W hen discussing my enrollment here at the University of Michigan with anyone other than a fellow student, I am always asked the classic question “What are you studying?” and I always hesitate before I say, with a cringe, “I’m undeclared.” I quickly follow up with a rushed answer of what I am planning on declaring. It does not matter that this is my first year, or that I have another year before I need to decide; it is expected that I have an answer. But there is a problem with trying to force students into a major too quickly. By pressuring myself to have an actual answer for everyone who asks me this, I now have tunnel vision. My constant repetition of this one answer has solidified it in my mind as my only option, and it leaves no room for consideration of other majors. It is like a brainwashing technique I have performed on myself. In addition to needing my major decided upon, I also apparently need to know what job I want, what kind of career I want to dedicate my life to. This has happened to many of us. When your answer to “What’s your major?” is met with more questions like “And what can you do with that?” instead of offering words of encouragement for having one part of our life decided, we are expected to not only know our five-year plan, but also our 10-year plan, even our 15-year plan. Our lives are expected to be planned out by the time we graduate, with an outline that includes not only the first job we have lined up, but also our entire career plan for the rest of our lives. According to our family and bosses, if we do not know where we want our lives to go, we will forever be wandering, lost with no purpose motivating us to go to work. We are told our key to success is to plan out every second of our future so we always know what the next step is. As a result of this pressure, we begin to force ourselves to make choices that limit our options for the future. We see this in the types of internships we choose, the classes we take and the higher education we pursue. Rather than keeping our doors open when searching for jobs after graduation, we are narrowing our focus to a one-way track that can fall apart if one step does not happen as planned. For instance, if one wishes to become a professor, a Ph.D. is required. You make it through graduate school, potentially incurring thousands of dollars of debt, and enter the job market ready to change the world by teaching the next generation. However, based on a study done on the 2014 U.S. Ph.D. recipients, a little less than half with definite job commitments said they’d hold a job in academia. This shows that even after earning a Ph.D., it’s not unusual for your career plan to change and force you to adapt to the new circumstances you find yourself in. With no alternative, we leave ourselves with no room for the unexpected, no room to adjust to unplanned events that can put damaging kinks in our tightly wound plans. For example, there is that one class, possibly a few classes, in every major that is critical to moving on to the higher-level requirements. We try hard to do well in those classes, and we tell ourselves if we are meant for that major we should do well in them, but when some of us still end up with a far less- than-satisfactory grade, that may throw a wrench in the coveted life plan we have been prompted to establish. We begin to question if this major is what we should do, yet because we have only devoted our time and thinking into this one option, we have no backup plan. So, instead of asking students to force themselves into making decisions some may not be ready to make, we should be allowed to consider all options one at a time and not be afraid to diverge from the original plan if necessary. We need to accept that there is no one specific path for each of us as individuals or even to get to a specific career; everyone will get to where they are in life a different way. At one of the workshops during my orientation last summer, we were shown the familiar diagram that links some of the larger majors in LSA to the numerous careers each can lead to. We should refer to this to inspire us, and relieve some of the anxiety of picking a major and deciding upon a career. Therefore, answering the question “What job can you get with that major?” does not need to bring us to our knees in an effort to explain our reasoning for making this choice. We must remind ourselves that a career is not made out of one decision we make when we are 19, and we must trust ourselves to eventually find the job and career path that suits us — something no one can tell us. S pring Break may be over, but for me, profound experiences remain. It was my first time leaving and returning to the country as a green-card holder. The most salient moment of my trip was coming back to the United States through immigration with such ease. The swiftness of the process startled me because that was not the case 11 years ago when I first came to the United States from South Korea with a visa. When I first arrived to the States, I was 10 years old — quiet, unfamiliarized and curious about the new life ahead of me. This anticipation, however, did not begin with hopes and dreams but was sunken by a skeptical Customs and Border Protection officer who scrutinized me and my family. At immigration, I observed my parents trying their best to catch the officer’s quick utterances and articulate back a response with their very imperfect English. After many questions and answers that went back and forth, there came a moment that I’ll never forget. My mom answered no to a question that actually applied to us. My dad corrected the answer but this confusion put us aside for a bag search. I observed the people in dark blue uniforms take out my personal items one by one. If you don’t know what this feels like, imagine being stripped of your clothes in public piece by piece. That’s what it felt like to me, as a 10-year-old in a strange, new place, naked and violated. Because of this incident, airports quickly became unpleasant and invasive places for me. What used to symbolize freedom, bravery and adventure, I no longer believed in. Since then, when I would hear friends were flying out to places such as the Bahamas, Cabo, Cancun, etc., it never occurred to me that I, too, could enjoy the process. I wanted to travel, but I felt restrained. I wanted to explore, but I felt unable. As a result, I avoided any subsequent opportunities to travel by air. And I became envious of those who led exuberant lifestyles, not because they flaunted their wealth, but because they embodied something that I didn’t — carefreeness. In 2009, I became a green- card holder. From what I understand, holding a green card makes things easier. People question you less. You blend in more with the crowd. Your contributions to the country start to be recognized. I knew these things to be true because this sense of belonging grew inside of me. While these feelings grew, they were still small and incomplete. After years of saying no to visiting friends from out of state and family back in South Korea, a friend approached me to go on an international trip this Spring Break. I was conflicted. All the excuses that I’ve collected in my lexicon swarmed over me — flights are too expensive, planning a trip is hectic and traveling is just not worth the energy. Boy, was I wrong. Deciding to go on this trip changed my life. There were challenges along my travel but it taught me many things that may be trivial to most people but nonetheless invaluable to me. I learned that I can’t use my nickname on the travel-agency site. Otherwise, I can’t fly out. (Yes, I missed my flight.) I learned that I have to put my laptop in a separate bin than my backpack for security. In addition to navigating the rules of travel, I learned that a tennis player from University of Toledo was headed to San Diego and takes pride in his bad haircut. I learned that a generous man who let me get in line before him had missed his flight the day before like me. (We exchanged a few chuckles.) These social aspects of a hectic day of travel were delightful. Above all, I learned that it is possible to feel safe and secure while traveling. Coming back, I was guided to use the mobile passport app to hasten the customs process like everyone else. Passing immigration, I was put in the same line as U.S. citizens, and the CBP officer greeted me with a “How are you?” without one question about my travel. I was stunned at the difference between going through security 11 years ago compared to now. This trip was significant because I was finally able to experience traveling in the way that people always spoke about. And I realized that this was a privilege. I came to understand how my visa status has determined my sense of personal freedom thus far. Therefore, I felt proud, and not ashamed, of my immigration status and was humbled by the privilege that came with being a permanent resident in the United States. “Never forget where you come from,” they say. My parents worked hard to come to this country. And this was a special moment for me to remember that fact. Opinion The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com 4A — Wednesday, March 15, 2017 REBECCA LERNER Managing Editor 420 Maynard St. Ann Arbor, MI 48109 tothedaily@michigandaily.com Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890. EMMA KINERY Editor in Chief ANNA POLUMBO-LEVY and REBECCA TARNOPOL Editorial Page Editors Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board. All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors. Carolyn Ayaub Megan Burns Samantha Goldstein Caitlin Heenan Jeremy Kaplan Sarah Khan Max Lubell Alexis Megdanoff Madeline Nowicki Anna Polumbo-Levy Jason Rowland Ali Safawi Kevin Sweitzer Rebecca Tarnopol Stephanie Trierweiler EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS Letting go of life’s baggage GINA CHOE | COLUMN What’s your major? ALEXIS MEGDANOFF | COLUMN Alexis Megdanoff can be reached at amegdano@umich.edu. Gina Choe can be reached at ginachoe@umich.edu. ALEXIS MEGDANOFF EMILY WOLFE | CONTACT EMILY AT ELWOLFE@UMICH.EDU I hated Hebrew school. The monotonous repetition of prayer and cultural history always went in one ear and out the other — I found more joy in the laughter of my classmates after I was sent to the principal’s office for intentionally frustrating my teachers. Nevertheless, my parents insisted that Judaism remain a part of my identity, whether or not this learning occurred in a stained-glass sanctuary. What stuck with me most growing up, unsurprising for a kid too stubborn to comprehend the religious significance of the events, was the celebration of holidays. Celebrated last weekend, Purim is one of the holidays that struck a chord with me. While much of my Jewish experience as a kid felt forced, such as my parents making me keep Kosher and attend synagogue on Shabbat mornings, Purim’s festivities never felt this way. Purim, at its core, is a celebration. Barely understanding why, I dressed in elaborate, carnivalesque costumes with my younger sister as we sang and danced in place of traditional prayer. The festiveness of this holiday shines through its customs — eating Hamantaschen (a traditional Jewish dessert), using noisemakers and adults getting drunk (at the judgment of a rabbi, of course). I kind of thought of it as the Jewish version of Halloween. But it was only recently, as I reflected on recent events in our community and country, that I began to grasp the underlying significance of the celebration of Purim. Over the past few months, Jews across the country have experienced a shock with the prevalence of anti-Semitic threats toward schools, synagogues and other Jewish institutions. On March 7, Chicago Jewish Day School, a mere 30 minutes from my house, received a bomb threat. This hit home. Even at the University of Michigan, threats in the form of hacked emails have rocked students like myself who never believed this hatred could exist on our campus. Coinciding with the rise of xenophobic, un-American attitudes and ethnically driven immigration bans, the anti- Semitic sentiments come at a time when much of the country lives in fear. Of course, these attitudes are not news to Jews across the world; some have even compared Trump’s rhetoric to Adolf Hitler’s use of the “Big Lie” during the rise of Nazism. And it was not until Feb. 21, after weeks of criticism from Jewish organizations for his lack of interest in the anti- Semitic threats, that President Trump issued a public statement about these issues. So, when the highest official in our country neglects to pay proper attention to the dangers of these ideologies, manifested in threats toward our communities, where do we turn? Though we can look to our government for answers, hope for change can be found much closer to home, in the shape of a three-cornered, jelly-filled cookie. Purim celebrates the Jewish victory over Haman, an evil associate of the Persian King who devised a plot to wipe out all of the Jews. Ring a bell? At no better time does this holiday, commemorating the defeat of anti-Semitism in ancient history, fall on our calendar. No FBI investigation will completely stop the wave of recent threats, and it will certainly not eradicate the pervasiveness of anti-Semitic ideology across the country. Purim reminds us that one way to combat the hatred prevalent in our society is to laugh, dance and celebrate. Acting as a festival of sorts, Purim encourages even the least religious people to come together in a joyous, collective motion of pride, identity and hope. Eating the Hamantaschen cookie, symbolizing the three- cornered shape of the villain Haman’s hat, represents in a comical yet significant way our destruction of discrimination. So, last weekend, although I did not dress up or attend services with my family, I kept in mind the significance of the holiday. Whether it occurred in the kitchen making cookies or in a sanctuary, Jews across the world celebrated a previous defeat of anti- Semitism in an attempt to make change in the present. And in the process, many realized that their Jewish identity is not grounded in education, but in thought and action that lie beyond the constraints of a classroom. Maybe I did learn something in Hebrew school after all. Dancing in the face of anti-Semitism BEN CHARLSON | OP-ED Ben Charlson is an LSA freshman. GINA CHOE We need to accept that there is no one specific path for each of us as individuals or even to get to a specific career. 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