Have you ever been afraid to tell someone what you're passionate about?

I have.

Now, keep in mind, that what I love to do can't be compared to the "hobbies" of serial killers in classic horror films. I guess what I'm trying to say is that my passions don't include dressing up like my mother and terrorizing any poor fool that steps through my front door, like Norman Bates did in Psycho. I could see why people would be nervous sharing their dreams and aspirations, though,if that was the type of thing that they loved doing. But who am I to judge? That is not the case for me, however. In fact, what I love to do is completely harmless and makes me happy. So why would I still be afraid to tell people that what I wanted to do with my life involved a lot of reading and writing?

I can tell you exactly why.

It started in my junior year of high school. That was the time, as we all may relate, in which the pressure to pick the perfect college and the perfect career choice begins to grow. Luckily for me, I made up my mind to go to Neumann University when I was about seven years old. The idea of my dream college never changed, so heart palpitations caused by stress of picking the right college for me was never an issue. It was all a matter of getting accepted. However, picking the career path that I was passionate about was a struggle. Granted, by that point, I had some idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I knew that I wanted to do something that I loved, and that what I loved doing the most was reading and writing, both creatively and academically. The plans that I had in mind for my future were like an unsolved puzzle. I had all of the pieces but I didn't know how to make them fit together. That idea of only somewhat knowing what you want to do with the rest of your life seems pretty tragic, in itself, right? Well, things got much worse for me. I decided, one day, that I would want to be an English major when I got into college. That plan stayed in the back of my mind for a while, until senior year came around. Senior year of high school is a time of nonstop questions like, "where are you going to college?", "are you going to commute or live on campus?" and, the kicker, "what do you plan to major in?" just to name a few.

"What do you plan to major in?" was the question that I had originally thought I would enjoy answering the most. The English major is a bit like the Latin language, seemingly nonexistent. So, I thought that others would be interested to hear that I wanted to pursue that major, since not many people do nowadays. I was right, in a sense, people were interested. Were they interested because they were happy and excited about my choice? Not exactly. It didn't take me long to notice a trend in other people's reactions when I told them that I planned to major in English. Their brows would furrow in confusion, which was followed by a bit of awkward silence as they stared at me, seeming to search deepest recesses of their minds to come up with some logical explanation of why I wanted to major in English. After a moment or two, the silence would be broken, always by the same follow up question:

"Why?"

Asking why is not a bad thing. Young children ask that question several times a day for its how they grow and absorb information. Scientists and inventors ask the same question, its their job to wonder why something works the way that it does. Students ask it too, and if they don't, they find themselves lost in a sea of information that they will never understand. But to ask why, with such a tone of disdain and condescension, is a different story. It got to a point where I felt like I was being scolded for choosing a path that wasn't necessarily easy, though it was what I loved to do. Eventually, when adults would ask what I was going to major in, I found myself cringing before they did, practically mentally preparing myself for a slap in the face. I found that, when I did this, the looks that would be given to me didn't feel like such a devastating blow. The reactions that I got seemed negative enough to convince me that other people's opinions were the only ones that I should care about. For a while, I even switched my plans, and began telling people that I wanted to major in Communications instead, mainly because I thought that it made me sound smarter and more relevant.

I was caught in a catch 22. What I really wanted to do was to remain an English major, but that dream seemed to wither every day, becoming more invalid. Telling people that I was a Communications major got a better reaction, but I knew that it was not the path that I wanted to take. I was lost and half convinced that it was probably just easier to go along with whatever everyone else wanted me to do. The more I thought about it, though, the more I thought of how completely miserable my whole life would be if I succumbed to everyone else's expectations. I still can't believe that it took me nearly eighteen years to have an epiphany like the one that I had when I was preparing to enter Neumann University as a freshman.

I realized that I was spending my life living for other people. That was something that needed to change and, thankfully, it did. Last year, I learned something in one of my classes that shocked me about the English major. It is the major that offers the widest variety of career choices. That makes sense to me, now, because the majority of job positions in the current economy need to be filled by people who can write well. I'm not limited to one specific field, as I had always thought. Learning that was what made me gain confidence in myself to share what I was most passionate about. In fact, last year, when I first told my adviser that I planned to major in English, I didn't cringe when he asked me why. I smiled, and explained that I couldn't imagine myself doing anything else.

This is a message I had to share, not to degrade anyone who told me that majoring in English was a risky decision. I've learned to accept those opinions, and I realize that people who have told me those things only wanted what was best for me. I feel like what is best for me, though, is letting me live and learn for myself. If I have to work twice as hard, just to do what I love to do with my life, I don't mind. If I fail, and end up deciding that the world of writing and reading isn't the best choice for me after all, that is okay too. You must fail in life in order to succeed. I don't want to live hovering over a net that is constantly waiting to catch me when I fall. I want to be able to fall, and learn to get back up on my own two feet again. This message does not just apply to me. This goes for anyone who has to watch their dreams crumbling before their eyes. Even if the path you want to take seems impractical, hard work does pay off.

So, if you're like me, let's hold our ground and do everything the world says we could never do.