I am logical. I am not a gut follower.

I am a political science major with a focus in civic engagement. I am minoring in communication studies and creative writing. I have been around the block in terms of career plans. Therapist, lawyer, novelist, editor, and creative writing teacher in about that order.

A few days ago, I had a dream. Not like MLK's dream for the future. I had some REM-induced mind pictures show up and throw off everything I'd been planning.

I don't have good dreams. I have sensational nightmares. Some of my dream worlds have shown up thousands of times. I have been dreaming of the same white basement with no windows for years. Same goes for the modified version of my grandma's backyard.

This world was new, and this dream was warm. I was a neonatal nurse working with babies and families in the NICU. There was nothing vivid. Nothing that stood out. I didn't do anything. I was just there, surrounded by new life. And I was a nurse.

I tried pushing the dream aside. I tried, but I totally failed. It was the only thing on my mind for days. My heart swelled. My head raced. Look into it. I started doing research on how to become a nurse. Accelerated programs were totally reachable. I closed the tabs. You don't like gross stuff, stupid. You fainted shadowing a nurse. You are scared of needles.

Besides—me, a nurse? I was months away from applying to six of the best programs in the nation for MFAs in creative writing. Not to mention JET, an opportunity to teach English in Japan for a year. I was a scholar. I was not science-y. I was not on my way to being a nurse.

Something in me was telling me to keep looking. Something said, "You have to try this."

Then I discovered my school's own accelerated nursing program, to be completed after you have a Bachelor's degree in something else. 15 months, right on the same campus, through OHSU. I was going to have to pull some summer class strings to make sure I had the prerequisites complete, but it would be totally doable. I would be a strong candidate.

I called my mom, dad, stepmom, advisor, and academic director. I texted nurses, friends, and family members. My mom contacted almost every nurse she knew to get their advice. The consensus was unexpected. I was not losing my marbles. I was capable. I could be a great nurse. It's hard, meaningful, rewarding work that can take you anywhere. Try it.

I went to the pre-nursing advisor on campus. She shrugged when I told her I had a wild story. She'd heard wilder. Auto mechanic, basic studies degree, prerequisites, amazing nurse. She thought I had the grades to get accepted and plenty of time to pull off the prerequisite courses.

"Do it" was coming from every direction. It was coming from my own head. My own heart. After three years of training in political science, communication, and writing, something in me was telling me to go a totally new direction. It didn't mean I had to drop what I was learning. It didn't mean I had to weaken my passions. It meant I had to explore this world. I had to learn about this thing.

If you don't you'll regret it.

The message didn't come without warnings. It's hard. People die. Babies die. People will be helpless. You will hold hands with people when they are taking their final breaths. Families who lose relatives new and old will cry on your shoulder. You must be strong. Tough. Perfect. A terrible mistake could strip you of your ability to work. People will be mean to you. People will not thank you. You will work tirelessly. You will get treated badly. You will also mean the world to your patients. There is no work more honorable.

I am still afraid of how hard it will be. I won't take the plunge without exposing myself to the setting. I won't devote without seeing how I handle the things I'm afraid of.

Still, the hardest person to convince was myself. I had the good feeling. Thinking about becoming a nurse washed away my anxiety. But why? There was no good explanation and plenty of reasons not to do it. You don't like gross stuff.

Well, no one does. That's an excuse. I know I can handle it. I can handle blood and gore, and I have no sense of smell. The only things I'm really nervous about are needles. When I shadowed my cousin, a labor and delivery nurse, I fainted at the mere mention of an epidural needle. Then I heard from people who'd watched procedures. They fainted, too, even when they thought they were fine. It was normal. It was something you adapted to.

I love to write. Writing is, above all things, a medium for passion and justice. That's why I do it. I write because I want to use my voice to show compassion. I'm going to keep doing that. What better way for me to protect under-served, vulnerable communities than to become a nurse?

If you're reading this, don't ignore your gut. Your instincts are there for a reason. Change your major. Change your plans. Toss things up in the air once in awhile. Go boldly. You can always go back, but you have to decide to go forward in the first place.