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Finding My Way
Two majors later, One Jayplay writer is finally happy
KATIE JAMES
The day I observed a physical therapist at my eighth-grade career fair I decided that was what I wanted to be when I grew up. The therapist seemed so cool and professional, showing us the different therapy techniques that could be done with resistance bands and exercise balls. Physical therapy seemed like a perfect fit for me. I wanted to help people and physical therapy wasn't as traumatic as being a doctor. In fact, I was so sure I wanted to become a physical therapist I never even considered any other majors throughout high school. I was going to make a difference in other people's lives, or so I thought.
My school district at home was, in the words of Mean Girls, "a pusher." During enrollment freshman year of high school, the counselor handed me a four-year plan and expected me to fill it in right then and there. The college-prep meetings started soon after, but they didn't faze me. I knew where I wanted to go and what I wanted to major in. I didn't give a second thought to the fact that I was passionate about music and photography, or that I was a good writer. I couldn't wait to get to The University of Kansas. Every time someone asked me what I was going to school for I would proudly answer "pre-physical therapy."
As my freshman year began, I walked onto campus more excited for school than I had ever been. I had this buzz, this feeling like I was starting a new chapter and nothing could bring me down. But my feelings quickly changed. I was in the normal gen-eds, but what disappointed me so much was that I didn't like my exercise science classes. I absolutely hated going to history of physical education. Why did I need to be taught how to be a phys. ed. teacher or the history of the Olympics to be a physical therapist? To make things worse, I could never read my notes after they turned into a scribbled blur while fighting to keep my eyes open.
The advising appointment during which I had to plan sophomore year classes terrified me. I hadn't done that great in a sociology class and my adviser at the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences jumped all over me. "If this is how you do in gen-eds, how do you expect
to do well in graduate school?" Honestly, at that point I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be a physical therapist anymore. Seven years of school for something I wasn't sure about seemed too much. I asked my adviser what she would recommend I do, and she said, "Guess you'll have to figure it out."
I called my mom on my way home from the advising center in tears. It was a gorgeous sunny day with lots of cheery people on campus, but I felt like my world was crashing down around me. "I can't do this anymore. I don't know what to do. I hate it." It was crushing to realize my dream wasn't something I wanted anymore, and even more defeating was the fact that I didn't know where to go from there. I moped for days, feeling lost in a spiral of self-doubt and confusion, unsure what path my life was now going to take. I kept getting asked what I was good at and what I wanted to do, over and over, making me feel more and more pressured. "Well, I don't know," was always my answer. I loved art and photography, but I didn't want to have to begin school all over again as a sophomore to transfer into the School of Art and Design.
Bring on my second major freak-out during winter break of sophomore year. Had I not learned anything the first time? Apparently not. Unsure, I made the switch to art history. Though I was excited at first, it didn't work out either. One semester in I realized I should have looked at the job opportunities in the field of art history before changing my major. I didn't want to work in a stuffy museum or become a professor. I felt like I had rushed into this decision, and I really just wanted someone to tell me I wasn't ruining my life.
I felt like a failure. I was the person who had no idea what to do. My high school teachers had put so much importance on picking a major, but not what to do if you wanted to change. You weren't supposed to quit.
Many restless nights later, I sat down and without putting a ton of pressure on myself, tried to think about what I liked to do. And then, it was as though a light bulb turned on: journalism. Why had I not thought of this before? I already watched the news and read the newspaper every day.I liked to write and talk to people about their views. Why not do it for a living?
Before classes started again I met with advisers from the journalism school. They were so excited I was there and really encouraged me to pursue something I enjoyed. They helped me with all the essential paperwork, and by some miracle, I had completed the necessary requirements to apply for admission right away.
I found what I been lacking in my previous majors; a connection with the people who were preparing me for the real world, professors who cared about their students and were really passionate about what they were teaching and I felt good at what I was doing. I finally looked forward to coming to school every day. It felt like home. In those first few weeks of journalism classes, I realized that it's OK to move on if something isn't working out. It didn't make me a failure, and I'm a lot happier now.
Photo by Abby Davis Major Happiness: After changing her major twice, James found what she was looking for in journalism
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