As someone who is going to graduate from high school this year and is currently sinking under the weight of mountains of college applications and scholarship forms, I can definitely relate. I skipped kindergarten as a child, so the idea that the decisions that I, a 16-year-old-girl who can barely make scrambled eggs and spends her days wandering the halls of Consol in a sleep-deprivation and stress-induced haze, make in the next nine months will potentially decide my future career is more than mildly terrifying, to say the least.
I have some friends who are 100% sure of what they want to become when they grow up (or at least they pretend to be...), and I wish I was someone like that. But truthfully, I'm not. However, just as the boy in the comic has been in love with art ever since he was a child, I've always been strangely attracted to literature and words in the same way. I really connected with the image of the artist scribbling on his parents and the walls of his house because in the same way, I constantly annoyed my parents with my attempts at "novels" and family newspapers that I created as a kid. You might not believe this, but being constantly bombarded by a six-year-old's haphazardly stapled stories (the majority of which were some variation of a girl whose parents forbid her from adopting a puppy -- okay, so I might have not been the most subtle shade-thrower, geez) isn't exactly the most fun thing for busy parents.
On the other hand, I enjoy science as well. I actually spent three months of this summer working in a science laboratory at A&M researching tuberculosis -- and I doubt anybody would spend 8+ hours a day, 5 days a week, 3 months a year inside a lab instead of at the pool if they didn't enjoy it a little bit. Now of course, going into a science field would be just a convenient choice for me, right? Secure. Comfortable. Safe.
But would anybody I know actually use any of those three words to even describe me?
And that's where the problem comes in. At this point, I can't even tell what my true feelings about science and writing even are. Think of it as your relationship with your family and friends. Now, you might enjoy your friends, but would your love for them come close to your love of your family? (Speaking in general terms, of course.) That's how I sometimes think of my interest in writing and science. Do I just like science because my parents want me to like science? Or do I really, truly enjoy it? Are writing and journalism my true callings? What is the meaning of life? Why the heck does Donald Trump keep rising in the presidential polls? (The real questions of life.)
Now, this problem might not be one that everyone has to suffer with. I know many people whose parents embrace the whole "FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS GO 'MURICA" attitude that's so commonly associated with our country. But with a father who changed his major several times after starting out with what one might consider a "less practical" degree, a mother who literally gave up everything to move to America so her children could have more opportunities than she ever did, and a cousin who went to Harvard for both undergraduate and medical school, it's... well... it's a little more complicated.
One part of me wants to make my parents proud, wants to make my father feel like all those late nights working were for something, wants to allow my mother to live out her dreams vicariously through me, wants to live a nice, white-picket fence, suburban life with my husband and my 401K and my three children and their pet Beagle. But the other part wonders if, on my deathbed, I'll be able to look back at what I've done without a single shred of regret.
Will I be able to say to myself, "Stephanie, you made a difference. You won't be forgotten." Or will I instead see my meaningless life flash before my eyes, my boring, average existence disappearing somewhere in the cosmos until all that's left of me is this blog post, floating around on the Internet?
Lindner, my classmates, anybody, if you've got any idea, please let me know. Because at this point, I've honestly got no clue.