Minutes before my high school graduation, my plans for the summer took a 180°.
My principal and the public relations director of the school district were engaged in fervid conversation when I approached. I straightened my teal graduation cap and tried to interrupt as politely as I could. What I'd intended to ask was if I could say a prayer with the entire class before the ceremony started (pious of me, I know). But ironically, God had other ideas.
"Jackie!" the PR director said, greeting me with a smile and a firm handshake. Having served on the school district's Student Advisory Board that year, I'd reached the point in which he knew me by name. "I've actually been meaning to talk to you."
I was caught off-guard. No one from administration had ever been meaning to talk to me before. "Really?"
"Yeah! You know, when I was listening to your Top 10 interview, I thought what you said about your plans for the future was so profound. I was really impressed."
Two things went through my mind at that moment, the first being: People actually listen to what you say during those interviews? It was a yearly tradition for the Superintendent to sit down and chat with the top 10 graduating seniors of every high school in the district, much like a late-night talk show host does with up-and-coming celebrities. Except we weren't celebrities, but a few sleep-deprived kids with good grades.
My second thought was: What on earth did I say? I couldn't remember. Nevertheless, I smiled, nodded, and thanked him earnestly. As a college writing major from a healthcare specialty high school, I often felt insecure about my choice of study. It meant a lot to me whenever anyone expressed their support for my educational and professional goals.
"If you ever want to intern with the school district this summer, we have a new writer who I think you could learn a lot from," he offered. "Even if you just come in a few days a week, we'd be more than willing to work with your schedule."
It only took a few seconds, but my brain had already adjusted to the idea of being an intern. Fetching coffee, working the fax machine. Shadowing actual, real-life writers. So they did exist!
But this wasn't the plan, a small voice in my head argued. I already had a position lined up for me as a medical assistant at my dad's practice, having passed my certification exam by cramming the night before at a Starbucks. I didn't want all of that studying—however last-minute—to be wasted.
When I told my parents after the ceremony, my mom beamed with excitement. My dad told me to e-mail the PR director as soon as possible so I could learn more about the opportunity.
"If you're going to be a Rhetoric and Writing major, Jackie," my mom told me on our way to lunch. "You need to own up to it and get a head start." This was easier said than done.
Throughout most of middle and high school, I believed that I would go into medicine. After all, I performed relatively well in math and science, gravitated towards leadership roles, and maintained a strong stomach when observing procedures in the hospital. Both of my parents are healthcare professionals. And I look up to my parents a lot. Of course I aspire to be like them. Why wouldn't I want to be as hard-working and intelligent as they are?
I liked the security of knowing I'd never be out of a job. I liked how impressed adults were when I told them I wanted to become a doctor. But I wasn't doing anyone any favors in lying. I was only feeding an unhealthy mindset.
You have to dedicate 100% of yourself to succeed in anything—medicine, writing, or otherwise. For me, I found my 100% in creative activities. After homework, I wrote stories under an online pseudonym and received the kindest messages from readers. And those who know me are well-aware of my enthusiasm for competitive arts and crafts.
I still get nervous telling others what my college major is, but I'm steadily taking my mom's advice and owning up to what I want to do. I'm giving it my 100%, and that starts by being confident in my ambitions. I want to be just as hard-working and intelligent as my parents, but in a field that I'll genuinely enjoy.
While I don't fetch coffee or work the fax machine at my internship, I do write articles for the local newspaper, survey parents on their social media preferences (so PR can develop an online marketing strategy), and perform various other tasks I can't fit into one list. The professionals I shadow are dedicated in helping me become a better writer, network myself, and gain experience working eight hours a day. A girl can never write on an empty stomach, so I'm eating a lot more than usual. I often stare at a computer screen for hours, racking my brain for the right words to say. But it's so much fun. As all jobs deserve to be.
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