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Undetermined

What are you going to do with your life?

By Sylvia JadePublished 6 years ago 3 min read
2

18 and forced to choose a career path.

I’ve been scared of writing for quite some time. I imagined if I were to write, and I mean really write. I’d have to be perfect. Spend hours on the wording of a single sentence. That I’d have to follow every rule I’ve ever heard. Give up my guilty pleasure of the use of alliteration. I’d have to give up everything I hold dear about writing and focus on the subjects that I zoned out of during school.

As a child, about second grade; I would write a story during class and then pass the story to the class mate on the right of me and then they would pass it to their right. Once it was time to line up for lunch the whole class would of read my story. We would all talk about it and they’d all encourage me to write more. I cherish those memories.

My dad's a brilliant writer. Much better than myself. Sadly, I can’t show him anything I write. My dad can toy with words and grammar to the point of making the most dull sentence sound adventurous. The trouble is he works so damn hard sounding eloquent he can’t say anything of importance.

Then there’s his analyzing. He’ll analyze anything I write like a psychiatrist. Throwing away my story only to slit my gut in the process. Going on and on about how a good writer doesn’t write about themselves.

So I crumbled up my dream and threw it in a trash bin, thinking that’s where my work belongs. I looked up resourceful degrees with good pay and good employment rates. I came across the job title nursing.

I could do that. Plenty of women in my family are nurses. It’s a hard job, but it’s very rewarding. Picturing my self in scrubs saving lives was a pretty picture.

Then I got a job at a nursing home. I was only a functional aide. Meaning, I passed ice, took residents out for smoke breaks, passed breakfast and lunch trays, made beds, etc. However, I did work with nurses. I watched them and noticed everything.

They’re tired. Working 14 hour shifts. Hardly time for a break, while the doctors receive all the glory. Overall they’re mistreated and my heart goes out to all the nurses out there.

After 5 months I quit my job at the nursing home. I know nursing isn’t for me. I know I can’t have a job that I hate. I’ll just die if I choose a career I don’t excel at and enjoy.

I start college in a couple short months. What field will I study? Undetermined, that’s what. But, I’m not undetermined. I know the exact field I wish to study. I’ve always known, even in second grade.

Except, I can’t write the way they want me to. The way my dad says. The way the boring lectures told me in school. The incredible thing is I don’t have to write that way. I read this article and realized I’ve been thinking about it all wrong. (It’s a wonderful read.)

To be a writer isn’t to jumble a bunch of words together and just make them sound nice. It’s about having something to say. I may not be the most articulate writer, or understand grammar like I should. But I’ve got something to say and I know I can use writing to say it.

I’m getting my degree in creative writing. I’ll start off with undetermined just incase I change my mind. But I’m pretty damn sure I won’t, no matter what my parents say, or how impractical it is. I need to do this or I’ll be miserable and live in regret for the rest of my life.

I’m sure no is going to read this, especially make it this far. But on the slim chance someone does, thank you. May you do the thing of your dreams too. :)

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