From the age of five, I viewed the expectation set by my parents for my education to be a vital formula: grow up, graduate high school and when I turned 18, college was the undeniable next step. I'd one day graduate with my undergraduate degree in something like nursing, teaching or medicine so I could find a job easily when the time came—and so far, that all-too-common formula has worked out, for the most part.

Yet, as senior year of high school progressed and I was feeling the pressure to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, a familiar, quiet voice in the back of my mind kept telling me one thing over and over. Maybe that voice was my conscience, or maybe the inner voice of mine that wouldn't emerge until college.

And what was that one word that kept bouncing around in my mind?

Music.

For as long as I can remember, whenever anybody asked child-me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was "a singer." My parents thought I was showing such promise as a musician that they got me into voice lessons in second or third grade, and I stayed in them on and off until the end of freshman year of high school when I got really busy with extracurricular clubs and musicals and sort of just stopped—though I was heavily involved in choir, show choir and every musical in my four years. I played trumpet until freshman year of high school as well, but I felt the stronger urge to keep singing, and I had to choose one ensemble.

I thought about all of the possible career paths I could take. I could have pursued my talent in writing and taught English, I could have gone the medical route and entered nursing school, I could have gone into pediatric medical care like I used to often consider or I could have committed to various other majors that interested me that I probably could have succeeded in, had I chosen any one of them. But none of those appealed to me.

When I talked about majoring in Music or Music Education, I was discouraged. I was told by so many people that whether or not I was talented, I most likely would never be successful or ever find money if I pursued a music degree of any sort. So I listened to those fears that had been driven into my head, and I chose my next best option: psychology.

Going off to school, the plan was that I would be on a three-year degree plan, so to speak. I would essentially cram 120 credit hours into three years, taking at least 18 credit hours per semester plus six to seven summer credits either online or at a community college. I was on track to get my Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Minors in both Applied Music (vocal) and Religion. I followed this degree plan for the past two school years and last summer right on schedule. I was set to graduate next spring, and the spare year and money that would've gone toward a fourth year of undergrad would then be spent on my Master's degree instead.

People praised me when I told them what I was doing and told me it was so good that I had it all figured out and was chasing after my dreams.

And suddenly, I felt like the biggest liar ever. I was lying to my family, I was lying to my friends and most importantly, I was lying to myself because I wasn'thappy and I wasn't pursuing my dreams.

As I was making my way through my first two of the three planned years of school, I quickly realized where the majority of my time and energy was being directed. Some professors mistook me for a music major because of how involved I've been in the music and theatre departments since coming to school. I found myself doing what I had to do to scrape by in my psychology classes, and anything I looked forward to was located in our campus's art building called Center For the Arts (referred to as CFA more commonly.)

I watched my Music Ed friends taking their music theory classes, learning how to conduct, and I've sat idly by, observing as they've begun to make their dreams into a reality. I got really upset and unmotivated halfway through this school year because I felt that I was working toward a degree that I wouldn't be passionate about. And then I sat down with multiple faculty members and close friends and began the conversation about changing my major.

I feared starting over. I feared having to stay in school longer for the financial reasons. I feared changing the plan I'd stuck to and fought to keep on track for so long. And most of all I feared the lack of support I'd get from my family.

Regardless of all that, as terrifying as it was at first, I sat down, figured out what my next two years would entail for a Music Ed degree, spoke with faculty multiple times and my choral director and new academic adviser even set up an opportunity for me to shadow the nearby high school choir teacher. The only reason I hadn't ever shadowed a music teacher before now was because I feared that I'd like it too much—and I did.

I couldn't imagine my life without music and singing being at the forefront. Beautiful choral pieces affect me in a way that my non-musician family and friends won't ever truly understand. And the opportunity to make music and help future students develop the passions that I have is something that I would never stop wishing I did had I just kept going through the motions of my "safe" major.

To anyone feeling a strong pull towards a career path that you were discouraged from, I highly suggest you reconsider where your drive and passions really emanate from. If you don't feel like you will love your life within the line of work you're hoping to enter after graduation and there's something you really wish you were doing, I urge you to at least momentarily reconsider. After having a mental breakdown and identity crisis this past spring and then changing my major to Music Education, I can't describe to you the feeling of security that I'm currently experiencing. I'm finally deciding to follow my dreams and to pursue what I love, and I have a feeling that I'm never going to look back. I won't have to consider "what if." I for once have a sense of where I'm going, and I cannot wait to get there.

The only time it's too late to start again is when you give up your passions and strengths that make you who you are.

My dad always told my brother and me, "If you do what you love, you'll never work a day in your life," and that idea is finally starting to make sense to me.