Harry Styles came to me in a dream and told me to follow mine. It’s weird, but it’s true. I’m writing it all down here because I think that you should follow your dreams too.
I’m going to be honest. This is new to me. Writing all my thoughts down in clear sentences that I know people will know how to read exactly as I mean them. I like to stick with poetry. I like to hide behind the verses and the metaphors. It’s what makes me happy. Poetry is my soul food. I’m working up a little something different this week as I reflect on the (almost) end of my second year of college and the (almost) end of my first full year as an English major.
Last night, I dreamt I was at a Harry Styles concert with my bestie Liam Payne and my best friend from high school. Unfortunately, Liam and I are not besties in real life much to my chagrin. I was at a Harry Styles concert with Liam and we were in the pit dancing away (the fact that I had pit tickets to a Harry Styles concert is probably the most unrealistic part of this dream by the way), and for some reason, Harry Styles closed his concert with “Treat People with Kindness” followed by a rendition of “Easy on Me” by Adele. Now that I’ve dreamt it I’m going to need to hear it in real life. The details aren’t really important, but I thought I would set the scene for you.
Eventually, Harry Styles drives Liam and me home and we get to talking, as one does. He drops Liam off, and Harry and I end up at a Burger King. I know this is so weird right now but stick with me. We’re eating our hamburgers and drinking our shakes, and he asks me to tell him about myself. He asks about my major, my career plan, my life, my hobbies, everything.
Lately, when people ask me questions like these I get defensive. I shut down and say “I don’t know” even when I do have an answer. But last night in my dream world where Harry Styles and I sat down for burgers after a concert I told the truth. I answered, for pretty much the first time, without shame.
I started college as a Biochemistry major on an accelerated Pre-Med track. I loved Chemistry. I love Chemistry. I’d wanted to work in the health field for years. I’m a smart student. I’m a hard worker. I love science. In theory, I had chosen the perfect path. Not just the perfect path, but the right path. The path my parents could call relatives and brag about. The path that made the eyebrows of my grandparent’s generation shoot up and ask how a beautiful girl like me could be so smart and so content studying like that.
Of course, this path ignored a part of me that has always been present. A part of me I used to forget about myself because it wasn’t the part that was talked about at Christmas dinners. It wasn’t the part that my high school could count as a statistic on their website or give me a medal for. The part of me that is made of literature, music and poetry. When I think about it, it is not hard to realize that this has always been a part of me. When life gets hard, I retreat to music. When I don’t know how to express myself out loud, which happens a lot, I write it down. The very first poem I ever wrote I read out loud at my school’s talent show in the 1st grade. I published my own collection of poems at the end of 8th grade and then again at the end of 12th. Poetry has always been a piece of me. Just not a piece I ever believed I could become. Reading and writing was something I enjoyed. A hobby of mine to shine and to bring out when people got bored. It was not supposed to be a career path.
When I started college, I started as a Biochemistry degree with a minor in Creative Writing, a combination of something to be proud of and something to feed my soul. The problem was Biochemistry broke my soul and writing for Her Campus with a mere minor in Creative Writing was not enough for me. I hated every aspect of my pre-med track. I still loved Chemistry. It’s just that I couldn’t pay attention to it, and I was smart enough that I didn’t need to. When I went to class, I sat in the back and sketched or wrote and rewrote the lyrics to my favorite songs. I wrote poetry too, a lot of it.
It took one semester of that and one Zoom call to my high school English teacher to find the solution to my problem. A major change. And not just any major change. A major major change. Biochemistry to English. Since then, I’ve been happy. I’m on the right path for what feels like the first time in my whole life. I’m embracing the inner childhood me who would stack books from the floor of her room to the top of her bed. Who would secretly flip to the poetry section of her English textbooks and read every line. The little girl who collected CDs like seashells and listened to them over and over again until each lyric was painted on the walls of her room.
But just because I’m happy, it doesn’t mean I own it. Up until last night with Harry Styles, I always struggled telling people about my major. I always tell them I’m unsure about my career plan even though, in truth, I know exactly what I want to do. Part of it is because the reactions from the people I love to my academic and career change haven’t always been positive. Outside of my sister, my high school English teacher and my Meemaw, very few people readily accepted my switch. I still catch my parents telling friends and family members that I’m studying chemistry or still thinking pre-med. I know that some people are just happy that I’ve chosen the path of least resistance, sure that my femininity would have prevented me from succeeding in my first chosen major. My mother, an English major herself, once asked me over dinner, nearly a year after I switched, if I had switched simply because I was taking easier classes now.
I blame this on my reluctance to tell people about my dreams. I’m sure there are other reasons for it too. I’ve never been confident in myself or my abilities in any aspect of my life. But Harry Styles didn’t know me. He didn’t know that I used to love chemistry. He had no idea if I was actually good at writing poetry or not.
So now, because of Harry Styles and whatever subconscious disaster was happening in my brain last night. I’m going to tell you what I told Harry:
I’m an English major. A Social Justice minor. I grew up in Kansas City and live in Saint Louis. I love my sister more than I love myself, and I love music almost as much as that. I am a poet. A published poet. I love the outdoors and sketching and copying lyrics into my notebooks. I dream of being a writer. I dream of making my way in this world through my words. Writing is all that I want to do.
I don’t know why, but saying out loud what I’ve been thinking and being believed by Harry in my dream made me feel confident and supported. I sometimes joke with my sister that my one goal in life is to write a book that Harry Styles reads. I don’t think it’s a joke anymore. I’m going to write a book that Harry Styles reads.
The real Harry Styles (not the one that ate at Burger King with me last night) once said that he admired Lizzo’s music because she is what he thinks every good artist should be, which is herself. I intend to be that good artist. To be myself. In whatever path or career plan I choose. Right now, I intend on writing. If that’s not true in a year or two then that’s fine. I’m going to keep that poetry soul of mine alive and be myself wherever I end up. You can’t blame me. Harry Styles told me, too.
Maybe your dream does not look like mine. Maybe, you are the chemist in the story I left behind. That’s fine. Then, Madame Curie would be proud of you. Maybe you want to win the next Nobel prize in physics. Maybe you’re the future president. Maybe you dream of painting or traveling. Whatever it is you want, go for it. Whoever you need to hear to believe that you are capable listen to; Lisa Meitner, Barack Obama, Frida Kahlo, Alice Walker, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Maya Angelo, Harry Styles and I all believe in you. We’re proud of you. We love you. We’ll be watching you succeed.
So, in breaking from tradition. I chose not to write a poem this week. Because I want you to hear Harry Styles too. Follow your dreams.