Switching to English

The main reason that I'm in Oxford right now was a decision I made in the middle of spring semester. I switched my major from nuclear engineering to English. "Wow, that's a pretty drastic change. What made you decide to do that?" Everybody uses that same exact sentence structure, and most of the same words in their reaction. Here's the best reply I've produced to date.

I began to build momentum for my switch while zoned out at my Progress Energy internship. I was in a nasty situation where the work was so dull and mindless that it dragged me down to its level. After a week, you'd think I was operating at maximum capacity because I was asking dumb questions and failing to read instructions. I hated it, because I don't like to be dumb and mindless for extended periods of time. What was worse, though, was that my veteran co-workers hadn't exactly found workplace bliss either. Nobody was really appreciative of anybody else's talent, but instead thankful for other people's willingness to trudge through unpleasant tasks. I began to wonder whether engineering was really for me, which raised a lot of questions.

Ever since middle school, everybody has assumed that I would go into science and engineering; myself included. When you're good at math and critical thinking, that's just what you do, right? I went along assuming that math and science were going to be the bread and butter of my future career, and I was perfectly happy with that. My insights were always useful and appreciated, and I was generally a big fish in a small pond. I took geometry in 8th grade, and I only had three classmates. It was easy to be uniquely talented, and that's the way I liked it.

After middle school, I proceeded to take my affiliation with math and science and run with it for longer than I should have. I never really found occasion to revisit my reasons for marching ahead toward an engineering career until I showed up at that desk in the oppressively boring Progress Energy office. I was getting a very handsome paycheck, but I had to quit. Some people will say that it's naive to expect work to be pleasant all the time, but you can't pay me to underemploy myself in a downward spiral of morass, stupidity, and depression.

My major revelation was understanding what it was that I would accept payment for. Fundamentally, you can pay me to work hard on something that depends on my unique creative input. Sure, it's probably possible to get paid for that within an engineering field, but it's hit or miss, and usually only comes after you've climbed the ladder a little. I really don't want to deal with that at all, so I decided to steer well clear of generic skillsets. That's why I switched my major from nuclear engineering to English with a creative writing concentration.

Granted, I had my mid-life crisis sooner than most, but I still wish it had come sooner. I've taken a number of laborious courses that are useless to me now, and I'm not entirely certain that I will graduate on time. It's bothersome, but I can cope with it. At least I don't need to worry about feeding myself or anybody else at the moment. Pending good job prospects, and indeed the success of my entire life, this has been a good idea.