I have now been college for six years. Yep. That's right. SIX YEARS. Most people that have been in college that long can say that they hold a bachelor's degree, or are in med school, or are almost finished with their master's degree. I can't. None of those things are true about me. But I have a reason, if you could call it that: I WANT TO BE A WRITER. Not a veterinarian, or a teacher, or a physical therapist, or a speech pathologist, or a teacher (did i mention that one already?), all of which I have majored in at some point in my college career. I want to be a full blown, accredited with a bachelor's degree in creative writing, WRITER.
"Now, why haven't you done this if it's what you want to do?" you may ask. One reason, and one reason only: other people's opinions. Every time I would timidly say to some one, "I want to be a writer," they would look at me with disdain in their eyes. "Oh Stefanie," they would say, "Don't you know that isn't a sensible job? Sure you can be a writer, but you need a REAL career too." So I would just lower my eyes in shame for even thinking I could do such a thing like follow my dreams. Sure I would be a writer one day. I'm writing a novel, aren't I?
But in the meantime, I had to go to college to get a degree for a REAL career. But as the days ticked by, I began to become antsy. The thought "this isn't what I want to do in life" raced through my head on a daily basis. So I would pick up my school books and head on to the next temporary fad of a college major, all the while trying to convince myself that THAT was what I really wanted to do for the rest of my life. I told myself over and over that adults hold REAL jobs. Writing was for fun only, and if it turned out in my favor one day, that would be wonderful.
But all this "self-convincing" that I was doing was only leading me down a dangerous path. I spent three days in a row crying myself to sleep because I was so unhappy; and I had NO clue why. I have a wonderfully sweet husband (really, I do. Couldn't ask for a better one) and kick-ass family that I love to be around as much as possible. I am blessed in so many ways, I just couldn't understand why I wasn't HAPPY.
Then one day I realized that the only thing that made me happy and let me dissolve the sadness that I couldn't escape anywhere else, was when I sat down at my computer and worked on my novel. WRITING. That was the simple trick all along. At that moment of realization, a tiny voice said, "Hey. If this is what makes you happy, WHY aren't you doing it everyday?" That voice eventually got louder and louder until it was practically screaming at me at all times. So you know what, world? I am going to make myself happy. I am changing my major to (drumroll please.........) English with a Concentration in Creative Writing. And that is that. I may or may not one day hold in my hands a shiny book with my name printed under the title, but if I never take the chance and actually TRY, how will I know?
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