As a four-year-old, I was put into a production of Honk Jr. in which I was a duckling, my only memory of which being that I was forced to lie in an egg for twenty minutes next to a girl who did not know how to stop talking onstage. The real performance wasn’t my revulsion at the hideous ugly duckling that eventually showed up on the stage, triggering a whole musical number about it where we looked at him with contempt and bloodlust–no, it was when I was so bored that I cried backstage right before act two until my parents took me out to get McDonald’s fries.
I was a bit of a prick. And, apparently, a fantastic diplomat who knew how to get what he wanted.
Then, as I grew older, the dickitude started to melt away and I developed a conscience. Believe me when I say it felt so much better than being an asshole. And don’t worry, not all was lost: I ended up continuing my theatrical endeavors, carrying myself to the 2019 statewide METG Awards Ceremony whereupon I was given a blueish glass trophy and a pretty killer handshake. And then I danced, and I sang, and I smiled. Oh, how I smiled.
I was ready and raring for my high school’s next musical, Pippin, when all of a sudden it came to a screeching halt during tech week. Unfortunately, current events had determined that the show would not go on–nor would anything, really–and instead we’d enter into lockdown. It was disappointing, but the more I thought about it, I was relieved. I didn’t feel as prepared as I could have been, and other people in the cast felt the same way. Plus, I’d already gotten through the most important plays: The Importance of Being Earnest and Blithe Spirit had come and gone, and I was satisfied (even if at the time I resented the latter with my entire being since I had pages of lines to memorize about not being drunk).
But what set them apart from the other stuff I’d done was that they were both very literary. There was a lot to pick at, especially since I’d had to read Earnest again in my English class the year after I performed it. It fascinated me, how effective words could be in putting forth so many ideas, like how a character could be saying two or even three different things in simple words like “I’m alright.” Okay, but are they though? I ate little things like that up, and I couldn’t resist taking another spoonful of figurative language, only exacerbated by my AP Language and Composition class around the same time. I was now equipped with a taste for literature and rhetoric.
And so, after careful consideration, I decided to do psychology.
Yeah, I took English classes, but they were whatever–they were fun! Electives and whatnot. But I was just so interested in learning about the human brain and how it works. Why do people think like that? Who knows! But I was determined to be the one to finally say “cognitive bias” and actually probably know what it meant. I wanted to be a therapist after all: I wanted to help people figure out the nonsense in their brains since God knows I had plenty of it. Perhaps if I fixed other people’s brains, I could fix mine?
I went to a therapist and got my brain fixed up enough to figure out that was a terrible, terrible idea. In all my wisdom, I’d created a master plan to go into college and figure out how to fight fire with fire. All in all, my psychology journey lasted about half a semester, and I never took another class beyond PSYCH100. But there was a problem: now I was nothing! There was no place for me to go–I was floating in international waters without even a raft to keep me afloat. And oh, so confused I was! Where do I go? I was so, so, so lost and scared…
Say it with me: “You’re already in English, dumbass. Play ball.”
I shifted gears, and focused entirely on English. My studies were with Byron and Browning, Wright and Whitman. And while Mr. Whitman was so proud of his multitudes, I felt like I didn’t have enough. I had like, two multitudes, and that was only because I got a glass trophy three years ago and read too much. English wasn’t giving me enough to work with, so I threw my attention all over the place trying to find new career opportunities. Around this time, I had enrolled in a class called Biodiversity, which talked a lot about the environment, organisms, ecosystems, all that, and it was really interesting to me. I’d always had a soft spot for life sciences and environmentalism, they’d just never come up on my radar as a potential path. I was constantly orbiting, and we kept missing each other, but it was feeling closer than ever. I had the golden opportunity, my only chance to go for it.
And so, after careful consideration, I decided to do legal studies.
It was a tough decision, even though it happened in about twenty minutes, but I was so sure that I’d end up doing biology of some kind. And yet, it still lacked something. It didn’t have any opportunity for performance. I’d gone through decades of acting just to throw it away and sequester myself in some laboratory looking at leaves? If anything, I would have to keep it as a hobby; my skills needed to be utilized elsewhere. Legal studies was a clear winner, but for reasons I wouldn’t consider until much later. At first, it was just a passion for the system. After all, there were all these cogs working together–laws, social dynamics, government–and doing their best to keep a perfect system, and yet it’s so flawed… so much room to fix things.
But thinking about it again after nearly completing the major, I realized that it encompassed everything I’d trained myself for over my whole life up to that point. I’d acted for nearly two decades of my life by twenty-two years old, had a passion for helping people that nearly manifested in a career in therapy, and I’d already given myself the vocabulary and voice necessary to practice law as an English major. And, as my legal studies became more refined, environmental law and policy entered the picture, so even Biodiversity had given me some ground to stand on going in! One of my vocab words of yore came to mind when I realized this coming together of all my newly realized multitudes: serendipity – essentially, when everything works out in the end.
My wildest dreams got even wilder, since now I could aim to be a renowned literary critic AND a federal judge (or something) making changes for the greater good. On top of that, I could do so without having to be a dick. It was the best of all possible worlds, as Voltaire’s Candide had taught me in my English journey, but for real this time. The pieces of the puzzle all fit, and they showed a bright and colorful picture of my future. And so, sitting here as a twenty-two year old who has just figured it all out, I’m smiling. Oh, how I’m smiling.*
*And for the time being we can just ignore the 24-hour-long Harvard CompSci course in my “Watch Later” playlist on YouTube.