One year ago: I’m sitting in choir in the last row, and it’s about four o’clock — fifty minutes left. I’m staring at the back of the room and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Three years ago, I entered Northwestern as a Music Education major — choral education to be specific — potentially leading up to a career as a middle or high school choir teacher. I didn’t have much experience teaching, but I wanted to make a career of my hobby. It at least felt like a good idea and of course, I loved music.
Fast-forward to my junior year. I was doing more or less the same as in the past two years — keyboard skills, aural skills, voice lessons, choir, orchestra or band, one or two distros and summer internships teaching music. In school, I had a teaching internship and was in the education classes I had been looking forward to since I was a freshman. It was a packed class schedule with lots of extra-class activities, and I didn’t mind it at first. But slowly I realized that something was missing: I loved my kids, but I didn’t love teaching. The more I taught, the more anxiety I had knowing I was responsible for teaching these kids. So I had a bit of a major-related existential crisis, figuring out that my career-motivated major was motivating a career I didn’t want, and for which I didn’t feel I was suited, by temperament or emotion.
I became scared of my future because it suddenly had a path that didn’t feel right. Up until now, my life had been consumed by this major and activities I should do to get me more ahead — it prevented me from seeing what else I wanted to do and potentially could do. I wanted to come to Northwestern because the music school was like a conservatory (but not actually one), giving me the chance to take liberal arts. In two years, my hobby switched into a career without allowing me to look into other things I could do and enjoy — like art, film, literature and psychology. In hindsight, music education made sense, and that was just it — nothing special. It became a major that was too practical, with essentially one career path without too many liberal arts in between.
I started talking to my family, family friends and faculty advisers because I didn’t exactly know whom I should speak to, or where to start evaluating my academic career. It was difficult, and I found myself crying for no known reason — generally in the shower or right after my internship. Everyone I talked to was so supportive and helpful, but it became more difficult for me when opinions conflicted.
I talked to one of my professors (and former Music Ed adviser) after class one day telling him that I was having second thoughts. He was very nice, and tried to convince me that maybe I should stay. After having some trouble getting across him, I finally told him what I was dreading to say; I didn’t like who I was when teaching. It wasn’t my kids or the music — it was me. He understood immediately, and started brainstorming what else I could do.
Another adviser of mine recently told me that half of students are questioning their major. However, you don’t really hear about their stories because the other half is so focused and self-assured. I believe in this statistic. I’ve talked to students now who are going through what I went through and I think it’s been a relief for them, and certainly a relief for me — we’re not abnormal, just finally questioning ourselves, goals and expectations during the whirlwind of college.
I’ve realized that so many people that I know and look up to didn’t follow their major: one of my internship mentors has a degree in English but is a graphic designer. A close family friend started out as an engineer who is now a motivational speaker, professor, consultant and author. Other people I know just tried to finish college with the major they started with, whether they were happy with it or not. Where they are now, their college degree isn’t necessarily related to what they’re doing.
What I learned is that switching majors isn’t frowned upon at all — I was just paranoid because it wasn’t being broadcasted around me. By being in the School of Music, most of my classes were based on skills — classes that matter in the long run for performing or teaching. I didn’t see many people switching their majors because it took years of work just to get into their majors — so why switch? But as soon as I switched into my ad hoc, I was completely relieved and genuinely excited for other experiences, classes and options I didn’t think were possible before.
Through months of evaluating my life and a great summer internship (not in music), I realized that my major doesn’t predetermine what I do for the rest of my life. My major isn’t the end of the world, and it’s certainly not the most important part of my college experience. Before, I was just thinking one way for my future. Now, I have a plan for my future that I’m happy with, but I’m also free to change it. I don’t know many of the details of my plan, but I certainly don’t feel nothing.