There are probably a thousand and one moments in which I should’ve said, “Jake, if you’re feeling unsure about what you’re doing then you should talk to someone. Ask for advice. Seek guidance.” But in the true spirit of myself, I avoided that. Approximately a thousand times. In that final moment however, I acted on my feelings. It’s most certainly a terrifying feeling. Where do I go from here? Who do I talk to? No, I’m not talking about ditching my ill-fitting corduroy pants. I’m talking about switching college majors as a second semester sophomore.
I feel that I should clarify a few things before I really begin. I’m writing this piece (if I’m being honest with myself and those of you who read this) for two reasons.
The first, (shallow) reason is: I have to prove to myself I can throw together these carefully selected words into a literate body of sentences with some sort of coherent meaning. This is a pivotal moment to me as a future English & Creative Writing major.
The second, (legitimate) reason is: Making the switch is possible. It is more than okay to change my mind. It is important to remember that this is my education. My Education is something that directly impacts my happiness in the future. Sure, things will be difficult. Extra classes, difficult semesters, maybe even more money. But this is a matter that only I know the answer to.
At this point, you’re probably wondering how I know what I’m talking about. I decided to make the switch from photojournalism to English and creative writing in the second semester of my sophomore year. The change of heart came after weeks of personal deliberation.
Early in the semester, I began the usual combination of journalistic writing and photography courses that come with photojournalism. For the first time in a long time, things seemed serene. I was finally at ease with my classes, and things were going well.
Then I hit a wall.
The ideas stopped flowing. The coursework began to overwhelm me. Being my usual self (often, an emotional disaster), I completely shut down and stopped participating in some classes entirely. For roughly a month I was completely disassociated. I skipped a ton of class and I missed quite a few assignments. In the meantime, I searched for a creative outlet. Sure, I should have been working on completing missing work and actually showing up to class, but like I mentioned before- emotional disaster. I wanted a new outlet that would let me release all these feelings of anger and anxiousness. I hadn’t taken a photograph for my own enjoyment in more than a month, and I had no real urge to. After some thought, remembered that I used creative writing to cope with whatever was plaguing me in high school. It was especially helpful at a time when I was grappling with my sexuality and the accompanying tangle of emotions. I decided to sit down, and give writing something – anything – the good ol’ college try.
I stared at the always intimidating singular flashing line on my computer, the page completely blank. I will never understand why a blank page is so intimidating. Maybe it is the weight of all you have to say, waiting to leave your mind and escape onto the open space like before you drop something heavy that you’ve been carrying for far too long. Maybe it’s overcoming the sort of anxiety that says, “Nothing you have to write could be worth this clean white page.” I took a moment to pause and relax when suddenly the words began to flow. First there was a sentence, then another. Before I knew it, I had paragraphs. When my concentration eventually broke I had defeated the intimidating blankness. I felt relieved. The burden, if only momentarily, had been lifted. It was as if I’d never stopped writing at all. That night I laid in my bed unable to sleep. I was overcome with excitement.
My apathy towards my classes was still at an all time high, and I had yet to complete any of my missing assignments, but I woke up the next morning feeling like a completely different person. A happy person. Unfortunately this feeling was still being undermined by the confusion about my future.
Eventually, the time for scheduling approached. I began to think about what I’d like to do for the coming fall semester. I looked over the course guide at least a dozen times. Rather than seeing something that peaked my interest, I only felt more confused. Not a single photography or journalism course seemed interesting. Suddenly what I had always so passionately wanted to pursue no longer appealed to me. In days that followed I spent quite a bit of time trying understand what this meant for my future.
That’s when I decided to look into writing courses were offered. I did the appropriate google searching, and I found the course guide for Point Park’s English and Creative Writing Major. I took a thorough look over all the required courses. I debated with myself; “Would I graduate on time?” “Would I like these classes?” “What would my mom say?” “Would I have to throw out those corduroy pants?” I discussed my choice with a few of my closest friends. All of them were supportive. I called my mom to lay all of my feelings out in the open. Much to my surprise, she was incredibly supportive. Of course, her advice with classic mom style warnings about wasting my time and money. But her support was apparent, and it gave me the extra push that I needed.
I contacted an advisor in the appropriate department and scheduled a meeting. I was incredibly nervous! I rode the elevator to the floor where her office was, and navigated the winding hallways until I’d finally arrived. I entered the doorway, the door already open, and introduced myself. When I sat down to begin, she started by posing a simple question: What do you like to write? I paused. No one had ever asked me this before. Sure, I spent a lot of time writing in my high school career, and I had spent a lot of time writing recently. But I’d never discussed any of my work with anyone. I attempted to pluck the right words from my brain. “Uhm… I write a lot of poetry?” I began. I continued to describe my other interests in personal essays, some fiction, and of course journal-style writing all to myself. She seemed satisfied enough (which was a relief). She opened herself up to my questions, and I had plenty. After a string of questions, she asked “Well, I don’t know if you have your mind set or not. Are you going to do it?” It was a question that didn’t demand an immediate answer, but I had one. I responded with the most certainty I’d heard from my own voice in a long time. “Yes! Yes, definitely!” I said to her.
The meeting ended with her giving me a Change of Major Request Form and welcoming me into the major. I left the office feeling so different than I’d felt in a long time. It was as if I’d re-discovered something I locked away in a time capsule.
Of course, I’m still in the thick of this transition. I am still figuring out my classes for next semester. I still have a few papers to be signed. The only difference is, I have a new sense of enthusiasm.
So I wanted to extend my story to those of you feeling the same way I was feeling just a few months ago. I wrote this (see the aforementioned reason #2) for the people dealing with the same sense of frustration and confusion about something they used to be so passionate about. My goal is to show you that it is okay to change your mind. College is never easy. We pay thousands of dollars to build our futures as twenty-somethings. You are bound to make a mistake. You must take those mistakes and turn them into lessons learned. You must remember who these years are for. If you decide that switching is for you, you have to take what credits you’ve earned, weigh your options with an advisor and make that next step. Maybe I’m entirely and completely 100% wrong. Maybe it is too late, and these efforts are in vain. Check in with me in three to five years and I’ll give you a certain answer. In the meantime, I’m only here to remind you that this path is not an impossible one. Then again, I kept those corduroy pants. So what do I know.