Once upon a time, there were two people who really wanted me to become an English major. Even if you know only one thing about me, you probably know that they succeeded.
My first semester at Park, I was a psychology major and I thought that I wanted to become a therapist to help people. My plan before that had been to be a nurse, so psychology was at least a step in the right direction after a stint at Community College and leaving my first University. Unfortunately for my plans, the psychology class I took my first semester at Park was murderously terrible and I hated virtually every second of it.
During my first semester at Park, I only had two classes that I liked. EN105 with Professor Malone and Astronomy where I made an English major friend named Rees. Every time I turned in a paper to Professor Malone, he’d write on it, “You should think about being an English major!”
The first few times I ignored it. He was just teaching freshman English, he was probably just saying that, he probably said that to all his students, etc. But after a while, I liked hearing that I was good at something, and that the something was writing. It got the wheels turning.
Meanwhile, Rees was not-so-subtlety berating me about my choice of major on a regular basis. “Still a psych major?” he’d ask and laugh while I shrugged.
Being new to Park, newly back to college after being out for a year, and new to a good college experience, I think the idea of the camaraderie is what started to sell me on English.
After a while, my psychology and sociology classes began to sell me on English as well. Once I’d opened my mind to a different possibility for my studies, my current ones became insufferable.
I started making pros and cons lists; lists of potential careers; lists of future possibilities; lists of classes I would have to take for each major. Slowly, slowly, I realized that I hated the thought of studying anything that wasn’t English for the next three years.
I remember the single pivotal moment. It was the last week of the semester and almost summertime. I hadn’t signed up for classes yet because I was still too afraid to commit to English or recommit to Psychology. Sitting outside McKay at the cool, cement tables at the top of the hill, I pulled up my list of classes for psychology again. I realized, with great clarity, that I would actually be incapable of taking these stupid classes for the next six semesters. I decided to worry about the future later. At this point, I probably smoked a cigarette for courage and then marched into Norrington to change my major.
Now I am in my penultimate semester in undergrad and it is finally time to worry about the future. I don’t really know how to go about pursuing an academic future and sometimes there is a small voice inside me that regrets not choosing something easier or more lucrative, but not really. I have loved (almost) every moment between the afternoon I became an English major and now, even that time I almost had a meltdown before a Rhetoric final.
I’m not sure I could have even gotten through school in any other major. So, whatever happens, English will have at least given me three wonderful, enlightening years, and even if I end up teaching high school, it will all have been worth it.
Lindsey Grundyson 