I think I’m having a mid-college crisis.
In three weeks, I’ll be a junior. In three weeks, I’ll be halfway through my college experience. I haven’t been here nearly long enough to be at that point — or at least it doesn’t feel like I have. I’ve barely begun to adjust to my life here. How can I be expected to start to think about what comes next?
It feels like just yesterday that I toured BU, had just submitted my early decision application and got accepted to the College of Arts and Sciences. It feels like just yesterday that I graduated high school and walked across the stage to receive my diploma. It feels like just yesterday that I moved to Boston, and like all of my stuff still belongs on the thirteenth floor of Rich Hall.
Yet, all of this happened two whole years ago — and so much has happened in between.
I helped pierce a girl’s nose, and received three new piercings myself — Mom, I swear mine were all done professionally. I went to Madrid with some of my best friends, who were people whom I had barely known just six months before. I’ve gotten pink eye four times among many other illnesses of their various natures.
I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Boy, has the time flown by. It’s horrifying to think that the same amount of time that has passed since I started college as the amount of time I have left here. I don’t mean to remind readers of the immensely impending approach of our real lives, but I’m sure there’s plenty of sympathy on the other side of the screen.
I fear I am in too deep — there’s really no turning back now. This fear is purely career-oriented, and instead of throwing myself down a self-sabotaging rabbit hole, I figured I’d put thoughts to the page and see if I strike a chord.
Like I mentioned before, I applied into the College of Arts and Sciences when I set my sights on BU. I arrived here as a political science major with thoughts of potentially minoring in sociology or journalism. Since then, sociology has gone out of the window entirely, advertising was added to the mix as a minor, political science has since been demoted to a second minor and journalism has earned its place on the pedestal as my major.
If you told me two years ago today that I would have set my sights on writing lifestyle articles as a career, I would’ve thought you were crazy. I still question every day whether or not I’m crazy myself. I am 99% sure this is what I want to do with my life — and the other 1% abstains its vote to the overwhelming majority. Therefore, I am 100% passionate about succeeding in the field of journalism, and there is a 0% chance of failure.
I won’t allow that to happen, and frankly there isn’t any room for it anyways. If, for some reason, I decide to do a 180, or if my very own Mitchim Huntzberger comes along to tell me I don’t have what it takes to succeed —the Gilmore Girls fans will understand— I would be completely and utterly lost.
That is a fate I am unwilling to accept because switching to journalism has been one of the best decisions I have ever made.
In the past two years, even beyond adding professional piercer to my resume, I have also added a ton of other skills and experiences as well. I’ve written between 20 and 30 articles, I’ve landed my first internship where I report on food and entertainment at a city paper in Philadelphia. I’ve had the opportunity to interview business owners, chefs, city officials, and so much more to hear the stories of so many people I would have otherwise never known.
There’s so much that the industry of journalism has to offer that I would have never experienced, and I’d kick myself every day for the rest of my life if I pursued any other career.
It took me about a year and a half to recognize that I saw no future for myself in the field of political science because I think I saw my future in journalism all along. From all of the essays that I loved writing in high school to my repeated failure of a traditional lecture-test style learning, all roads always led me to journalism.
I’m not freaking out because I’m unsure of what the future holds, I’m freaking out because I’m actively witnessing it unfold before me. That’s the scariest part about how fast time has flown. The unfathomably exciting reality is that I’m accomplishing what I never thought was possible, and the anticipation for all that is to come.
If this much has happened in such a short amount of time, then I am eager for the next two years to fly by as well. I can’t wait to do it all again.
So, as heavy as the weight that the fear of failure holds, it’s another counterfactor to balance out the scale. How can I ever be expected to abandon all that I have already accomplished? My fears are entirely irrational, and it just takes a subtle reminder of my passion to help me remember that.
Fantastic article!!!