I glared at the floor, frustrated that facial expressions couldn’t be broadcasted through old-fashioned cordless house phones. “It’s complicated, Aunt Vic! I have no idea what I want to do—if I did, I would’ve done it already. Why are you always judging me? Things are different than what they used to be!”
I hung up on my aunt, my best friend of twelve-years. She was old enough to be the mother I didn’t have and young enough to replace the sisters I’d lost.
She was also, always, unfailingly correct in her predictions.
“You’re going to change your major.” She’d announced. “I think you should do something with computers.”
“Computers?” I rolled my eyes. “Great. I don’t even know how to-”
“Pray about it. Ask God to give you an answer and let Him take care of the headaches, alright?”
I was still waiting.
Answers were taking longer than I had the time to spare.
I don’t want to take computer stuff. It’s hard. It’s confusing. It’ll take forever! I’ve always been an Art Major and I like it that way!
The can of nuts on the table invited me to sit on the sofa, so I did, with the canister sitting on my stomach and the nuts crunching in my mouth. It was sweet and salty at the same time, as I found myself turning the TV on to flip through random channels.
There wasn’t anything worthwhile on at this time of day, except for a special educational program on girls in science and math-based careers. I watched until the credits rolled and my neck seemed permanently stuck sideways.
I turned the TV off and headed for kitchen, in search of a more substantial snack, when the mailman rang at the door. I signed for a the mail and fished out the latest digest magazine. There were plenty of silly jokes, a few odd articles and a section on women in computerized fields.
I read the story from beginning to end.
Nice fairy tale. It’s about time some smart girls got the credit.
I tossed the magazine on the coffee table and bypassed the kitchen to snag my laptop from the den downstairs. The usual homepage flickered to life as I took a moment to check my email and reply to a few messages.
Three of the headlines had some relation to women and computer science.
I started scribbling on the sketchbook from the laptop bag and tried to push away the nagging feeling in the back of my head. I was an artist. There was nothing linear and sequential about me.
I was free, random and eccentric. I was allowed to be that way, because art was a beautiful excuse.
Math and science were simply irritating subjects and courses that I’d had to take in order to skate through school and the first year of community college. Any science-related major would require more science and most of them deviated to something that also involve additional math courses.
A general headache.
I could do without headaches.
The laptop glare was making my head hurt, so I quit to scribble in my diary instead. The weird observances popped up again as I turned on the radio for some background music and heard a special report on my favorite talk show.
They were discussing the most profitable careers and majors that led to them.
I turned the radio off.
Ashley called for help with her Calc II homework and I suggested different experiments until she remember the right method. Her words echoed in my head, bouncing off Aunt Vic’s own declaration.
“You’re really smart you know. You can do anything you want—you know, stuff besides art. I mean, really, you’re good!”
Ashley was a math major.
Oh snap. Loverly.
The first slap of the mental wet towel snapped me out of my funk. I can be dense, and oblivious to facts until it has hit me in the face.
This is one of those times.
I'd waited for an earth-shattering revelation of some sort to declare my major for me. I hadn’t been looking for subtle repetition and gentle nudges.
I hadn’t been looking for His answer, I’d been waiting for Him to parrot my own solution back to me. I could keep on pretending, but I already had all the pieces of my life puzzle before me.
All I had to do was put them together.
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