A new direction home

Last week, I had one of those "oh fuck... what have I been doing with my life and where am I going" panic attacks and nearly didn't go to ACL because of it. It hit me that I've been eating through my bank account- as well as my parents'- this past month and wandering through life lacking ambition, direction, and responsibility. It was nice. It was fun. It definitely fostered my commitment phobia. But there came that inevitable point of realization that it cannot go on forever. 

My dad sat me down tonight and gave me the "you're heading down the same path I did at your age... you need goals, direction, and a job" speech. He couldn't have picked a better time... after deciding stick to my plans and go to ACL, I vowed to myself to get my shit together when I got back. It was probably the best (and extremely overdue in many ways) conversation I've ever had with my dad. 

I came to the final realization that I don't give a shit about journalism. I wish I did, but it just doesn't fit me. I'd rather be a part of the story and tell it later in my own way. I want to help people, listen to them, help them find a reason to live and find their own happiness. I'd love to be a part of some organization that goes to disaster areas- war aftermath, hurricane aftermath, etc, and help people get their lives together again. And so... I think I'm going to become a statistical college student and change my major, to social work.