MARISSA BURR
Opinion Editor
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher.
In eighth grade, I shadowed my kindergarten teacher for a day, and then as a junior, I spent a semester interning there. For graduation, I was given teacher supplies that I could use wherever my early childhood education degree would take me.
And then the pandemic went and ruined everything.
Now I didn’t know that it had messed with my dreams right away, but a little over a year into college I started dreading going to classes and doing my observations. Health issues in the family gave me an excuse not to attend, and I knew that it was time to reevaluate my decisions.
It was a rollercoaster ride trying to determine where I would go next.
Interior design crossed my mind, but schools were far and my support system thought it was a ridiculous idea — which it was. I considered music, but the fact that my college at the time had just eliminated the major made that impossible to pursue.
I don’t remember how the idea of a writing major came to mind, but once it did, it was stuck in there.
I’d loved writing since I was little, and had a bedroom full of certificates and awards to prove it. My mom still has a copy of a story I wrote in eighth grade about a family of chalk pieces living in a classroom.
The more I thought about it, the more I fell in love with the idea. My favorite part about my education program was getting to write lesson plans, which is something you don’t see very often.
So, I found a creative writing program and was thrown into experiences that I hadn’t known I needed. Colson Whitehead and Sylvia Plath and Nathaniel Hawthorne filled my backpack with stories to inspire.
Add in being able to continue writing opinion columns for school newspapers and I was set. This path had to be the right one.
Even when I transferred to Fredonia, I still was able to be surprised at what I could learn. In less than a year, my writing has greatly improved and I’ve been churning out stories like they’re batches of Nestle Toll House cookies. Those in my program are more than supportive and I feel confident that I can be an accomplished writer in the future.
However, an old love of mine has come knocking.
In order to pay tuition, I work at a daycare as a preschool teacher and occasionally moonlighting in the toddler classroom. The job made sense; I haven’t lost my experiences with young children, but I’m aware that I don’t want to do it forever. At least, so I thought.
I’ve started writing lesson plans for different books and units for the classes I work with, and it is probably one of my favorite things that I’ve ever done. Getting to research, plan, and execute them makes me unbelievably happy.
I did two full days on Eric Carle’s “The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” where I was able to incorporate fine motor skills’ like hole punching as well as phonics practice by making caterpillars out of the letters in their name. We displayed their work in the hallway and everyone loved it.
This semester, I’ve also had the opportunity to take a professional writing course, and I’ve realized that I could do this for a living.
Fredonia even has a master’s program. I can spend the next few years honing both my writing and lesson planning skills to create a curriculum that anyone can follow, even if they are a substitute in a classroom and don’t have a teaching degree.
The problem is, I would need certification as a teacher and most likely a bachelor’s degree in early childhood education to apply for this program.
But in 2025, I will have just spent five years earning one in writing. It’s making me question whether I made the right decision back in 2021 when I changed my major.
Thinking about that is terrifying; there are so many what-ifs.
Where would I be now if I hadn’t ever changed my major and just stuck it out?
Would I have been able to stay on a four-year path and be graduating in two months?
What would that mean for my relationships or my location?
So, I’ve been trying not to go down that rabbit hole.
Writing has given me so many experiences that without them, I may not have ever returned to college after taking a few semesters off. Being a part of both The Griffin at Canisius University and The Leader at Fredonia has opened the door to a career in journalism, whether it be for a newspaper or literary magazine. I have the skills and the experience to do it, but will it make me happy forever?
I’m also wondering if this is burnout.
Am I just getting bored with my life like I did back then and feel the need to shake it up?
If I change my major, I will be in school for at least three more years, which I do not have the capacity to do — physically or financially.
I’m ready to start my life, but overall, I’m just frustrated at the fact that everything isn’t as aligned as I thought it would be when I entered my final year of college.
It may sound childish, but I just want what I want. I’d like to work from home writing lesson plans for daycare teachers, while occasionally writing an opinion piece or novel, just to keep it fresh.
Is that too much to ask?