By my sophomore year of high school, I had decided what I was going to do with my life. I was going to become a Behavioral Analyst at the FBI, specializing in crimes against children. If you steal a glance at my high school diploma, you will see a "Law Enforcement Endorsement" sticker that certifies I took every Criminal Justice elective offered at my high school.
My resume would inform you that I was vice president of my high school's organization for students pursuing a career in Criminal Justice. In my mind, there was nothing more noble than the pursuit of justice; how could I deny the call to be brave and honorable? Still, as I prepared to graduate, I realized some serious problems with my plan.
By my senior year of high school, I was burnt out on the study of criminals. Every week for the past few years, I had been researching current crime events; on weekends, I watched true crime documentaries; on the go, I listened to true crime podcasts. My fascination with justice had been preoccupying most of my thoughts, conscious and subconscious. By my senior year of high school, however, I realized the negative effect this was having on me.
Certainly, there is nothing wrong with being aware of the dangers of the world, but there is something inherently unsettling about paranoia. By my senior year of high school, I was tired of reading about the bad guys. I was tired of seeing the world as an endless cycle of good guys chasing after the bad. I was tired, and I was only seventeen years old. Surely, I thought when the time came to apply for college, this problem would only worsen with continued exposure to crime.
What was I going to claim as my major? For years I had been resigned to a career in law enforcement, but that seemed impossible now. I realized that in pursuing that job, I would have to harden myself. There would never be time to write the novels I'd thought about writing. I would probably stop obsessively reading to chase after the bad guys. I couldn't escape the fear of being stuck in an endless cycle that would leave me battered and bitter.
In short, I had no idea what I was going to claim as my major. As someone who always likes a plan, I couldn't imagine myself entering college undecided. I was so rattled by my sudden change in perspective on everything I had planned for myself that I didn't know what I valued anymore.
I pondered all of this for weeks, even on my first visit to Walt Disney World. That is where everything changed, in a place where the art of storytelling is more captivating than ever.
Suddenly, my path was so clear, I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before. For as long as I could remember, I valued the importance of a good story, whether it's in written form or film, whether it's live action or animated, whether it's old or new. There is something truly remarkable about being able to walk in someone else's shoes and being able to experience the world in a way that would probably otherwise be impossible. Once I realized that I knew that there could be no universe where I don't contribute to that world of storytelling.
Now I am majoring in English, and I am minoring in Film and Entertainment Technology. Anytime I tell anybody about that, they are quick to point out that the job market doesn't value fine arts degrees the way it values business degrees or medical degrees or whatever. Maybe those people are right.
Maybe I am on a path that doesn't guarantee conventional success. I know, though, that I am on a path I love and revere with my entire being. It won't be easy, but most things that matter aren't. I also know that this path encourages my natural affinity for creativity and empathy and authentic communication. I know I will continue to grow with my study of literature from all corners of time and space.