How it Happened That I Became an English Major in the First Decade of the Twenty-First Century
Lindsay Wilson

            How did it happen that I became an English major in the first decade of the twenty-first century? How also did it happen that chose, for possibly the fourth time in my college career, to stay in and finish an assignment before heading to Blue Monday at the Garden Lounge or any other social situation for that matter? Is it possible my mind is reprioritizing without consulting my liver?

            The decision to become an English major did not happen in any sort of stimulating way. I think I always planned on taking the English route beyond high school, whether that meant an English degree or simply simultaneously journaling and journeying which is, to be honest, what I’d rather be doing.

I have a hard time following deadlines. Good ideas for stories, essays, entries come to me when they desire to do so, and the stroke of luck that allows for me to then pen these ideas eloquently finds me even less often so more often than not I’m forced to turn in shit which drives me insane. I’d rather turn in nothing. In my experience most professors prefer shit to nothing, which leads me back to my first train of thought, this essay which I can’t seem to concentrate on because I would rather be at the Garden. “Honesty is the best policy” right? Maybe I’m being too honest.

I suppose I could start with my freshman year. I didn’t begin my college career in the English program. I started out in journalism. Whenever a friend, family member, new acquaintance would ask why journalism I’d respond, “I just want to travel and write about the things that matter”. The things that matter? Why did no one ask for an elaboration? Why did I never ask myself to elaborate?

English was always my subject though, my forte, the one subject that really interested me so I was taking creative writing courses along with my JAMM classes. I realized pretty quickly that I was in the wrong major. The only classes I didn’t dread attending were my English classes. This is how it happened that I became an English major in the second semester of my freshman year in the first decade of the twenty-first century. I felt the fit and I knew it was right because previously whenever someone asked me about the future I would panic. I felt that I should choose a safe major, a career I knew could provide me with money and stability and, cross your fingers, benefits the instant I graduated. My cousin was actually the one that brought this to my attention with one question. In twenty years are you going to be able to look back on the time you spent in college and say that you did exactly what you wanted to do? As cliché as it sounds, I knew if I didn’t pursue creative writing, I’d always wonder.

It may turn out that I’m a terrible writer, that I’ll never be successful, or worse that I’ll lose my passion for writing attempting to convert it into a career. The only thing I’m sure of? I have to try.