Hardheaded

I had one goal in life: to study psychology and become a psychologist in order to help individuals suffering from mental illness.

That was literally my only goal.

From a young age, I had to deal with life struggles that I couldn't control, but when I finally triumphed over those obstacles, I wanted nothing more than to use my experience and knowledge in attempt to help individuals avoid the hardships I had encountered so that they may live their lives with a sense of control. I came to the conclusion that this was my calling. This was who I was to become. There were no other destinations for me. I wouldn't consider the possibility of any other career other than one involving psychology in some fashion. I was hardheaded and dead-set on becoming a psychologist, giving myself absolutely no room for options, and I was okay with that.

During high school, students are always asked: What career would you like to pursue in the future? More than half of the student body probably didn't know the answer. There are limitless possibilities in the workforce but narrowing it down to a single answer is quite daunting, especially for teenagers who were still undergoing the torments of puberty. Each individual inherits a wide range of skills and abilities—some stronger than others— that often guides their decision when choosing their future. It may take weeks, months, or even years to explore and understand what it is they're destined to be in this vast world of opportunities.

I was one of the lucky few who were able to answer the question without wracking their brain over what they should choose and if it would satisfy their needs as a future adult. Just like every other naïve teenager, of course I knew what I wanted in life. I had everything planned out. Finish high school, go to university, get my bachelor's degree in psychology, hopefully not drown in debt for graduate school, receive my master's degree in psychology, cry when I see the rising number of college loans, and finally earn my Ph.D. Anyone who asked what my plans were after high school, I literally relayed that entire list, proud of my ambitions and sure of what I was to achieve.

However, many of my teachers throughout high school noticed certain skills I possessed that I was too oblivious to see. My strongest subject has always been English. While my classmates groaned and tried to excuse themselves from doing essays and reading homework, I was joyous and ready to embark on the journey of reading and writing. "A three-to-five page essay with sources over a novel that I plan to highlight every meaningful phrase that tickles my fancy? You bet I'm excited!" Sadly, defacing books is considered damaging school property, which led me to buy my own copies. Of course, there were times when I didn't want to partake in an assignment regarding certain books that didn't strike my interest but for the most part, I complied.

When I was in AP English my freshman year, my teacher would give creative writing assignments. One in particular was to write a short page-length story about revealing a fictional character's prized possession without using dialogue or telling what the object is and relying heavily on description alone. Many students found this assignment quite difficult, but I breezed through it. I remember my teacher holding me back after class to tell me how much she liked my story; how she was able to play the words on paper like a scene in a movie. She then advised that I pursue a career in English, specifically, writing. Flattered by her compliment and opinion, I strongly opposed. I explained to her psychology was my plan and that writing would forever be a hobby that I would drop for a few years, pick back up, and drop again because I wouldn't allow myself to deviate from my 'set in stone' path.

Her response sticks with me to this day: "Sometimes straying away from what you think is your dream reveals a truer one. I hope you'll consider that one day."

I heard what she said, but I wasn't fazed. In my junior year, another teacher said something similar. She thought I had a knack for the journalism world. I had taken her journalism class as well as worked on the yearbook staff for two years, receiving a position as one of the editors my senior year. When she told me I had a talent for writing, I brushed it off once again. She tried persuading me to explore the journalism field in college and if I didn't like it, so be it. For her satisfaction, I said okay, but it was an open-ended promise.

What's funny is that throughout high school and the two years I spent in community college as I worked on my basic core curriculum, I did more writing than I did delving into psychology textbooks and studies. And when I did, it was rare and quite frankly, boring.

After finishing my basics and transferring to my local university—majoring in none other than psychology—I leaped into my first semester, taking three psychology courses and oddly enough, a creative writing course. The reason behind taking a course that I so strongly opposed in the past was because I decided to spend the summer dabbling into writing fiction because hey, why not? I was told over the years I was a decent writer and I had a story to tell, so why not hop on the bandwagon and test my luck?

June, 10, 2014, was the day I published my first story on the reading and writing community, Wattpad. That was the day I began to question my plan, contemplating whether or not psychology was the spotlight of my future. I still considered writing as a hobby, but it was when I started my psych-dominated semester that my views changed.

Psychology lectures are profound and eye-opening. You retrieve so much information about the human mind and the reasons for our behavior to the point where you begin to evaluate yourself. These hidden facts about yourself aren't revealed in a sudden manner; they force you to dig deep into your subconscious and slap yourself across the face for being blinded by stubbornness. I learned within the first few weeks of the semester that I was not fit for the field of psychology. I lacked the patience required for dealing with emotional clients. I didn't take into account the complexity and mental exertion tying into the field. My reason for wanting a career in psychology was rooted in my personal experience with the subject. I wanted to help people but due to my hostility towards any change to my plan, I failed to realize there are other ways in doing so.

From the day I published my first story, I fell in love with writing. I dropped the hobby for so many years, books being the closest thing I would get to writing until a single idea urged me to put it into words. It became a priority. I had to have a journal with me at all times, even if I didn't write anything. The creativity that had been stashed away, begging for release, could finally be expressed. I may not be the best writer, and I know I have so much to learn but unlike psychology, unlike using my experiences for the benefit of others, writing has provided a way to not only aid and inspire, but it was self-evident that it forged a path for my own happiness.

I didn't care about the low income or how competitive the publishing industry was. I knew the chances of becoming a published author were slim. But the need for my voice to be heard in the form of black on white was insatiable. I never felt that way about psychology. The plan that I drilled into my mind; the field that I irrevocably believed was to be my destiny never filled me with gratification and left me overly stressed and unhappy. When I signed up to be a psychology major, I didn't expect for my perspective to change and inevitably for me to change. If I had never held onto the superficial idea of knowing what I wanted in my future, I would have never realized that not everything is set in stone.

Plans change. Without that understanding, I would still be sitting in a large lecture hall, writing notes over Sigmund Freud or Viktor Frankl and spiraling down into an existential crisis framed around the question: what am I doing with my short fragile life? I wouldn't have this strong pursuit to take initiative and challenge myself even if my chances at success are slim. Now an English major, I have a new perspective on life and I wouldn't have it if it weren't for dipping my feet into psychology.

There's not a single road for each person; there are multiple ones. Side roads, back roads, undiscovered roads—each one forgiving of predestination.