The major you choose -- and the future that comes with it -- can change at any moment, even instantaneously. Maybe a conversation sparks interest in a field you’ve never even considered before. Other times you may happen upon your calling by pure chance, a complete coincidence.
Such an experience is not what high-school-senior-year me was prepared for on my second day of pre-calculus, a class I signed up for because I thought I could handle skipping algebra 3.
Spoiler alert: I couldn’t.
That’s why young, naive Trevor from one year ago was sitting in the counselor’s office trying to obtain a cease-and-desist on the class. Attempting to finish the homework was futile when the hour and a half of my first class was essentially my personal hell embodied in a 20-by-20 brick wall.
Naturally, for the sake of my sanity, I went back to take algebra 3, a move which gave me a staggering two options for classes that would fit my schedule: horticulture or painting. And as fun as learning about photosynthesis and pistils and shit sounds, I had to go for painting. After all, it should just be a small diversion for me, not one that will consume my life.
That was before art consumed -- nay -- devoured my consciousness.
See, before I took painting, I never had to take any traditional art classes; band and choir covered the requirements comfortably. Since I backed myself into a corner, however, I ended up learning a lot about myself.
As it turns out, I seemed to take a liking to painting. I engaged myself more in this subject than any other, a subject I may have never taken had it not been for my unfortunate struggle.
Before art, I promised myself I always wanted to be a journalist -- and I was gonna strive to achieve that goal.
I also wanted to be a cop when I was six. I’ll fax you when that dream comes to fruition. As it turns out, I just never was meant to write for a living, let alone write about news I give zero fucks about.
Instead, here I am drawing portraits of a statue’s butt while the rest of the world stares at me and assumes we do nothing in art school, and none of it may have happened if not for my dim mathematic skills. Thanks, idiocy!
