Becoming an English major

The decision to be an English major was not easily made. Every time I would consider changing my major, I would get thoughts of sitting alone in a crummy apartment, surrounded by rejected manuscripts. struggling to make ends meet. a failure, like so many dreamers before me.

Going into college, English wasn't even an option I thought about, I wanted to write, but I knew that it wasn't a guaranteed career. I went into my first semester as an Art therapist, to the excitement of my own therapist. Unfortunately, my interest in the subject drained quickly. It wasn't that the idea of helping people express themselves didn't appeal to me anymore. I know the pain of not having anyone that will listen, and the feelings one gets when they create something unique.

First, it was the financial commitment needed to pursue Art therapy. In order to become a licensed therapist, graduate school is a must. After scraping together all the financial help I could get for these first four years, there was no way I could be sure I would be able to afford any extra years.

Then, I started to realize my artistic limits. Growing up, everyone told me that I had a talent for drawing. (Okay, it was mostly family that said it.) through out school, doodling was what kept me focused. All of my notebooks would be full of doodles. (some to the point where you couldn't see work.) I was a doodle-aholic. All papers became sketchbooks, whether they were suppose to be or not. my artistic talent didn't really stretch far from there. I couldn't paint, or sketch, or make portraits. The other students had massive amounts of artistic talent. They were painters, and sculptures  and sketchers. My doodle skills just couldn't compare. Especially in the required drawing classes.

While I was struggling in the art department, I was finding potential in my research and writing class. I looked forward to the Tuesdays and Thursdays  that I had the class, despite the fact that it was at eight in the morning. When I had essays to write, my fingers were itchy for a keyboard. the words poured from my fingertips, the pages filling with topics ranging from Bullying to Barbie dolls. After hours of drawing in class, I began to write more than draw. I still enjoyed doodling, but I began to realize that I wasn't as passionate as I used to be.

I started considering my options, and realizing where my passions were. I knew that if I truly was passionate about Art therapy, I would have been more focused on ways to guarantee grad school. but, I wasn't. I found myself seriously considering writing. I did some research, (more than I did for Art therapy) and found a lot of things that could be done with an English major. I wasn't limited to one career path. I knew that out of all of them, one was sure to be my future. I knew what I had to do.

After some serious thinking, and a good long talk with myself, I knew where I wanted to be. I got the necessary paperwork done, filled out my schedule, and was on my way!

While my interest in Art therapy decreased after just a few classes, my love of writing is only growing with each passing day. Although the future is uncertain, I know that I made the write (haha see what I did there?) the right choice.