be difficult to find a job right out of college or land that internship with Seventeen Magazine. But just because it seems unlikely for me to achieve doesn’t mean that I have to give up trying altogether.
All of these forces pushing against me, like my parents, the likeliness of getting a job, and even my friends having great majors, only push me harder in the direction I want to go in. I want to show them that I can do this—that my determination is stronger than any doubt crossing my path. I want all the people who reacted unimpressed when I said, “I’m going to be a writer,” to see my name in the magazines or on the front cover of a book and say “Wow, she was right.” I want all the people who told me I couldn’t do it, who told me that I should just resort to getting a decent job with my looks, and how I should just marry a rich man in order to be happy, to see that my desired path in life will make me even happier.
With this new found desire to prove everyone wrong, I’m no longer embarrassed when I tell people my major. So what if I’m not among the elite business CEOs or the brain surgeons or the Apple software creators? I’m happy with the direction I’m headed, even if it’s a little less planned out or guaranteed than if I had a business degree.
So go ahead: doubt me, question me, and bring me down all you want.
I am going to be a writer.
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