What do you want to do with an English degree?

This haunting question is one that I received more times than I'd like to admit during my time as an undergraduate: mostly by those far removed from my academic sphere. Often the words were infused with scorn or apprehension, suggesting I was "wasting" my ability to think or be something "important." The tone in their voices made me momentarily second-guess what I was doing. No, I didn't go into a field of science or math: I went into the humanities. I remember having one person say they really enjoyed creative writing, and wished they could have majored in it, but decided to go into Biology because they didn't want to be poor: ouch! Ouch? Ouch, a bit. It is often difficult to explain to people why you want to be a writer. There is an indescribable catharsis in feeling completely satisfied with having a single other person (or maybe just yourself) feel saved, emotionally jarred, or reflective due to what you have written. What does being a writer mean to me? It's like growing a flower that never dies, yet is never fully grown: writing immortalizes. It needs water, and soil, and sun: it needs revisions with additions and deletions. It is breathtaking to look at, yet has a beauty that can never truly be captivated with a photograph or with words. Writing is accepting that you can never do anything justice, but trying anyways.

What do I want to do with my English degree? Try to do justice to everything I write about, despite knowing I can't.

Do that with your Mathematics degree. Do that with your Biology degree. Honestly, do it: that is what English has taught me. That is what writing has taught me. Being told it's impossible, it's below you, it's a waste of time, and then doing it anyways.

Stay loving, stay kind.