You can find Part II of this series here
You can find Part III of this series here
You can find Part IV of this series here
You can find the conclusion of the series here
Note: Some of those quoted in this article chose to use a self-selected pseudonym to remain anonymous.
The Introduction
When I was a little kid, I had a big thing for space. Like, a big thing. I loved space. I loved moons and planets and stars and the blurry dark matter between them all. By the time I was 7, I had made up my mind on what my future was going to be.
At school, we’d have our mandatory “what do you want to be when you grow up?” questionnaire pop up once a year. My teacher would go around the class, and everyone would rhythmically pop off a sensible, cute job title. Doctor, teacher, police officer, firefighter, baker, astronaut. And then the teacher would turn to me, and I would gleefully chirp that I wanted to be an “astrophysicist,” a title emphasized by a subtle lisp from my newly lost baby teeth. She would look a little confused, but ultimately amused by my excitement, and move on to the next kid, who wanted to be a taste tester for Hershey.
For the record, I was remarkably consistent with the astrophysicist thing. I had other fancies, for sure. I’ve been highly tempted by the prospect of being a screenwriter, but I kinda thought that astrophysics was the one thing that I would always want to do. I mean, it would, at very least, end up as a minor to some other, equally impressive college major, right?
And then I got to high school. And I took an actual physics course. And all of a sudden, astrophysics lost its mystical appeal.
Look, I greatly respect our school’s physics classes. I have nothing horrible to say about the quality of the teachers, the curriculum, the resources we were given, my peers, or anything, really. I fully think it was just a me thing. I quickly found myself with my first-ever B, and I was utterly devastated by my “poor” performance. It’s funny in hindsight how shocked I was by my dislike of physics. Physics is essentially philosophy, written in the language of mathematics. I love philosophy, sure, but I’ve never loved math. By the end of Freshman year, I swiftly eliminated anything physics-adjacent from my life aspirations and fixated on what I knew, definitively, that I both loved and was actually good at. Writing.
After all, according to my dad, I was named after a poem. It was only inevitable that I’d end up adoring my English classes. And, to boot, I’ve developed a kind of side thing with various social sciences. I’ve spent most of high school in almost exclusively language or social studies courses. I haven’t taken a proper science since my sophomore year. All through junior year, I thought I figured myself out. I’m a humanities girly, through and through. That’s just the kinda brain I have.
But then college application season started, and now the first things out of everyone’s mouths are “how’s your application going?”, “Where are you applying to?”, and “What’s your major?” For some strange reason, unlike all those years ago back in my 2nd-grade classroom, when asked that last one, I started to hesitate. I give an awkward little laugh, glance to the side, and sheepishly report that I’m probably majoring in journalism or communications or whatever my given school has to offer that’s in the ballpark, but considering going to law school afterwards.
Here’s a confession of mine: I don’t care for law school. I tag that last bit on there because, to be honest, I feel…kind of embarrassed.
Whenever I tell people I want to be a journalist, I can visibly see them resist the urge to wince. I get a solemn nod or a sympathetic smile and some reassurance that I’ll have less competition than other majors, since not a lot of people are applying for…that.
I’m not delusional, I know there aren’t any billionaire journalists. But money’s never been a major motivator for me. And I know people don’t look highly upon the news nowadays, which is fair, but that doesn’t mean I have ill intent. If those were the only reasons I felt people had to condescend, I could live with it. But it feels deeper than that. Like there’s some…strange, mysterious force that makes astrophysics so much more understandable than journalism. And it’s left me to pick between two bitter-tasting pills. I can go blue and pick a STEM desk job to reel in the dough, or I can grit my teeth and swallow the red, ending up broke and perpetually disappointing my totally non-judgmental WhatsApp relatives. To quote the Twenty One Pilots song that inspired this article, “It’s a taste test of what I hate less.”
Maybe it’s, again, a me problem. I mean, judging by my performance in physics Freshman year, I’d say it’s safe to say I don’t do very well with mysterious pushes and pulls in general. But I am good with words, and I do love me some Socrates, so I decided to try to uncover this mysterious force where I see it most.
South Brunswick High School.
I want to understand why our students pick the courses we pick, why we value what we value, and what that says about us.
