Did I make a major mistake?

Around this time three years ago, I was applying to universities across Ontario and Canada. My friends were almost always discussing their top three choices and which residence buildings they wanted to live in. Some students in my graduating class worried about their low grades and the possibility of receiving a rejection letter. Others debated on which university to attend solely based on the party scene: the wilder the parties, the greater the interest. But the main theme of shared discussions amongst my peers was about the fear of choosing the wrong program. While some students were fortunate enough to know exactly what they wanted to study, many were unsure.

Fortunately, I had known I wanted to study English literature since middle school. As a child, I was a huge bookworm. I used to get in trouble for reading too much and staying up past my bedtime because I was so immersed in a novel. Unlike many of my friends, my parents took away my books and library card if I was grounded. Throughout grade school, my favourite period was “Silent Reading”—an hour dedicated to reading and nothing else. I preferred indoor recess because I could sneak into the library and read. High school was no different. I loved my English classes, and focused all my energy towards them. Most of my electives were either creative writing classes or advanced literature classes. I assumed that because I enjoyed reading and writing, English literature would be the perfect discipline.

I never thought I would lose my passion for English literature, but I did. After completing my second year as an English and Renaissance Studies double major, I began to question if I had chosen the right subject PoST. I realized that while I still loved reading and studying literature, I was not as passionate about it as I used to be.

During the long summer days of 2016, I spent most of my time redrafting my five-year plan. I no longer wanted to go to grad school for English literature and I no longer wanted to pursue an academic career in the field, either. Instead, I was interested in investigative journalism. I wanted to write about people and share their stories with the world.

I don’t regret studying English literature; I wouldn’t have acquired the writing skills that I now possess. By studying literary texts, I am now able to read a novel critically. I write observant notes in the margins of a book, using my skills to better understand it and the author’s message. I have learned too much to regret my major; the novels I have read helped to shape the individual I am today.

However, I’ve learned that it’s impossible to stick to one fixed plan; a five-year plan should serve as a guide, not a definitive procedure. It took one summer of frustration, resentment, and doubt to realize that it is perfectly alright to have a change of heart. It is difficult to choose a discipline that you will always be enamoured with. As twenty-somethings, we are growing and changing; we are discovering who we are and where our passions lie. Your subject PoST does not define you. It is merely an extension of one of the many interests you have.

No one wants to delay graduation—extending a typical four-year undergraduate degree to a five or six-year degree was never part of the plan. Many students want to graduate as soon as possible, ridding themselves of the emotional baggage that comes with university. But to remain in a program that no longer excites you and, instead, dissatisfies your intellectual and creative needs would be a disservice to yourself.

There will always be a support system, cheering you on: whether that is family, friends, or religion. Despite the current state of employment rates, jobs can be found anywhere, career-related or not. Opportunities to secure self-happiness—that is to say, contributing to society in a self-fulfilling way—will not always be readily available to you.

On the day of graduation, we all share the same title: Graduate of the University of Toronto. If the job force views UofT grads as one singular entity, why toughen it out in a program you’re not passionate about?

It’s not a competition; there’s no record to beat. No one cares about your well-being and happiness as much yourself. You are the agent of your own life—act like it.