Well, Readers, I'm going to take a break from creating fluff pieces of journalism for the week, in order to publish a fluff piece of philosophical musing about the college experience. If you'd like to tune out, please rejoin me next week, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel, where I will riposte with something witty and self-deprecating.
I started freshman year as a journalism major because I was going to Ohio University, where journalism is law. And honestly, I thought I might want to be a journalist. That was probably Clark Kent's fault. I also have a cousin who seems like he changed his major at least once a year since he started, and I didn't want to flip-flop. I wanted to find something that worked for me.
It didn't work that way. I realized after a quarter I didn't like journalism, even at the risk of falling down the same slippery slope as my cousin. Journalism has too many facts. Facts are boring when you can't make them up on your own.
So I switched to creative writing, which soon kept the illustrious company of playwriting. Then, in a coup, it forced out creative writing. It was very French Revolution, if you know what I mean.
Double majoring is definitely doable ... If you are psychotic about working all the time. Adding a second major late in the game meant I had 117 credit hours worth of classes to take, and only 120 credit hours available. It was daunting, to say the least.
I examined my situation and realized I only took history of literature classes in the English department, no actual creative writing courses. I felt it would be essential for a creative writing degree, but hey, that's just me. In playwriting, we started out writing plays, takin' it out and choppin' it up
as they say.
I chose to go for playwriting, the option with less busy work and more actual work I felt strongly about. In the long run, it would be less mentally taxing. It was a difficult choice, because college is, of course, the time you begin considering the black singularity that is your economic future.
With an English degree ... maybe I could be the hip teacher with the tweed jackets who still listens to Mos Def on the reg. Playwriting degree ... I see a rent-free living arrangement in my near future, because refrigerator boxes have no landlords.
And of course still listen to Mos Def.
This isn't to say I don't worry about money, because I do. Ask my girlfriend, she's seen me as poor as I can be. I have instant gratification issues that I'll get over eventually. I'm very good about not spending when I don't have any cash.
I just figure I'll be more willing to get up every morning and try to make money if I'm doing something I really enjoy, and not something I got a degree in for the sake of the diploma.
I'm happy with my chosen career path right now. I should graduate comfortably on time, and I even added a minor. This whole ramble is my way of saying you shouldn't pick a major only because it will make money for you later. And don't pick a major you think your parents or other authority figures want to see you pick.
Do what you want to do, the money'll figure itself out. The parents will probably understand and you can avoid hating yourself for the next sixty years.
Nick Philpott is a junior studying playwriting and a columnist for The Post. Tell him how sick you are of this serious stuff at np714907@ohiou.edu 4
Opinion
Nick Philpott
