I changed my major. There, I said it with nothing but courage this time. Although this may seem like a simple – and often heard – statement from a college student, it was a lot for me to swallow. I fought tooth and nail to convince myself that I didn’t really want to change my major in school. I’ve always been the most hard-headed, stupidly stubborn, and goal-oriented child of my parents. And no, I don’t think that all of those things are necessarily good because a lot of the times they cause trouble not only when it comes to my growth, but also many of my relationships have been ruined by my adamancy. I fought when I was younger to always be able to pick out my own clothes and brush my own hair and never be left behind by my older sister and her friends; I argued with my mother in my teen years to give me the independence that I always needed/wanted; and I would not give up the fight with my parents to allow David in my life (this one I’m most proud of and I think they appreciate the fact that I never gave up on him).
So, it’s no surprise that when I went off to college, I already knew what I wanted, how long it would take to get there, and what challenges I would have to face on the way. However, I did not anticipate a change of course. My entire life, once I had something set in my mind, I kept it there and it almost never faltered. Yet, here I was, going through the past year of college unsure, feeling stupid and out of place, and taking courses in a different subject (psychology) to keep me happy. I knew I wanted to help people in my life and I thought that teaching was the path to do that – after all, I still look up to many of my teachers as my greatest heroes.
But I wasn’t happy. When planning to transfer schools, I had set in my mind that the minor to my English teaching major would be psychology. I never for a second thought to myself that something would get in the way of that goal. When I started filling out my new schedules for the next year, it wasn’t the fact that all the English classes I wanted to take weren’t available when I could take them, nor was it the lack of a Latin class that disappointed me most (although, that was definitely up there for me). No, the thing that finally broke me was the fact that I was not able to have psychology as a teaching minor at my transfer school.
Finally, I realized what it was that I was in need of as I tried so desperately to cling to the image of me as a teacher. This was not my path. It might be a path that I respect and will always cherish, but it was not mine and I couldn’t claim it as my own for another day. I did what I do best and headed straight to the library and searched and searched for an answer. I spent a large chunk of the beginning of my summer with my nose buried within the binder of the books. Amidst all the three-inch thick books of careers available, and the hundreds of tests I took to tell me what I would be good at, I found it. Something that had been there in front of me my entire life: psychology.
All those memories came stumbling out of my mind as I recalled the years I spent in counseling for my own – what I thought they were then – inadequacies (although years later I recognize it now as an illness). Throughout all the fights I fought in my life, this was the toughest for me. I thought I’d never get over my vices and I probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t the seven years I spent in and out of counseling. I realized that this is what I really wanted the entire time I had been going through life: to help the people that struggled with life the way I did.
There are two things that people have said the past week that have stuck in my head. Firstly, David said to me the other day as we discussed my sudden change in a career path, “Taylor, I’ve known you were going to do something great when I met you. You have to do something great with your life and help people. My tool to help people might be teaching, but I never really thought it was the same for you. This is what you were meant for.” (Yea, he’s pretty great, ain’t he?) Then, the other day when I was in Ann Arbor with my sister, her very tall friend was with us and they continually challenged each other to touch the tree branches. My sister kept saying to her friend’s comments on her inability to reach them, “I’m still growing!” I realized then that I’m still growing too. No, not in height, but as a person and I’m glad to chalk up this experience as a tough, yet positive one.
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