MY DREAMS have changed a couple of times.
Early in elementary school, my dream was to become a teacher. Both my mother and grandmother were educators; naturally I thought I would be one too. In fifth grade, I wanted to become a mathematician. It was the first time I got into the top 10 in class and, according to my mother, I have just unlocked my untapped potential in mathematics. That dream was immediately replaced, however, when I discovered One Direction in seventh grade. I loved the boy band so much that I thought it would be nice to be a pop star like them—possibly meeting Harry Styles and falling in love.
You could say that these were products of childhood wonder and fickleness—of external stimuli influencing what I thought would be a “cool” job to do in the future. As I entered high school, my goals started to become products of introspection and careful consideration of viable careers according to my skill set.
Later in seventh grade, I realized that being a writer might be more suitable—not to mention, feasible—for me than being a pop star and becoming the future Mrs. Styles. In eighth grade, however, I went past writing and discovered that I had a knack for holding the camera and setting stories into motion—and so I wanted to become a filmmaker. This pattern of changing career plans went on for the entirety of high school. I also wanted to be a neuroscientist, a computer programmer, and an accountant within the span of six years.
Come college, I settled on a plan and a career path. I held on to this plan for the duration of my college life, until recently.
My dream has changed once more. Unlike before, however, no new dream replaced it. After a year in quarantine, I started to feel how it is like to fear for an uncertain future and to be unsure of what I once thought I was already sure of.
Under normal circumstances, I would be frightened of what this means for me as someone in her 20s and about to finish undergrad. Normally, this would make me feel behind my peers who seem to be all set for their career plans—and it actually did. But as I think about my indecision more, I come to realize that much of it was brought by the uncertainty of a pandemic-ridden reality. I needed to be easier on myself.
I wouldn’t say that I have no plans anymore, but I would say that it feels like going back to zero. I don’t have the external influence of my childhood nor the passion I had pre-pandemic to latch a new dream onto. However, I am still traversing the path I had set for myself before college, in hopes of figuring out where to eventually position myself onto.
In situations like this, some people find comfort in the famous cliche quote, “You are exactly where you are supposed to be.” While that may be true, it doesn’t feel like it—not to me nor to anyone else who might be experiencing the same thing. I still think it is most ideal to be certain of one’s goals. But if you find yourself in the same position I am in: It’s okay to be uncertain amidst uncertain times. We will figure it out.
