Edited by: Kavya Mittal
There are many ways to sum up the quintessential teenage experience. One thread that beads together these varied experiences is an ever present feeling I like to call panic. This panic is not a fun kind, if there are any. It hinges on being the only voice inside an otherwise empty head. Because for all the wise words I think I know, have, and keep safe to my heart — I do not know what I want to do. Perhaps in a more specific sense, I do not know what to major in. This is the all encompassing thesis statement of any list I make. This is the confession of an over-planner.
To understand why this is a big deal, you must retract disbelief from the idea that everything happens for a reason. It may or may not, but that’s not the point I’m attempting to make here. My entire life is governed by the ‘five year plan’ without which I cannot decide what to do tomorrow. That sounds extreme because it is. It is an overwhelming notion of having one’s entire life figured out in neat and cute circles at the age of 18. It is very presumptuous of the world to expect answers from us that we do not have, the very moment we act upon something that interests us.
Albeit that was too abstract, my point is, what do you and I do about the confusion we face? What does the unsurety about the path we have taken evolve into, besides fear and anxiousness? There are more dreams, hopes and aspirations than just ours resting on our choices. So many people who have been both (or neither) our biggest critics and best champions are so invested in our pursuit of ‘something.’ I don’t think I have had a conversation with anyone in the last three years that was not loosely based around my actions as an undergraduate today. Academic actions to be more precise. Birthday cakes have been cut with conversation surrounding my college decisions and whether CLAT coachings should begin from the eighth grade. Fun times truly.
The word is consternation, a crisper term for the compounding sense of doom, or so I have loosely gathered. It envelopes one into a loop of sadness, badness and poor decision making. The circle of undergraduate life.
Is it really my inability to choose a major or am I just genuinely stupid and cannot be trusted with choosing one. Frankly, both arguments hold enough merit. As a diligent planner, I could delineate precisely why I shouldn’t be trusted with the task of choosing my degree subject. Because being someone who really enjoys the planning and orchestration of long term goals, I genuinely like being able to see the big picture. But what if I can see many big pictures? How does one, anyone, decide which version of their choices they wish to enact? That is very pessimistic, but how do I, without access to time travel and acute knowledge of a multiverse, access different conclusions of my choices and see which one I like the most? Or should I just stick to the path of least resistance — because currently I like this answer the most.
Unlike a lot of other things that I think I am probably not aware of but maybe am, I sincerely do not know how much my major choices impact my options in the future. Primarily because my understanding of what my options could be, was limited to the fact that I had taken the Arts and Humanities route. So being an engineer or a doctor or a CA were already out of the picture. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with these options, the error lies in assuming that these are all the options we have. I do not wish to bash the engineering and medical professions, I am merely saying I wished we could know more than being these. And since college is the place to broaden one’s scopes and horizons, I feel infinitely overwhelmed by how many things I could do.
Embracing the confusion is not really an option either. The need to plan and box everything neatly is omnipresent. Seeing things slotted and ordered in the ‘right’ place calms me. That is until I give into the doubts of what is the ‘right’ place — have I decided it or have I been conditioned into thinking it is right. These doubts are scary, they make me question my validity as someone who likes to plan things, someone who wants the freedom to explore unknown options. More so, the individual sense of doubt is not the only thing that becomes a stressor, it is also having to lie or moderately manipulate my concerned parents into believing that I have a clue. I most assuredly do not have any clues about anything.