“Don’t worry about money.”
“Money will come if you follow your passion.”
I heard these sayings a lot in college. University life was amazing for me. Meeting people from many diverse backgrounds, feeling more like an adult, and having more controversial discussions about topics that interested me. I could choose my classes. Even choose what I wanted for lunch. It was more freeing, more intellectually stimulating, and more liberating.
Like many new college students, my first-year classes consisted of mostly “core curriculum” – a base set of classes designed to give you a broad overview and perspective of the world. I studied several introductory courses, like literature, history, science, art appreciation, political science, algebra and precalculus, and psychology. I made friends in my classes, and enjoyed discussions with classmates and professors. We discussed the nuances of political ideology and what really started (and ended) the American Civil War. Why the concept of “zero” was so revolutionary to science and mathematics, and the vast amount of processing that happens when light waves hit our eyeballs as we perceive the world around us.
By the end of my first year as a university student, I was working part-time, living at home, and spending most of my waking hours at school, either in class, in the university library, or at the campus café studying or generally goofing off with friends. At the end of my first year, my advisor asked me to come in for a visit before my first class on Friday. She asked me one of the most difficult questions:
“What major have you decided to declare?”
What? I just started this whole adulthood journey. Between maintaining a 3.5 GPA, working 20-30 hours a week and soaking in all of the information, I was absolutely nowhere closer to deciding “what I want to be when I grow up.” I thought about it for just a second, then remembered one thing that had followed me since I was young… writing.
As a young child I wrote ridiculous stories for grade school, as a teenager I channeled my angst into poetry, and as a very young adult I used this skill to dominate essay exams and papers needed for my classes. So I went for it. I decided to follow my passion:
“I think I want to be a writer. I’d like to major in English literature.”
My advisor’s hard expression did not change. She stared at me for a moment, processing what I had just said. Lifting up one eyebrow, I saw her glance through my file, looking concerned.
“English literature? Are you sure?”
“Sure,” I said, a little unconvincingly, “I’ve been a writer since I was young, and I want to keep doing that, maybe write the great American novel.”
She chuckled. Not in a rude way, just in a way that implied she had heard that line one too many times.
“You got over 700 in math and English on your SAT”
I stared back at her, not getting her point.
“What job do you expect to get with an English literature degree after you graduate?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “hopefully I’ve already published my first book. If I haven’t, maybe I’ll become a teacher, or work at a newspaper until I get my first break.”
She still looked somber.
“I’m going to be honest with you, you’re smart. I’m going to make your major Liberal Arts. You can change this until your senior year of college. I believe you can become a writer, but most writers don’t make it. My brother wanted to be a writer and got an English major. Know what he’s doing right now? He’s waiting tables.”
I was floored. What kind of advisor was this? Crushing the dreams of a new student!?! Speechless, I just nodded and started packing my things.
“Don’t take this the wrong way. If you really want to be an English major next year, I’ll switch your major. I just want you to think about what you want to do once you graduate. Do you want to live at home with your parents, or do you want to get a job, your own place, and be independent? You’re smart, you have a lot of choices here… it’s your call.”
I walked out a little confused. Not really pissed off, just uncertain. Was she right? I went back to my routine of classes and work.
As the months and classes went by, I took to psychology. Fascinated by the subject matter, I initially thought it was all abnormal psychology, studying serial killers and catching murderers. A couple of abnormal psych classes changed my view, and instead I became more interested in experimental psychology – or the process of experimentation and discovery in general. And, of all subjects, the statistics for psychology was one of my favorites – typically the dread of every psych major in the world. I triumphantly declared a psychology major, knowing that I would have lots of career options with that, and ideally would go on to be a researcher or a professor. Career path sorted.
Late in my junior year, my beloved minivan broke down. Bad. For the past year, it had been costing me a good bit of cash just to keep it functional, and I decided I had to bite the bullet and buy a car. Luckily my Dad had a great solution – he wanted a new truck, so I could pay him a few grand for his truck and he’d use that to get a new one. Great deal. But it came with some unexpected financial insight.
I had saved just a bit more than a few thousand dollars by living at home during my college career while working as an administrative assistant for a CPA. Then in my junior year, a professor hooked me up with a job as a research assistant at a small company called Applied Human Factors. They did amazing work and gave me experience I wanted for after college. But the pay was not great.
That’s when it hit me. I had an easy living situation during college with minimal bills, and I still had only just enough savings to cover the expense of a new (to me) car. Soon I started researching local jobs in my chosen profession as a researcher or professor.
Neither job paid great. As a researcher with a bachelors degree, I’d make about the same as a university professor of psychology with a doctorate! Furthermore, the truly coveted skills in research were not my extensive knowledge of psychology, but rather the math behind it.
During my last year at university, I beefed up my statistics classes, and got a dual major in Psychology and Statistics. My dream of writing the great American novel had not died, but had taken a backseat to the very true realization that I could not have my independence without a steady paycheck.
By my senior year in college, I was getting tired of juggling a busy work schedule and a full-time college career. I wanted a good job, with good benefits. Enough money to have my own place. Even buy groceries without juggling mental math walking the aisles, hoping I had enough cash on hand by the time I got to the register.
My great American novel could wait. What would I write about anyway? I was only 22 with minimal life experience. And still had plenty of time to follow my passion.
I watched my older friends graduate before me. Many of them were English majors, since those were apparently my people. I watched as they graduated, tried to become writers, and eventually failed.
They all ended up being waiters a year after college. Only one of them kept writing for a local paper.
So it was at a tender young age that I became a little jaded. Unlike many people I went to university with, I knew what it was like to not have enough money. We were never really poor, but I overheard arguments my parents had about it. Hushed concerns about bills. That was a stressful life, and I thought the only people who said things like, “Don’t worry about money,” or “Money will come if you follow your passion” were people who never had to worry about money in their lives.
Being able to follow your passion was a luxury. A luxury that I didn’t want to count on.
But it wasn’t bad news for me… at least it didn’t feel like it. Instead, I saw a job, and a career even, as escape from living paycheck to paycheck. Being able to take a vacation. Being able to work only 40 hours a week, having evenings off to do whatever I wanted instead of studying for every waking second. Getting a job was my first step towards success.
I would wait to follow my passion. I didn’t have that luxury right now. I’d have plenty of time when I retire to write the great American novel.
And, oh, what a great novel it would be.