I never questioned what my major in college was going to be. I had always loved reading and writing as a kid, and it was what I was best at. Even when I tried to think about various career options that would fit my personality, I usually came up short on anything that wouldn’t come from an English degree. There were a few ideas, one being teaching, but I really didn’t like being responsible for people’s kids that much. I never even babysat growing up. There was veterinary medicine, but I hated anything medical and hurt or dead animals would be too sad. Law was an option because I like to argue, but then I realized that I only like to argue sometimes, and other times it makes me want to cry. The only career ideas that had no flaw in my mind were all the ones that had to do with books and writing: Novelist, journalist, publisher, and editor. I could work for a magazine or a newspaper, become a travel writer, a food blogger, or a children’s book author.
Writing was my one biggest joy as a child. My ideas for stories came so quickly I never even finished anything. But I wanted to finish something, one day, as an adult, when I knew I would be better at it, be taken seriously, and end up on the New York Times Bestsellers list. Ultimately, I knew that the way to get better at it, to learn the ins and outs of the writing and publishing industries, and to find my personal niche, was to go to college and study English. I needed to learn from professionals, have people read my work, and read other people’s work.
What I didn’t necessarily anticipate once I got to college to fulfill my dream was the disapproval of so many. The “what’s your major?” question gets asked way too often, and by everyone. Extended family, friends of friends, customers at my job tend to have a lot to say about it. These are people that I don’t really know, and shouldn’t have to impress, or explain myself and my future to. And every time, I have to say “English!” with a big, dumb smile on my face and physically feel it deflate as they smile back and say, “Oh, so you want to be a teacher?”
There’s nothing wrong with being a teacher. But there is something wrong with me being a teacher. Why is the assumption when I tell someone that I spend my time now studying literature and learning how to write better that I would spend the rest of my life as a teacher? If that were the case, I would tell them I was an English Education major. No one asks Mathematics majors if they’re going to be math teachers. No one asks biologists, physicists, or chemists if they’re planning to teach high school biology, physics, or chemistry. So why do people look at me and think, “Yeah. She’s going to make some group of kids out there hate Shakespeare?”
Trying to explain to an adult, or even a younger person who is majoring in something like business or education, that no, I seriously just want to write, is kind of the weirdest conversation to have — like…ever. It feels like a humiliation ritual. I know all arts and humanities majors, not just English, have gone through this at some point. You can see the person’s face contort a little and you know they’re trying to figure out if it’s rude to ask you about money.
I remember hearing a quote from Allan Watts years ago. I was still in high school. He said, “…forget the money. Because, if you say that getting the money is the most important thing, you will spend your life wasting your time….Better to have a short life that is full of things you like doing than a long life spent in a miserable way.” Do I really think I should forget the money entirely? No. I’m going to get a full-time job. I’m going to work hard for money. I’m tired of the cliche of the starving artist, even though I never even considered it applying to me until I got to college. But I’m trying to live by the premise that money is actually not the most important part of choosing your career.
I want all college students involved in the arts or humanities to know that their choice is not only valid, but necessary. Humanity needs art and vice versa. Art, books, and music make the world what it is; they make us who we are. Don’t let anyone’s judgement affect the decisions you make about your career, your life’s work, and your amazing creativity. Not everyone will understand you but not everyone has to.