Who are we without sharing stories? Narratives are the way that we, as human beings, connect with one another. Stories transcend time. As an English major, I have developed a unique lens to see stories in their original contexts while applying their valuable lessons to life today. Working up the ladder of a four-year English degree has helped me cultivate the skills to comprehend all sorts of texts, but my intrinsic desire to discover the stories of humankind propels my education further.

My English story begins, like most inclined to the subject, as a child. I felt things very deeply and putting myself in the shoes of new characters I loved, was a release for me then and still is today. Stories have always had a way of imprinting on me. I absorbed the feelings of the characters I read about.. It got to the point where if I was so enwrapped in a book, I would have dreams and sometimes nightmares about these characters or plots. As Simple as It Seems, a devastating story about a girl with fetal alcohol syndrome, was one I was particularly emotional about as a third grader. My mom and grandmother fostered my skill of reading comprehension as a child and were happy to talk about whatever book I was reading.

Going forward, I excelled in grammar, writing, and reading while I suffered in math. I knew what I loved and stuck with it. When I got to the College of Charleston, the obvious choice would be to pursue an English major. I don’t feel that I really need to defend the viability of my degree because in today’s world, having a deep knowledge of language, how it develops and translates through time, and the ways we use it as a society is irreplaceable. With AI on the rise, being able to communicate your experiences in your voice by writing will be a valuable asset.

While at the College of Charleston, I have had the chance to develop my communication skills. One of my favorite examples of my work is a conversation about censorship. During my junior year, our Young Adult Fiction class read the story Fun Home, which is a graphic memoir about a young girl’s journey with identity, family, and trauma. I expected nothing out of this book since this was my first ever graphic novel. But after learning about its complicated history at the College, I was compelled by the story. Back in 2013, Fun Home was assigned as the summer reading book for the incoming freshman class. Due to homosexual depictions, legislators and parents wanted the book banned because they saw these illustrations as pornographic. I decided to write my paper on sex, literature, and censorship and define the way we view pornography and art in this society. The paper was recently nominated to be presented as a poster for CofC’s English Day. I felt it was important to resurface the work and remind students that even our liberal arts college was at the center of censorship and homophobia anxiety.

Turning the paper into a poster was quite challenging. I tried my best to preserve the essence of my arguments while creating a beautiful graphic to capture the attention of English Day attendees. Translating a traditional analysis paper into a poster form was an excellent way to show my adaptability and digital literacy.

Adaptability is undoubtedly a skill that English students hold. We read, process, apply information, and synthesize arguments. In the process of doing this, we adapt our language over and over to communicate our thoughts and feelings most effectively. On another level, English majors are almost forced to adapt to the world because there is no set career path to follow. Although I am not the biggest fan of change, it is something I have learned to accept as an English degree holder. As Richard N. Bolles writes in What Color is. Your Parachute, “Change is not nearly as hard as you think it is. Not changing can be deadly.” (78) I completely agree with this sentiment. As I set out on a career seemingly unrelated to anything of the English world, I remind myself of the value of change and what it offers you in the long run. Although this change into a business-oriented word is a bit daunting, I know that my skills as an English major are complementary and transferable. 

Currently, I have been dedicating multiple hours per week to job hunting and interviewing. The process isn’t easy but I know that I will find a match soon. Richard Bolles says, ”Job hunting is, or should be, a full-time job” (88). For me, this is accurate because of the competitive nature of the sales industry. There is a ton of rejection when it comes to sales. George Anders, author of You Can Do Anything, tells us that “such gritty paths are common” (44). As I mentioned before, liberal arts degree holders are required to persevere in competitive industries because a specialized path doesn’t always exist. 

The number of English majors has fallen by nearly half since the late 1990s- Benjamin Schmidt

I’ve found it strange that we as English Majors must consistently defend the major against most others. Finance majors generalized probably do not have to defend their major, yet multiple questions arise from the morality of increasing the fortunes of the quickly accelerating upper class. I will not spend this time discussing class inequality, but it seems to make a point more in our current time.

I do not like grammar, which is about 50% of English. The other 50% of English is vocabulary, I do not have a favorite word. I do however like reading, watching, and listening to English media. Most likely due to it being the only language I can understand. To say my decision to be an English major comes from an empathetic lens would make most of my friends laugh. I think at the end of the day I’m just a consumer that wants to have an excuse for my gluttonous consumption of media. Movies and Music surround my roommates and consistently a silent moment is not often non-existent. It is in this over consumption and my love for media that I have found my interests deeply intertwining with the ‘values’ of the English Major. I wish I had an interesting heartfelt story on my decision, but I do not and like George Washington, “I can not tell a lie”. Humorously, I have actually cut down a cherry tree.

Richard Bolles states, “It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.”. Judging by my submission time on this blog post that I live by these words. Procrastination has always been a problem for me. I have been described as apathetic by friends much to my chagrin as they did not use apathetic and used ‘uncaring’ when apathetic would be a much better word to give me a descriptor. I do however feel as if despite this post, I have gotten much better at procrastination… or worse… better at dealing with my procrastination.

I have an important assignment that highlights my procrastination much in the line of the hero’s journey, If the hero was a 19 year old college student doing a project on photography. I hate to say it but I do not care about photographs, much to my own demise as an appreciator of art. For example, I have been told a photograph is good about 300 times in my life and never understood why. Despite this, someone who was teaching a class which I signed up for thought it would be a good idea to make me participate in photography in a photography class. I was tasked with taking multiple photos that make someone ‘feel’. I did not and still do not fully understand what that means. I spent the next week wondering what to do. That is a lie to be fair however as I spent the next week completely forgetting about that responsibility. It was only a day before that I remembered my photos. Luckily, when I most needed a quiet space, we had planned a party that night. As the party went on I decided to take photos of what was going on. To clear the air, I was taking photos of people I know, I was not taking photos of strangers. It was in my hasty arranging of my collage of photographs that I started to slightly understand what feeling from a photograph meant. As I surrounded myself with photos of my close friends, while slightly blurry, I was able to feel a sense of connection with my surroundings and the larger world around me. While not specifically an English Class, it was with my tutelage from various English classes that I was able to understand how a piece of media is supposed to make you feel, and furthermore connect it to the outside world.

This idea is what I truly think makes the English Major important, as I have been given the ability to contextualize anything within our world. It is with this humanist perspective that I have been able to extrapolate the importance for anything, and there is an importance for everything. I would not sacrifice these lessons for anything as I have been a more caring person because of it. I have learned not only how to fix my ability to procrastinate but also configure that with not getting lost in the moment. Learning the best time and place to do work, rather than doing something too early when my head is not in it. It’s important for me to put forth my best work, while this does not always work within the confines of school, I understand that this skill and understanding of my work ethic will better help me contextualize my skills within the job market.

Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, “A man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his life as if he were recounting it.”. This is about novels, but I think it says more about the English Major as a whole. It is not what we are able to learn, but what we are able to do with the information we gather from our studies.

I vividly remember the first time I ever saw my father cry. I was in middle school at the time and had recently written a poem for my English class. Although I had been writing poems for quite some time, this was the first one I had ever shown anyone before, let alone read in front of the entire class. Based on George Ella Lyon’s poem, “Where I am From,” we were asked to write our own version, detailing the unique ways that we grew up and the home that we were being raised in.

At dinner, my father asked to hear what I had written, so I read it aloud after we ate. I remember my heart pounding out of my chest, the saliva in my mouth dissolving into thin air, and the temperature in my cheeks reaching a feverish temperature. When I had finished, silence filled the air, and I could only hear the loud pounding of my heart reverberating through my ears. I looked up from the printed paper my poem was typed on and looked at my dad. His eyes were red and wet with tears.

I had never seen him cry a day in my life. At first, I had no idea how to react or exactly what his tears meant. But then he broke the silence, “That was so beautiful,” he said, his voice soft and slightly cracking. For the first time, I realized that maybe my poetry had meant something, done something to someone, made someone feel enough to bring tears to their eyes. Just the thought of my writing conjuring such strong emotions in someone who had remained so stoic for most of my life felt like flying.

For as long as I can remember, I have felt deeper than those around me. Things have always mattered more to me, and I have deeply cared about things others seem to push aside or not notice. It was not until I shared my writing with people that I felt truly seen. Through their experience of reading my work, I finally felt they could truly understand me, understand the little things I cared about and why. And when I shared this poem with my father, it was one of the first moments I felt he understood me.

Poetry became my sanctuary, allowing me to express the complexities of my life more openly. Through writing, I could express the deep feelings I felt about my familial struggles, school friendships, and the small, overlooked details of daily life. This intimate connection to poetry resonates with Patrick Rosal’s notion, as discussed in the New York Times article “Poetry is Hospitable to Strangeness and Surprise,” where he highlights poetry’s capacity for observation, reflection, imagination, and discovery. These elements captivated me and drew me deeper into the world of poetry.

Even more so, in Kathleen Ossip’s article “Why All Poems Are Political,” she explores poetry’s role as a liberated realm for language and politics, raising numerous compelling questions that deeply resonated with me. She asks:

“Could it be that poetry aims to stir our consciousness of the profound yet nuanced spectrum of joy and suffering inherent in existence?”

This question encapsulates the essence of poetry for me. Poetry serves as a catalyst for awakening, urging us to perceive the world with heightened sensitivity, to acknowledge the often-overlooked nuances, and to empathize with the countless emotions swirling around us. It fosters a sense of community, connecting us with others who share our depth of perception and emotion, ultimately making people feel less alone. It was in this space (writing and sharing poetry) that I finally felt understood and seen for who I truly am: someone who deeply cares about the world around me.

As I got older and life got progressively more confusing and difficult, writing about it never felt like enough, so I buried myself in sports. For the longest time, that was the only thing I allowed myself to focus on. It was not until the pandemic that I had a chance to stop and sit in stillness. Stepping away from playing volleyball at Wake Forest University after two years allowed me the space I needed to properly reevaluate my life and what I was doing with it. Even then, it took me two years at the College of Charleston, majoring in Arts Management, before I jumped ship and declared an English major. It was not until then that I felt I had truly found my place, or at least a step in the right direction.

Reflecting back on all the schooling I had done, I quickly realized that throughout my educational career, it was the English classes and English teachers that I had loved and connected to the most. Looking around my room, I noticed my floor was covered in stacks of books, my bedside table engulfed in journals, and little notebooks were hidden around my room with short poems that popped into my mind from time to time. It was clear then which direction I was heading for the remainder of my college career and professional life.

An essential characteristic of the English discipline lies in its foundation in sensemaking, a concept introduced by Christian Madsjerg in his book “Sensemaking: The Power of the Humanities in the Age of the Algorithm.” Within this text, Madsjerg dissects various principles encapsulating the notion of sensemaking in humanities and their application in professional settings.

Of these principles, Principle 3: “The Savannah-Not the Zoo,” particularly resonated with me. Madsjerg explains that to properly understand and relay information about the human experience, you have to be a part of that human experience (16-18). Genuine understanding and insight into human nature cannot be attained merely through external observation but through personal experience. This awareness is acquired not only through the observation of others but through introspection.

When contemplating the practical applications of an English major in professional settings, I recalled a project from my 299 Intro to English Studies class where I had written an essay centered on the theme of motherhood in my favorite film, “Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms.” Delving into various aspects of motherhood, like love, sacrifice, and societal expectations, I researched extensively, drawing from books, personal accounts, and scholarly articles. This exploration led me to better understand the complexities of motherhood. Through this process, I gained a deeper insight into the motivations behind parenthood and the resilience required to nurture a child.

In an excerpt from “Major Decisions: College, Career, and the Case for the Humanities,” by Ramsey and Grobman, they emphasize the inherent value of intellectual, artistic, and moral pursuits, much like the essay I wrote. These projects enrich our lives, broaden our perspectives, and challenge outdated modes of thought and behavior (54-55).

Initially, I approached the essay intending to argue against the traditional notion of motherhood, questioning the extent of its role in today’s society. However, through the writing process, my perspective began to shift. While I still harbor my reservations about motherhood, my empathy and understanding of the complexities of parenthood expanded significantly.

It was through writing this essay that I tapped into the beauty and significance of what it means to be an English major and the intrinsic gifts that come out of such an experience. Through the research and composition of this essay, I learned more about the experiences of others while getting to know myself better along the way. I found, too, that when I write about things I deeply care about, much like in my early poetry days, my work is persuasive enough to change my own mind.

“Do you want some of this pie?” – a question that I would normally say yes to every chance I get. This time, though, I was asked by the brother of a dying patient who was denying that this was the end, who was offering to give me the same key lime pie he was going to smash onto his brother’s face. I was interning at the Medical University of South Carolina, and this was only minutes into my shift. But what does working in a hospital have to do with my academic story?

I was stuck in this situation – as a Palliative Care volunteer, I have to realize my place. I blur the line between friend and physician, but I have to try to keep my decisions closer to that of a legal advisor. Being offered a slice of pie was more than just a slice of pie: it was shattering the picture that the brother had. But it’s not my job to destroy any hope that he had. My job is to explain the reality of the situation and to help offer ways to create a healthy and meaningful exit.

So what did I do? I took that slice of key lime pie, said thank you, and told him not to give it to his brother. I explained that he was in a comatose state, and that he was very close to death. I gave the brother a moment to think, feeling the dry pie as I swallowed. While he was trying to come to terms with everything, I offered some words: it is thought that many comatose patients can still hear what is going on around them, even if they can’t respond. I spent the next hour talking with the patient’s brother about some of their best memories and praying with him. 

This is one of the most important experiences I have had as a volunteer, College of Charleston student, and person. The only reason I feel that I succeeded in that situation is because of my time as an interdisciplinary English major. Some degrees focus entirely on getting a job and nothing else, but English prepares us for life. As Richard Bolles states in his job-hunt book, “What Color Is Your Parachute?”, the job search is “no longer an optional exercise. It is a survival skill” – which, yes, is a bit ironic compared to this literal life-and-death situation I am writing about, but he’s right. We are prepared for survival — as the market changes, as technology takes over, and as we grow as individuals with different interests and desires.

Studying English has taught me three core values: anti-apathy, focus, and the power of words. I have learned these each day studying, but there are three main projects in which I learned the skills necessary to succeed in the end-of-life work field, and to succeed as a person – my papers for Third-World Literature and African Women Writers, my interview with David Popowski, and my internship with the Office of the Attorney General for Virginia.

Anti-apathy is the first skill that was vital to this situation. In today’s world, we are inundated with information. From the moment we wake up to the moment our head hits the pillow, our phones and computers flood us with happenings, and more often than not, they’re pretty bad. From school shootings to bombings in Gaza, the horrible actions have become tiresome to us. We grow accustomed to seeing these atrocities and our levels of caring plummet. We cannot care for a thousand causes at once, and it is even harder to care for something that does not directly affect us. That might sound horrible, but it’s the truth. There is simply too much to always pay attention to – but studying English has helped me to avoid this failure. Writing papers in Third-World Literature and in African Women Writers has allowed me to deeply study something far away that shouldn’t matter to me. As a white Jewish male from the South, why should I care about sexual violence in Jamaica or self-immolation in Zimbabwe? What link do I have to these problems? Does knowing about them affect my daily life? What I’ve learned is that it is one of our great gifts to care about others, and studying these topics allowed me to walk into that hospital room and care for the patient and his brother. After the patient passed, I have not seen or heard from the brother or the family. I do not plan to. It is simply that I was allowed to care, even if just for a small amount of time. The patient and his brother will always be important to me, but it does not affect my daily life – and that’s the point. It doesn’t have to. 

The next important skill was focus. Let’s be honest – how many of us can really focus on something anymore? You’ve probably checked your phone at least once while reading this. And that’s okay! We live in an attention economy, and everyone and everything is fighting for yours. As part of an Oral Histories of the Holocaust course, I was able to interview David Popowski, a descendant of Holocaust survivors in Charleston, and was able to contribute to the Shoah foundation housed at the University of Southern California. I believe that everyone spends half their lives planning what they’re going to say next, rather than listening. During this class, I practiced for months how I was going to guide the interview and how I would respond to each and every type of answer. I quickly learned that was not realistic. As soon as the interview began, David took over. The thirty minute interview quickly became two hours, and I learned how to let go and to simply focus on each and every word. Instead of thinking about my own goals, I struggled to let my ego sit back and relax. I always want to get ahead, to say something smart, to be seen as important and successful. But I was simply the recorder of someone else here – and it taught me how to work with the patient’s brother. I am simply an anonymous helper, someone to offer a moment of respite for someone dealing with death. It is not my place to input my own beliefs or thoughts – in fact, I never put forth my Jewish beliefs unless the patient is Jewish. I often find myself saying Hail Mary’s or praying in Christ’s name. Without this class and this interview, I would have forced myself into the conversation, making the situation harder for the patient’s brother. 

And lastly, the power of words. This is important not only to this specific situation at the hospital, but for life. As an intern with the Attorney General, I worked with victims of violent crime. I was the one stepstone between them and an unhelpful and often confusing government – yes, a kid with no real legal experience. What I often ended up being was simply a voice with words of comfort and resources. And that’s often what people need – not someone to walk them through the intricacies of a legal decision, but someone who would make them feel okay. And that’s what I did with the patient’s brother at MUSC – I didn’t give him false hope, but offered words that might be a shining light at the end of a tunnel. 

Anytime I eat key lime pie, I will be reminded of this experience. What I’ve learned is that being an English major has taught me skills that are helpful not only in the academic world, but in the professional world and the plain life world. As a major faced with constant insults, it is important for me to “take an inventory” that will give me “something solid to stand on.” Further, the second chapter of “What Color Is Your Parachute?” is largely focused on self-care – as the characteristic bumper sticker the author quotes says, “Don’t Believe Everything You Think.” Not only do the insults get to me, but the innate depth and stress that comes with working with people at the end of their lives gets to me as well. I have learned through lots of experience that there are ways I need to treat myself in academia, at work, and in life. These skills will help me be a better lawyer, social provider, and most importantly, a better person.