Major Problem

About this time last year, I was deciding to declare my major. I had taken a pretty great lower-level math course and decided that I most definitely wanted to do math as a career since obviously life as a math major would just be more of Math 101 only with cuter calculators ... right?
Wrong.
Second semester was a disaster. My pink Hello Kitty calculator didn’t stand a chance in Statistical Equations of the Western Hemisphere 411 and, quite honestly, neither did I. But I didn’t want to give up.
So this semester I continued on my quest for mathematical greatness, only minus the greatness. I went into my classes the first day with a very determined look on my face. A very determined look that said, “Hello world, I just want to pass this class with a C-.” I sat in the back. I never sit in the back.
My teacher started explaining the syllabus; the work required to pass Fractions for a Modern World 436 sounded like the equivalent of getting my face kicked in by a rabid horse. I looked out the window. Everything seemed better outside that window.
I thought of all the things I would rather be doing: gardening, painting by numbers, sleeping, walking through the coffee aisle at Giant – any of it would be better than stupid fractions. I wondered if it was too late to major in becoming an astronaut. What does one even major in if she wants to become an astronaut? But maybe cooking would be better. Then I could move to Paris. Would I have to major in French? That might actually be worse than math. But would there be baguette-eating?
Suddenly, everyone in the class was leaving. I had day-dreamed through the entire fractions lecture. I was only half sorry.
As I walked back to my room, I realized how incredibly easy it would be to hate math. I dreaded the homework; wouldn’t I dread a job? Would I grow up to be the all too talented hooky girl of the math office? Always “coming down with” some strange strain of raccoon pox or rabbit flu, while really I stay home from work to crochet mittens for my many cats?
I could not major in math.
I had to get out. I had to see my advisor. I had to figure out what I actually want to do with my life! “But life is so vast and unpredictable, Christina!”
Oh boy, I was talking to myself.
I knew I needed help, so I dashed over to my wisest friend’s room. When he saw the terrified look on my face, he asked what was wrong.
“I have a major problem,” I said, trying to control my breathing.
“Oh jeez, you didn’t try to yoga again? Do I need to take you to the doctor?”
“No,” I snapped, getting panicky. “I can’t do math for the rest of my life. You have to help me find a new major. Please. PLEASE.”
My wise friend looked surprised. “I thought you loved math,” he said.
“Oh yeah, well math hates me! I’m miserable! What else can I do?”
“It’s okay; I have an idea,” my friend said as he started scribbling on a stack of Post-Its. Within two minutes, his desk was covered with the yellow papers.
“It’s a game,” he explained. “On the back is written a job. Just pick up a few and see how you react. We’ll go from there.”
I picked the one right in the middle. “Architecture.” I was never good with Leggos. Or missing my beauty sleep. I made a face and put the Post-It back. I wondered if this game would just show me how many majors I couldn’t handle.
The next Post-It said “Bio Medical Engineering.” No.
And the next was “English.” I didn’t feel completely nauseous when I read it – how promising! I mean, I speak English all the time, right? I’m practically an expert!
I kept playing the Post-It career game, but my positivity toward “English” trumped the anxiety I felt for “Mail Carrying,” “Medieval Byzantine Studies,” “Ballet,” and “Zoology.” So I made the switch and have been feeling pretty good ever since. I have absolutely no idea what I will do after college, but now is the time to study what I’m interested in, right? After that, it will be up to me whether I live in a box on John McCormick Road or if I become the CEO of Mattel Toys so I can just spend the rest of my life playing with Barbies.
Bottom line? Follow your heart. If that fails, trust your Post-Its.