When I finally decided to change my major, all I could hear was the voice of my high school film studies teacher.

"Most students change their majors at least three times!"

I used to laugh when he would say that to my class. At 17, I was determined to be a politician. Heck, I called myself the next Elizabeth Warren. I applied (and got accepted) to five colleges with an intended major of political science.

After choosing Simmons College as my new home, I had plans of applying for the 3+1 political science program, where the first three years would earn me a Bachelor's degree in political science, and my last year would earn me my Master's in Public Policy. This was the ultimate dream for someone planning on becoming a politician. When most of my class would be graduating with their Bachelor's degrees, I'd have my Master's degree. I had plans to work at the State House in Boston, Massachusetts, to gain experience and work with politicians first hand. Afterwards, I would go to Yale Law School and earn my Juris Doctor. Then (after escaping crippling debt), I would begin my quest for Senate Chamber desk number 94. (Yes, I had my desk picked out and everything.)

I'm sure you're all thinking the same thing: What?! What gives?! You had everything planned out! What happened?

Politics will always be a part of my life. I love discussing my issues with super PACs and congressmen who think it's OK to make decisions for me pertaining to my vagina. (As the lovely Rachel Green would say: "No uterus, no opinion.") But that's what it is: a part of my life. Life is so personal and fragile. Ever heard that old saying "don't mix business with pleasure?" Sure, most people use it in romantic or sexual contexts, but when the candidate you vote for wins, it feels incredible. Could you equate that electoral victory to the ultimate orgasm? I can, and I'd rather not "orgasm" at work. Being a politician, for me, is too personal, especially as a young woman who is passionate about feminism. I can picture it now: I'm coming home to my husband, who lovingly asks, "How was work?" and all I can say is, "My coworkers passed legislation against my genitals again -- just a typical day at the office." This will not be my fate. I will stick to Facebook rants, thank you very much.

I see myself on a completely different path now -- the path I should've taken initially.

There I am, sitting at my desk. I have a pile of essays, all in 12 point, Times New Roman font with one-inch margins. The heading is very specific. I want this all in the upper left-hand corner, OK? I want the student's name (first and last, thank you), the date underneath, then followed by the name of the class, and then my name at the end. I want every paper to have a title -- and if the words "essay," "reflection," or "paper" are found in the title, I'm taking five points off. Do you think I, as your teacher (the person who assigned the essay/reflection/paper), don't know you're writing an essay/reflection/paper? The average essay grade was an 86 -- not bad, but there's always room for improvement. The essay topic is centered around a pivotal moment in "Jude The Obscure" by Thomas Hardy -- what does the pizzle truly represent, and why did it hit Jude at that specific moment? What could Jude have done differently in that moment to avoid future shortcomings?

I am now double-majoring in English and education, and have put myself on track for the 4+1 program. If I am accepted into this program, I will earn my Bachelor's in four years, then earn my Master's in one year. I can also become certified to teach in the state of Massachusetts through Simmons, but I imagine my desk being in my old high school. (I couldn't wait to leave, but now I can't wait to go back. Funny how that works, isn't it?)

When I first decided to change my major, I thought I had failed. I had a plan. So many people my age don't have these clear visions for themselves yet (which is totally okay,) and suddenly mine had become muddy and uncertain. I began to fear that vision. My vision was so much bigger than myself and had consumed me; I lost sight of something I love about myself: my ability to analyze literature, write essays, and edit others' works. I took four English classes my senior year, one being an AP-level course. I gave up my last opportunity to take AP government and politics my senior year. I was a student columnist for the Nashua Telegraph. My life consisted of writing, reading, and editing.

Now that I've changed my major, I've found peace. I found myself again.

I'm back, baby.