If there’s one thing I hate doing, it’s making life decisions. I hate it almost as much as I hate cinnamon Pop-Tarts (a disgrace to America). Unfortunately, as a sophomore fast approaching the halfway point of my Duke experience, the potentially life-changing decisions have been piling up like snow days. Is it better to declare the heartfelt major or the practical one? Is Fall semester more worthwhile at Oktoberfest or in that art history class? Do I charitably volunteer in Uganda or coolly intern at that Silicon Valley start-up? And let’s not forget the two greatest decisions of all: What exactly do I do with my life? Should I “sell out” for the highly paid, management consulting job or soldier on with my secret dream of living in a poorly furnished apartment in the city? And is it actually acceptable to get Sitar for dinner for the fifth time?
Some of these difficult questions have more discernible answers than others, but it seems the pressure of choosing correctly in decisions that reverberate through the rest of our lives weighs heavy in college. Parents, faculty and other annoyingly authoritative figures have drummed into us the overwhelming fortune and potential Duke students have to pursue any dream we want. We are at a time in our lives where we’re preparing for adult life, teetering on the cusp of our futures, and, thus, every choice feels imbued with panicky significance. There are choices in friendships and social groups—the people who might one day invite you to dance at their weddings—choices in the internships you take this summer that might bring you closer to that one connection who could revolutionize your career path and, for you seniors, introduce the next great adventure of navigating post-college jobs and graduate school programs. (Please don’t hate me for reminding you of your impending doom).
Whatever choices we struggle between, it is both thrilling and frightening to make them and follow the subsequent paths into an unknown future. Choose wrong and it seems absolutely apocalyptic—you might always be crippled with dreams of the salary you could have had or the one that got away. Choose right and your life probably becomes one large Gary Marshall film. Perhaps the reason why making decisions in college is intensely nerve-racking and painstaking is because we are afraid of regrets—regrets that we pushed too forward or held too back.
And that begs the million-dollar question: How do we avoid regret? How do make the “right” decision? When one path seems just as worthy as another and the future is fluidly indefinite, how can we ensure we don’t mess things up before our lives truly begin?
I have met people with 10-year plans and people who write long pros and cons lists. I have met people who close their eyes and let life literally spin on a dime. And after everything, I don’t truly have the answer. But my freshman year, I was fortunate enough to converse with a wildly successful Duke alum who attributed his success to a single philosophy, and I’ve never forgotten it. It turned out to be the best advice I’ve ever received on making life decisions, and I want to share it with you.
It doesn’t matter what you decide. It matters who you become.
Because the choices we make are ultimately labels. They are names of occupations, names of cities, names of colleges, names of friends, names whose significance will one day fade as we move on in the path of life. What remains is not the choice itself, but the experiences we attain, the skills we gain, the people we become. Rather than asking ourselves what path to choose, perhaps it’s time to ask who we want to be, that shining persona we create when we imagine ourselves at our best. After all, isn’t that what it means to be successful?
So forget the labels, forget the decisions. Forget about being a doctor versus a researcher, or Wall Street versus volunteering. Start discovering who you want to be. You might aspire to be someone that leads, inspires and innovates. You might strive to be someone that listens, empathizes, comforts. The question isn’t what you want to be. It’s who. Who do you want to be in 10 years?
Think about that person, in all their complexity and liveliness, all the admirable traits and quirks—and pursue them. You may end up as a ski instructor or in med school. You might travel far and wide, or not at all. What does it matter? As long as it brings you one step closer to embodying the best version of yourself, you can’t ever make the wrong decision.
Isabella Kwai is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Thursday. Send Bella a message on Twitter @tallbellarina.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.