Like most kids, I was asked many times what I wanted to be when I grew up. I never took it seriously, of course. As opposed to other kids who would say they wanted to be an astronaut, a rockstar, or the President of the United States, I always gave answers such as ladybug or snowman.

I was a weird child.

From a very young age, I was always more creative than analytical. I usually spent my time listening to music, singing, drawing, and more. School work was always a struggle for me. I would sit at the kitchen table for hours upon hours trying to study so my grades wouldn't tank.

My parents used to have to quiz me on the material because that was the only way they could ensure I was actually studying and remembering the information. My sister was always the opposite. She would get straight A's without even trying, and she never really had to study. School just came easily to her. Growing up and having so much difficulty learning always made me wonder what my future would be, or could be.

I was in fifth grade when I took notice to my older cousin, Nicole. She went to the Philadelphia School of the Arts and was majoring in textile design. Like me, she always had difficulty in school. Whenever I would see her, she would tell me all about her classes and what she was learning, and she seemed to really be enjoying it.

This made me think... Could I really make a career out of art when I grew up?

I had decided to follow in my cousin's footsteps. I wanted to do exactly what she did. Go to Philly U and study textile design there. I always excelled in art at school, and I loved to draw in my free time, so I thought it was a perfect fit for me.

Then I got to high school.

When I became a freshman in high school, I started to read a lot more. Books were always a nice escape from the crappy high school drama, or if my family was driving me crazy. While I still worked hard in my art classes, and my plan was still intact, I started to try my hand at writing.

I used to write short stories on a website called Wattpad. However, it was a dirty secret and I told very few people. I was always very afraid of publishing publicly to the site, and I even used a pen name just in case anyone I knew used the website. As I continued through high school, art started to become more of a chore than something I enjoyed. I tried to power through, thinking that I was just going through a phase of doubt and that I just needed to keep at it.

As a sophomore, I joined my school's creative writing club with my boyfriend at the time, just for fun. I was always nervous to share, but when I did, to my surprise, the feedback was positive. This got me writing more and, even though I didn't continue in the club due to work overload, writing was kind of just... always in the back of my mind.

My school's art program had art as just a two-year elective program that students could take for fun, and those who wanted to do it in college were required to take those classes accompanied with a two-year AP course. My junior year of high school, my first year of the AP course was absolutely miserable.

Going into it, I was very optimistic and excited, thinking that the real preparation for college was going to begin. It quickly went downhill for me.

Very few people took AP art where I went and so my class consisted of me along with three other students. I thought this would be great, and I would get a lot of focal, one-on-one assessment with my teacher. We would have peer reviews and critiques, and everyone always had a lot of negative things to say about my work.

I started to think that maybe I wasn't good enough. I would put everything I had into a piece and it never seemed to be acceptable to both my peers and my teacher. It got very discouraging and I wanted to quit.

By the time Winter Break started up, I hated the class and pretty much just tried to finish out the year.

During this time, I started to think of other options. Art wasn't working out as I hoped, and applying to college was in the near future. My parents would give me suggestions, but nothing ever sounded interesting enough to me. I'm one of those people who want to do something I love as a career. I'm not in it for the money, I believe happiness is worth more than money.

I was sitting at my desk one night staring at my current art project that I didn't want to do when a little voice crept up in the back my mind, saying...

"Be a writer..."

I started to actually consider being a writer since it was something I enjoyed and something I thought I had genuine potential in. So, I decided to go to my English teacher, who also happened to be my favorite teacher, and asked her about being able to take AP English my senior year. She told me that, with hard work and a writing sample, I could be admitted into the AP class.

I worked my ass off to get my grade to an A in the class, and when the day came to write the writing sample for consideration of admittance, I did the best I could. I was stoked when my teacher told me I made it.

Where I Began... and Where I Finished

My senior year of high school was a whirlwind. I did really well in my AP English class and in my communications class. We had an assignment to write an article, one of which was to be put into the school's newspaper. My article wound up being selected, and I was so proud of myself.

I rejoined the creative writing club and my teacher became basically my mentor, without intending to.

I'm currently halfway through my freshman year of college, at Rowan University. I'm a Journalism major with a dual minor in Professional Creative Writing and English Literature. I'm a news writer for Rowan's newspaper The Whit, and I'm proud to be starting to write with Odyssey.

I'm no longer afraid to be public about my work, and I'm proud of it.

If you asked me when I was young what I wanted to be when I grew up or what'd I'd be doing in college, I would've never guessed that I'd be where I am. Sometimes, things don't work out. That doesn't mean you won't be successful in the long run or find something else that fits.

Keep looking, you'll figure it out. I did.