As a writer, I have the freedom to write about whatever I'd like, but with this freedom comes a responsibility to you, the reader, to provide content that is both interesting and relatable. This often means writing about general issues as well as things that will affect you just as much as it affects me. However, with this article, I would like to take an introspective look into my flaws and turn my weekly criticism into a self-analysis.

As my sophomore year of college approaches, so, too, do the many responsibilities that come with it. Really, I just have to pick a major, but this just feels like a lifetime of responsibility coming to fruition finally. For the past few months, my answer to "What is your major?" has often been, "I don't really know, history propably?" It is more of a question than an answer, and so far, that is all this process has done. Instead of providing answers to my many questions, the major search has just raised more questions. I have considered numerous majors (all of them), and none have struck me like I had hoped that they would. And this, I fear, is my biggest flaw.

In simpler terms, I have no motivation, and I have no passion. I do not wake up every morning, excited to continue my trek up the ladder in some field. I do not have a passion for any subject or any career. I have a friend whose love for science has broadened over his first year of college, and another who is climbing the ladder of conservative journalism faster than I can keep up. And that leaves me, working jobs as a laborer for the summer because I would need a career path in order to search for an internship.

I know everyone's advice will be to wait because it will come to me in time. Plus, my major doesn't have to decide my career, right?

So, I wait endlessly for something that I love to hit me on the forehead, making me inspired to go to class and to make phone calls and movements up the food chain. Hopefully this happens before sophomore spring, or else I'm pretty screwed.