2008 Woodie Awards
Do what makes you happy, not rich
Susan Page
Issue date: 4/12/07 Section: Opinion
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Almost six years ago, I stepped onto Northern's campus as a wide-eyed freshman. I was young, optimistic and determined. I knew what I was going to do after I graduated. I was going to be a public school guidance counselor, because I wanted to help kids.
For five years I was a behavior analysis major. I took classes about sex, drugs, suicide and psychology with an English class here and there to counterbalance the often depressing major coursework. But depressing stuff was necessary if I wanted to be an effective counselor.
By the time my fifth and final year rolled around, I was an intern at Marquette Senior High School assisting a teacher with a classroom for troubled students. I liked interacting with the teenagers, but it wasn't what I'd imagined. So, at the end of the semester, I elected to discontinue my internship. I felt burnt out and fed up with theory, school and everything.
The only bright spots were whenever I was able to get some time to read comic books or write a short story, but it wasn't anything I could pursue as a career. It just didn't seem practical to give up a future career as a guidance counselor for a pipe dream where I could make money by reading and writing comics. I didn't want the past several years of my life go to waste.
Also, what would my parents say? They'd helped me pay for college and make ends meet. How could I tell them that I'd rather work in the comic book industry than getting a counseling job in a school?
With one semester left before graduation, I was lost. I hadn't applied to any graduate psychology programs. I didn't care. Then at 22, I was shocked into reevaluating my life. A close friend of mine died in an accident. He was 22-years-old just like me.
Now I was miserable as well as apathetic. I realized that if I had died in that moment, I would die unhappy. His death was a catalyst for me to focus on what I planned on doing. I didn't want to have any regrets when I came to the end of my life. I needed to figure out what I could do to be happy.
For five years I was a behavior analysis major. I took classes about sex, drugs, suicide and psychology with an English class here and there to counterbalance the often depressing major coursework. But depressing stuff was necessary if I wanted to be an effective counselor.
By the time my fifth and final year rolled around, I was an intern at Marquette Senior High School assisting a teacher with a classroom for troubled students. I liked interacting with the teenagers, but it wasn't what I'd imagined. So, at the end of the semester, I elected to discontinue my internship. I felt burnt out and fed up with theory, school and everything.
The only bright spots were whenever I was able to get some time to read comic books or write a short story, but it wasn't anything I could pursue as a career. It just didn't seem practical to give up a future career as a guidance counselor for a pipe dream where I could make money by reading and writing comics. I didn't want the past several years of my life go to waste.
Also, what would my parents say? They'd helped me pay for college and make ends meet. How could I tell them that I'd rather work in the comic book industry than getting a counseling job in a school?
With one semester left before graduation, I was lost. I hadn't applied to any graduate psychology programs. I didn't care. Then at 22, I was shocked into reevaluating my life. A close friend of mine died in an accident. He was 22-years-old just like me.
Now I was miserable as well as apathetic. I realized that if I had died in that moment, I would die unhappy. His death was a catalyst for me to focus on what I planned on doing. I didn't want to have any regrets when I came to the end of my life. I needed to figure out what I could do to be happy.
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