What do you want to be when you grow up?
I was the kid who had a different answer every year: writer, meteorologist, history teacher, person-who-pushed-the-launch-button at Mission Control--- it changed often, and with great passion I leaped from dream career to dream career in my mind. With the dawn of each era came the matching sets of obsessions. The composition pads filled with characters sketches, the hours logged on the NASA Kids website, the stacks of books that found themselves in the back of my Grammy's car after library trips, my vow to read all of the American history books at the Brazil Public Library... on and on the list goes. Somewhere around my sophomore year of high school, I decided it was time to really nail that question down. (Because, obviously, you're supposed to have life figured out by 15. Duh.)
Meteorologist? So sixth grade. History teacher? I don't think I want to actually, you know, be in schools. (I wanted to be a college professor right out of the gate... way to rain on that parade, reality.) Mission-Control-launch-lady? That sounds like a bunch of math...
The one thing that I kept coming back to was music. The piano lessons since third grade, the voice and viola I took in high school, the love of musicals, the volunteering to play at nursing homes all pointed back to two truths: I loved music, and I found meaning in service.
A series of providential events led me to declare music therapy as a major: my piano teacher handing me an article on this "interesting field" she found online, emails from current MT students at SMWC, the Avenue, the audition, and a scholarship. I loved my department, my classes, and my practicums. Contrary to the statistics, I never considered changing my major.
Until second semester senior year.
It was a good old-fashioned midterm existential crisis: am I in the right field? Am I ready to graduate? Did I make the right choice? I feel like an imposter. What if I would have liked ___ better? What if I change my mind later? What if? What about? Why?!
A kindhearted soul happened to catch me mid-crisis, staring blankly at the sidewalk was I shuffled to lunch.
"How's it going?"
"What if I chose the wrong major?" I dropped without warning.
They didn't skip a beat. "What's on the piece of paper means nothing compared to what you do. Want to be a writer? Write. Want to be a teacher? Teach. But I think we both know you love your field, right? Finish strong."
I spent the rest of the walk introspecting: is it the field I'm questioning? Or is this my self-doubt talking? I have struggled my whole life with a deep-seated case of fear of missing out. I knew deep down the real question I was asking was "Am I being authentic? Is this really me?"
The answer I found once I cleared all the noisy doubt away was a resounding YES.
I stopped compartmentalizing my dreams and interests and hobbies, and realized that what I wanted out of a career was who I am and what I do "for a living" to be knit together. Turns out I was very right back in high school: my field is the perfect field for me. I spend my day making music while improving lives. I use my writing skills to craft song lyrics for my clients that reflect their stories and feelings back to them. I dig through research, connecting the dots that captivate my love of learning. Even my inner historian gets to come out every once and awhile and educate people about their favorite patriotic songs. On top of that, I am in a field that is filled with endless opportunities to get involved, lead, educate, further my education, and explore on my own journey as I continue to grow and learn.
In the end, how I use my time and talents is up to me. The hand of Providence guided me to a career that far surpasses a job, and allows me to put my many interests and dreams to use.
Take that, Fear of Missing Out.
