Even before entering high school, I constantly had anxiety about what I wanted to do “when I grew up.” It was a low hum in the back of my head, a persistent reminder I didn’t know what I was doing with my life. The idea was drummed into me over and over again that the things I was genuinely passionate about (government, literature, history, social psychology, etc.) wouldn’t get me anywhere. Family and teachers alike said that the only way to lead a comfortable life was to be a STEM major, preferably going into the health care field.
I forced myself to take more science classes than needed, and developed a deep self-loathing over the fact that none of it came naturally to me. I had to hustle twice as much to get what a lot of other kids achieved just by showing up—they had at least some natural inclination, which I desperately wanted. I was so bad at natural sciences that it seemed I had a natural disinclination. Everything was telling me that science was not for me—as you can tell, I was very good at ignoring those signs. I continued to take classes I knew I would intensely struggle in. The voice in my head continuously screamed that because I wasn’t excelling in those fields, I was basically just going to be a big failure (very over-dramatic, I know).
When touring and applying to colleges, I was always far less interested in the biology department, and found myself asking questions about the various humanities departments. Somehow, none of these signs clued me into the fact that I maybe, umm, shouldn’t be a STEM major.
I entered college as a biology major and soon realized that it wasn’t going to work out. I had an honest, long, intense debate with myself over the course of almost the entire semester and eventually had the epiphany that I didn’t want to lower my standards for myself. The prospect of continuing to be mediocre at something I didn’t love (or even like) would negatively affect the respect I had for what I was doing and who I was. The potential long term effects of that scared me enough that I knew I had to change my major.
Finally, I spent the second semester of Freshman year taking classes I was actually interested in, changing my major to Political Science major. I eventually added a History major and a Religious Studies minor. It is safe to say that I am much happier now.
I still have anxiety over what I want to do after undergraduate school, but I am exploring my options and no longer feel any sense of intense dread I was told I should have had when considering being in my chosen field for my whole career. On the contrary—I’m excited at the possibilities I have in front of me.
So many incoming college Freshman seem to share my former anxiety—thinking they have to know exactly what they want to do right now. Spoiler alert: you don’t. Coming in as Exploratory / Undecided is not a code word for ‘slacker,’ and anyone who thinks that is simply ignorant. When you come to college without a concrete idea of what you want to do, you get to take all of the required classes that everyone has to take, except you get them out of the way right off the bat. You are allowed extra time to decide what you want to do, unlike those who force themselves into a field they won’t stick with, ending up with a slew of unneeded credits. Despite what the media and mass culture have forced into your head, you have more flexibility than you realize. It really is better to wait a little longer and be sure of your path, than to dive in head first and drown in the sudden realization that you’re a Junior in college with too many Chemistry credits and not enough time to complete a Psychology degree.