I had always been envious of those who came into college and knew what they would do. Their schedules for the next four years were laid out without any crinkles, and their extracurriculars were hand-picked from the moment they stepped foot on campus. So, in an effort to keep up with the trends of my fellow seniors at my high school, I, too, decided on big dreams: teaching the youngsters of tomorrow! Sure, I wasn’t that passionate about it, but at least I had a plan like everyone else. So, when freshman orientation rolled around, I found myself plumped in Reasoner 319, dreading the plans I thought I was so sure of.
“I can’t change my major.” My lips wrinkled as I spoke on the phone. I had to see this through; This was the only option. I literally already told everyone. I signed the papers. I had an advisor. I was in classes. This was my future. This was my destiny. It had to be! “Why?” My mom interrupted my thoughts with such a silly little question. “Because…” but my mind went blank.
I have three shirts, four sweaters and seven pairs of pants that I routinely cycle around. I only use black .07 Pilot pens, and I have to drink cranberry apple tea with a skosh of honey at least once a day. If I know one thing about myself, it’s that the more options I have, the more my brain cannot function. So, when I found myself up in the Hager administration building, grasping the most powerful form in all of Asbury and 124 major options to scribble on it, trouble was afoot.
In the course of my first semester, freshman year, I changed my major five times. I was seriously on a roll. Creative writing, Media communications, emphasis in performing… no wait, that was emphasis on audio, or was it both? Maybe art history? It’s all a blur. But, I still hadn’t found my field soulmate. Over time that five went to seven, then nine, and eventually an email: “Thank you for your application for a new major. Unfortunately, we cannot fulfill this request at this time due to the other new major application you filed two weeks ago. Blessings, Registrar.”
When the first semester of sophomore year rolled around, I was still in pursuit; but my excitement for what could be became the resentment to the seemingly never-ending cycles of the previously tried. Everyone else around me had found their specialties, why couldn’t I find mine? What was the point of being in college if I couldn’t even pinpoint a direction? I was stuck in my senior year of high school all over again, trying to come up with some sort of answer to the brooding question of what I was going to pursue.
“So, what’s this week’s major?” A running joke-question my friends asked. “Oh, you know, I’m thinking I might like to dabble in the sciences this week, but I might change to the arts,” I bantered on. “So, do you just quit your major when it gets difficult?” one poked. I had never stopped to think about my jumping habits like that. Fortunately for me, I was a philosophy major at that time, so I was pretty familiar with intriguing mind-swirling questions. But, to be honest, they had a point. I don’t think I had ever stayed in a major long enough for it to be difficult. Was I afraid of having to pick a path, or was I afraid of the challenges I would have to face within that path?
Cole Claybourn, a writer for US News and author of the article, Should You Change Majors in College?, states, “In general, colleges want students to declare a major prior to their junior year. Declaring early, experts say, can help students plan out their coursework and have a general sense of direction about their degree path. But about a third of undergraduate students who declare a major within three years of initial enrollment end up changing it at least once, according to the National Center for Education Statistics.”
When I was six, I wanted to be a scientist. When I was in middle school, I wanted to become a card dealer in Los Vegas. When I was a freshman in high school, I wanted to be a baker and live in France. And when I was a senior, I (somewhat) wanted to be an elementary school teacher.
Everyone in university has a different story of how they landed in their respective major. Whether it be that they knew from the get-go of their college journey or they had some bumps in the road.
Since my 11 major changes, I have reflected on the idea of failure and why there’s a feeling of guilt kindled when changing to a different one. From what I have learned about this stinging feeling, it stems from the idea that you were expected to complete something, yet couldn’t follow through. Here’s the issue with that logic, it puts us in a box and constrains us to believe that if we don’t follow where we initially thought we were being led to, we’re automatically defeated. But, what if, instead, we thought of it as character growth?
