Two of the scariest tests I’ve ever taken weren’t
during midterm season or finals week.
They were at the tail end of this past fall quarter, when I
realized that I’d have to do more with my life than attend
lectures, play intramural tennis and write sports stories.
While visiting the Career Center in December, I was encouraged
to take a pair of career skill assessments designed to direct me
toward a particular career field.
The counselors there don’t like calling them tests, but
let’s not play with semantics. I was sitting at a table for
an evaluation.
For the personal skill profile, I was given a stack of flash
cards with seven different colors, each color representing a
different skill category. As I sorted through the cards, separating
them according to my ability level, I felt something was missing:
Some of my most cherished abilities in college were not
available.
There wasn’t a yellow card labeled “holding down
liquor” or a green one that read “calling home for rent
money.”
I naively hoped some career would magically present itself
during the exercise, but by the end, the color-coded cards were
little more than a mystifying rainbow.
Keeping blue cards such as “organize” and discarding
lavender ones such as “craftmaking” may have reaffirmed
my strengths and weaknesses, but that didn’t reveal any
unforeseen career path.
The second test put me more on the spot, offering some multiple
choice questions about which career I would most prefer. This was
supposed to clue me into some of my specific interests, but when
the options were telemarketer, drug rehabilitation counselor or
zookeeper, I just wanted to skip the question and write,
“Stay in school.”
There were plenty of examples where my answers suggested I
should pursue journalism. Buzzwords such as “news,”
“writing” and “interactive environment”
were sprinkled throughout both tests, reflecting some of the
reasons I became involved with the Daily Bruin in the first
place.
In the past few years, I’ve learned the less glamorous
aspects of this career path that never appear on skill tests.
Journalists are forced to interview hotheads and sourpusses who
don’t want to be interviewed. Unreturned phone calls and
nightmarish deadlines are everyday parts of the job. And perhaps
most frustrating of all is that the best work is often met with the
harshest criticism.
The skill tests I took at the Career Center weren’t scary
because of their difficulty level. They scared me because even
afterward, I didn’t have a clear idea of what I wanted to
do.
For the first couple years of college, I had been perfectly
content to answer the “What’s your major?”
question at extended family gatherings.
But at the beginning of this year, that question became
“What are you going to do with your major?” ““ and
that was a scarier topic.
I couldn’t deflect the issue by studying for a final,
playing a tennis match or writing a nice little column.
Although I can now answer that question, the latest fear is the
uncertainty of the path chosen. I’m leaving behind what has
been the most rewarding year of my life, and I can’t rely on
a skill test to prepare me for what comes next.
Finley wishes he could find Peter Pan and the secret to
never growing up. He hopes the answer isn’t on Michael
Jackson’s Neverland Ranch.