Why I (Almost) Regret Going to a Liberal Arts College
“A que te dedicas?” my new Colombian friend asked me. This translates literally into “What do you dedicate yourself to?” I have been getting this question a lot since recently moving back to Bogotá, Colombia.
The truth is, I don’t have a simple answer to “a que te dedicas?”
My work experience feels more like a random collage of individual jobs than like anything resembling an actual career.
I blame this on my college education, which did anything but direct me toward a specific, professional path.
I went to a small liberal arts college. My options for majors included subjects like anthropology, sociology, and gender and women’s studies. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with these disciplines at all. If anything, I’m really interested in them and I wish I could have majored in all three. Alas, I majored in history, minored in art history, and took enough courses in French and dance for additional minors.
But journalism? Communications? Mass media? There’s no place for professional-track majors in the liberal arts. I knew this going into it, but I didn’t realize how profoundly it would affect me well into my twenties.
Despite being very focused on working towards a career in journalism during high school, everyone warned me against it because of its seemingly bleak future. Why did I listen to them? Because I didn’t want to be stubborn. I didn’t want to wake up for 4 years later unemployed, wishing I had listened to people’s career advice.
So, following in my sister’s footsteps, I went to a liberal arts college. This was a pretty unusual choice for a Florida teen, since most elite liberal arts schools are in the Northeast. Barely anyone from my high school had even heard of the school I ended up going to. But at the time, I was really proud. I had worked hard to get admitted with a major scholarship. Oddly, it didn’t phase me that the college didn’t offer journalism or communications. I was excited about the idea of taking classes in a lot of different subjects and just learning for the sake of learning.
Being the nerd that I am, I loved college.
I loved taking classes like “image, myth, and memory” and “monsters, marvels, and messiahs.” It was all about the 3-word, eye-catching course titles. Though it may not be obvious, these were both history classes. “Image, myth, and memory” studied the historical memory of major twentieth century scientific events like the first atomic bomb.
I learned how to read hundreds of pages per week, take copious notes, think critically, and write as if my life depended on it.
Instead of learning tangible, marketable skills, my liberal arts college taught me how to think.
I was also given access to some really incredible opportunities, like my honors thesis on post-apartheid South African history, which led me to spend a summer interning and researching at a museum in Cape Town. My college even fully-funded the project.
But what does this thesis have to do with my real life? How could I apply my major in history and my honors in South African history, to a tangible, profitable career?
Everything I learned was very valuable, but the question lingered — was it worth it?
Unless I wanted to pursue a career in academia, which I did briefly consider, the answer is grim. My thesis and its focus on oral history and historical memory has had very little to do with what I have done since graduation. In fact, everything I learned in college, in each of those three-word titled courses, has had a very indirect effect on my “career” up until this point.
This is where the (almost) regret comes in.
What liberal arts colleges don’t tell you is that while they may teach you how to think, they don’t teach you how to put your degree to use.
As a 21 year-old graduating with a degree in history, I had no idea what I wanted. I knew I wanted a job where I could be as engaged as I was in my college classes. But I didn’t know how to do that. Luckily, I was offered a post-graduate teaching fellowship through an exchange program that my college had with a French university. So, I was able to spend my first year after college teaching (and partying) in Western France, allowing me to put off my indecision for one more year.
Then came the laundry list of jobs that have come to define my twenties. Once I tossed out the idea of pursuing academia, I started applying to jobs at random — whatever seemed like something I could plausibly do and that could help me get started in a new city. I went from for-profit education company to non-profit college access organization, and finally, to international admissions at a major private university. Somehow, through this list on my resume, I’ve fallen into a career in education management.
It’s only now, in my late 20’s, that I’m starting to take an honest look back to try to understand how I got to where I am now. It’s only now that I have mustered up the courage and motivation to quit my stable admissions job in search of a more exciting unknown. It’s only now that in moving back to Bogotá, where I was born, that I’m taking a very conscious step away from my hodgepodge jobs and toward actively pursuing something concrete.
Six years after graduating from my liberal arts college, I’m finally doing what I want. I’m writing. I’m also hustling by teaching English and applying to jobs around the clock. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I have to do to make this move a reality.
My liberal arts education may have helped me get here, but it delayed the process. Yes, it taught me to think and to be flexible and adaptable — but it also led me to be an indecisive, unfocused generalist. As I worked in my early and mid twenties, I felt a persistent disappointment and confusion. I wished college had given me some hard skills, skills that would help me market myself toward a more intentional, fulfilling career.
I wish it had helped me focus on what I really wanted, and how to achieve it.
