Coming out about a major dilemma

Iwas living a double life. My friends didn't know. My parents didn't know. But I always knew, in the back of my mind. I consulted self-help books, the Internet, even Dr. Phil for advice, but to no avail. After weeks of agonizing over how to break the news to them, I just decided to come clean. They would love me regardless, I figured. Maybe.

I sat them down at the kitchen table one night and took a deep breath. "Mom, Dad," I said, agitated. "I'm not the person who you think I am. I have been living a lie."

They looked back at me, stunned.

I continued. "I just can't go on with this charade any longer. It's not me." Pause. "I'm no longer pre-med. I want to study something else."

"What?" my father said, clearly perplexed. "But science is so much more important!"

I shrugged. "When I see blood, I cringe. When I see sick people, I cringe. Old people, forget it -- they're practically dead already. It's just not my thing. I think, well, I think I want to be a writer."

"You mean we're not raising a radiologist?" my mother cried, crumpling into my father's arms. She slowly struggled to her feet. "How long have you known?"

"Forever."

First came the denial -- "But you're still taking orgo, right?" Then the Jewish guilt -- "But we've already purchased the med school sticker for the bumper." And finally the acceptance -- "So we'll have a starving artist. At least we have your brothers."

Shortly after I broke my parents' hearts, I returned to Penn. And quickly realized I had a major problem. Now that I was free from the hellish bonds of kinematics, carbon and ketosis, I had no idea what I wanted to study. I quickly decided that the best thing to do would be to declare as many concentrations as possible, just to cover my bases.

After declaring my fourth major in as many days, I received a letter from the registrar, telling me that I was completely insane. Actually, the letter said something more like, "According to the system, you already have three majors. Health and Societies would be your fourth -- you can't have four. Let us know." But I knew what they really meant: "Decide ... you major flip-flopper ... or else." I felt like an undecided voter in Ohio.

But the truth is, declaring a major is really hard. Every semester during advanced registration, I begin to salivate at all of my possible choices. It's my favorite time of the year, actually. I plan schematic diagrams in Excel. I analyze the Penn Course Review for statistical abnormalities. What's the standard deviation on that psych course? Would you recommend this class to a non-major? To a monkey? Hells yeah!

I look at the least difficult courses and cross them off my list. Too many people, usually. I look at the hardest courses ever and realize I can't even understand the titles. And then, after days of time sheets and meetings with advisers, I realize that my choices are in five different departments, with absolutely nothing to do with one another. Then I cry.

Recently, I decided to switch from biological basis of behavior, health and societies, urban studies, Afro-American studies and English to just plain ol' English. It makes the registrar happy, and it gives me room for lots of electives. My new goal is to take one in every department by the time I graduate. I want to see what all the fuss is about ... about everything. It's part of my plan to knock Ken Jennings off of Jeopardy.

At Penn, you're practically in jeopardy if you only have one major. Most people I know have a few majors, a few minors, even a diminished or two, if they're studying music. When I tell people that I'm studying only English, I usually get an all-knowing glance, like, "Oh, you must have the easiest classes ever. Why don't you jet to the Bahamas and return for finals week? There's no need to have you here, taking up precious air needed for studying math and economics and physics."

Or I get a smirk. "English, hmm? What are you planning on doing with that?" My friends who are studying English and communication are used to these looks. We get them all the time. Apparently, you can major in communication with your eyes closed. You can major in English without ever lifting a finger.

These comments usually come from people in the sciences or Wharton or Engineering. These pre-professionals just L-O-V-E to talk smack about humanities. I'd like to see them pop out a 20-page paper on Modernism, followed by five on the Renaissance. Sans Sparknotes.

It's just not necessary. It's not necessary to bash the difficulty of someone's major, to make yourself feel superior. It's not necessary to take only classes appearing in the "Least Difficult" category on the Penn Course Review. College is the last time when we can take classes just to take them. Not for your diploma.

As for me, my major problem quickly turned into a minor one. Twelve, to be exact.

Melody Joy Kramer is a junior English major from Cherry Hill, N.J. Perpendicular Harmony appears on Wednesdays.

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