Breaking the News to Myself

Amelia Giese (she/her)

Editorial Team Member

Going into college, I was set on majoring in journalism. I picked the major because I wanted to go to law school, and if I changed my mind about that, I’d still have a cool career to fall back on. I could go so many routes; political columnist, photojournalist, a First Amendment specialist. It felt like the world was my oyster.

I wanted to be in politics. A law degree and journalist combo felt like the perfect way to do that without actually becoming a politician. I wanted to write. This Girls Story has shown me just how much I loved it. But most of all, I wanted to change the world. I knew I could do that by sharing what was going on—by using the most powerful tool: my voice. But how can I change the world if there is no world left to change?

About a year ago, in the middle of my first semester of college, I had some free time and took a trip to the New England Aquarium. Stopping at the penguin exhibit, I became intrigued by a young woman standing in the waist-deep water, feeding the penguins. She was playing with them while giving them fish and marking off who got fed on her clipboard. As I watched her, I felt a tug in my heart. I wanted to do that. 

I started talking to her, something I rarely do with strangers, and asked about her job and how she got there. She told me she had studied biology. After our conversation was over, I immediately began researching what exactly a biology degree entailed at my university. Spoiler: it entailed a lot.

I told my mom about the experience, and the story made its way around her social circles. Everyone gave me the same piece of advice: do it, or you’ll regret it.

I didn’t do it. I spent the rest of my freshman year of college studying something that I wasn’t sure my heart was in anymore. 

I had always loved animals, but that was all it was—a love. I saw no future in it. I saw no growth. I saw no way to reach my goals. So I stuck with what I had come to know.

This past summer, I worked at an overnight camp. I taught kids about things like sustainable forestry management and recycling. I learned from coworkers about the amazing forest I was living in. I had the amazing opportunity to visit a lumber mill (several times) and learn about forestry. Over the span of eight weeks, I unlocked a sudden desire to learn about the world around me. 

I asked so many people so many questions. Questions about the stars, the trees, the fish, the animals, the clouds, the weather, the lake. I left no stone unturned. I wanted to know everything and I wanted to know it immediately.

About halfway through my summer at camp, sometime this past July, I was petting a dog. As an animal lover, it was a situation that I often find myself in. But in this particular instance, I was filled with such love for this (random) dog, for the woods, for my job. And it was at that moment that I made my decision.

Journalism wasn’t for me. It never had been. I breezed through my writing classes and snoozed through practically anything journalism-related. Worst of all, I hated being told what to write. I love writing when it comes from me. Journalists can pick what they write, but they have no control over its direction. The control belongs to how the situation unfolds, the statements they receive, and the facts. I write at my best when it’s something I care about. I write with the most power when I have something to say. And I know myself well enough to know that I will begin to hate writing if I have no control over every paragraph.

The truth is that I had always been a STEM girl. In fact, I hated English classes in high school. When two of my AP Chemistry classmates found that out, they teased me relentlessly about majoring in an English-heavy topic. It didn’t make sense to them, and it shouldn’t have. Even my own father has expressed that he found my choice of major hard to believe.

To be honest, I picked journalism because it was safe. Part of me was scared of doing something hard. The other part was completely unsure of what to do with a STEM degree. I didn’t want to do research. I didn’t want to teach high schoolers. I didn’t want to be a doctor. I was lost. Journalism aligned with my goals and gave me a path to follow, but that was all it did. I liked it because it was the easy choice. I had direction, but I didn’t find it all that enjoyable. It didn’t challenge me. I was bored.

Studying biology for the past month has been the complete opposite. It’s been hard, yes, but it’s shown me my own strength in ways I had never imagined it. Am I constantly doing homework and studying? Yes. But am I having fun and enjoying the subject matter? Absolutely. At the end of the day, I’m working towards a career I’m truly passionate about. And for the first time, it feels like I’m right where I’m meant to be.

I believe that to change the world, we have to save it first. One path I’m considering post-graduation is zoology. Working with animals was what inspired my change in career paths. I want to protect them and study them. I also want to teach about them. I want to be the person who travels from school to school doing those assemblies with live animals. Or the person who brings a snake to the mall and tells you about reptiles. Or the person who helps you learn about the creatures you’re seeing at the zoo or aquarium. By protecting animals and educating others about them, I can save the world.

I’m also considering being a park ranger. They are on the frontlines protecting habitats and teaching people about them. I want to lead tours of hiking trails. I want to yap about the trees and their inhabitants. I want to teach about sustainability and environmentalism. I want to care for the Earth. I want to help people feel connected to the planet we share. That’s exactly how we can save our home. I can equip people with the tools they need to protect the environment. One step at a time. One person at a time.

I used to think my voice could change the world through stories and photographs. But somewhere between the penguins, the forests, and the endless questions about stars and the clouds, I realized that the story I needed to tell wasn’t on paper; it was out there, alive. I don’t just want to write about the world anymore. I want to help it keep existing.