At the age of 18, I learned to let go of fear and embrace my true ambitions ... without worrying about my future income.
If you haven't already been told as a college student, there's a chance you're going to change your major at some point. Possibly, 5-6 times, or more. Or, you might be right where you need to be.
When I approached my first year of college, I was 110% positive I wanted to graduate with a master's degree in Psychology and continue onto my PhD to build my own private practice. I've always had a flourishing passion for helping people, and in particular, young people who struggle with mental health issues and trauma, much like myself. I found boundless fulfillment in the idea of being someone's source of guidance, and had been more than familiar with the comfort of confiding in someone I could relate to. At the time, there was nothing else I wanted in my life than to be that person for someone else. Besides, much of my own personal growth and emotional stability has been made possible with the help of a psychologist who since inspired me to move forward with such a noble career path.
Despite the dozens of people who told me I was likely going to change my major, I shook my head and insisted that I knew what I wanted. However, there were many times when I quietly doubted myself. I was fearful because I didn't think there could possibly be something else in the world to commit my life to.
I've always had way too much to share. I've always talked too much and wrote too long. I even speak too loud. Although I've never been ashamed of these things, it became part of my reason for wanting to become a clinical psychologist (except for my inability to control my volume). I felt the need to talk, to share, to inspire, and to help with my own words. I quickly learned that in the field of psychology, listening becomes more imperative than speaking. I told myself I would need to learn to overcome my desire to speak and teach myself how to listen.
Although I consider myself to be a good listener, I struggle to hush my thoughts. My brain easily becomes overgrown with colorful ideas that a piece of paper and pen cannot sustain. I've always immersed myself in the arts: music, film, literature, painting and cooking. I loved writing more than anything, always, whether it was for class or a private notebook in which I kept my most personal thoughts. I've spent a decade (and counting) of my life playing the guitar and writing music, and at one point, writing lyrics to my songs relieved me of my thoughts and I finally began to share what I had to say. But, it wasn't enough. I didn't want to have to play a show to be heard, or record an album to feel as if I were being listened to. My love for music and songwriting goes far and wide, but it wasn't sufficient for my heavy, and sometimes, perplexing observations about the world. I also learned to speak through brush strokes on a canvas, but still, leftover thoughts made their way back into my mind and I felt restless. I began feeling slightly out of place and further questioned my place in the world.
At the end of my freshman year in college, under an unforeseen circumstance, I was compelled to redirect myself toward what I truly wanted. I learned that I needed to adjust my approach; my artistry; my medium. Someone very close to me asked me this question:
"If you could have it your way, and live a life following your true passion, what would you do?"
I didn't hesitate for a second. I confessed that I wanted to be a writer, a speaker, and a creator. I wanted to reach more than five patients in an office; I wanted to be able to reach millions of minds across the world. I knew that if it came down to it, I'd rather be poor and do what I love, as opposed to make six figures doing something I don't have a true drive for.
Before you ask: no, I've never written fiction, sci-fi, mysteries, or crime, but for as long as I could remember, I loved to write about my nuanced experiences and observations of the world around me. I often found beauty in the subtlest creations of the world while going about my regular day as a college student. Each time I traveled by foot, car, or plane, I recognized things about the people and culture around me through an entirely new lens. I became enlightened by observations that I would have otherwise overlooked, had I not been privy to question their meaning or significance. There are certain things about our culture that go unnoticed, or become misread, and I felt the need to bring these topics to light.
I wanted to write about the many things I've learned during my life so far, from the gentle, yet influential words of strangers (everyone is an expert in something) to the invaluable conversations I've shared with those who inspire me the most. On the other hand, I wanted to write about why men shouldn't feel the need to suppress negative emotions, and why we, as a society, need to encourage men to ask for help, instead of always teaching them to be the help. I wanted to write about how our world is in desperation for kindness and tolerance of differences (this is an overdone topic, but I want to pick it apart and give it a go with my own words). I wanted to write about the importance of human interaction, and why technology and digital communication can never match the comfort it delivers. I wanted to write about learning to live by curiosity, and subduing your most intimidating fears. Too many of us neglect our ambitions because we're driven by money. I wanted to write about the mere importance of social learning and how young children are more impressionable than we realize; they are the future and we need to teach them to be kind and accepting. I wanted to write about becoming a product of your environment and walking away stronger than your failures and traumas. (The list is immeasurable.)
In an English class freshman year, I wrote a piece in response to Ralph Waldo Emerson's The American Scholar (1837). My professor was bewildered at my observations and interpretations of his writing, and urged me to share my essay with more than just my small class. He inspired me to challenge my fears and taught me that I could make a life out of writing and speaking. He suggested I find something I love, create a blog, and write about it. And from there, I'm going to work my ass off for as long as I have to in order to make a difference in peoples' lives, or to change their way of thinking.
In short, I changed my major to communication and made psychology my minor. I still love the study of psychology simply because it's intriguing and allows me to better understand why we are the way we are. However, I didn't feel as though psychology would lead me to a fulfilling life because it didn't give me the platform I needed to share my thoughts. But as a communication major, I'm currently overwhelmed with the new kinds of knowledge I'm encountering at every corner. This major has allowed me to explore my post-baccalaureate career options and help build upon my understanding of the media industry (giving me all the more reasons to want to work within it). I'm developing ideas about how I want to begin my writing platform and finding that working in Public Relations for a media company is peaking my interest. Ideally, I'd like to get my master's degree and continue my blog for as long as I can, in addition to building my own written collection of essays, memoirs, and books. I'm truly experiencing some type of creative euphoria in the middle of all of this.
I have never felt more assured that I'm in the right place in my life to begin my journey. I'm at the very beginning of pursuing my innermost ambitions, and I cannot wait to put my thoughts into the world. I want them to be embedded into the air we breathe and into the soft words we exchange to one another.
I am writing now because I am a product of my environment, learning to walk away much stronger than my failures and my traumas. I tower over most of my fears and walk in my own direction down a nourishing, hand-made path. I'm only 20 years old.
I am constantly overwhelmed with my capability to feel things so deeply that I need to share. I need to speak, and I need to write.
With all my love,
Gill