Existentialism for an English Major

The contemplation of a seemingly bleak future.

I have recently become immersed in doubt towards my own capabilities as a writer. I like writing. I love feeling inspired and a sense of fulfillment in what I do. I especially relish bringing people joy by weaving magic with the words I write. The supervisor I had for my recent coop told me I excelled at writing but, given that my job under her was as a technical writer and she was wired more towards coding, I could not really take that as the biggest reassurance of my own competence. Doubting myself now at the beginning of my fourth year as an English major is causing my anxiety to jar me into a great deal of existential thought with negative prospects towards my future.

I look around at my colleagues and see how much better they are able to do than me in their own writing. I can spend a week on a paper and achieve a mark of 75% while they can pull an all-nighter with a pack of Monster and hammer out 90’s like it’s nothing. So you may be able to understand my self-doubt now that the end of university is rearing its head and I am still no closer to an 80 average than first year. The importance of the average comes in the form of being accepted to the master’s program within the English department. I should explain that I originally came to the University of Waterloo to become a teacher. I like teaching. I love inspiring people and feeling accomplished when I teach someone something new. I especially delight in seeing people succeed using something I taught them to do. However, this is another reason for my negativity towards my future.

An English teacher probably couldn’t find employment anywhere in Ontario much less Waterloo. But it is where these two separate problems clash that I find the abundance of my Vicodin prescribed anxiety. Apparently admittance to teacher’s college to begin with is a huge competition. So much so that I may require the masters just to be accepted. So let’s recap. I need to attain an average of 80% just to be considered, not admitted, to the master’s program, which already has too much competition for it to begin with, so that I can stand a chance of being accepted to teacher’s college, where I can then gain the necessary qualifications to become an educator, which the job market is s**t for right now anyway, making my entire future lie solely on my ability to write well.

The disquiet I feel towards this coming semester begins to wither away all hope I have for my future assignments. The disparity I feel between my problems and the rest of the world has me going through daily existential crises. Or it could all be one long crisis I have been putting off for the past year. I can look at it all as a joke like nothing matters, but that just sucks for the people around me who are actually trying to make some sort of meaning for their existence by suffering through this bleak time. I wouldn’t be able to accept that nothing matters either, because when I try, I come back to the conclusion that things do matter to me but I can’t logically see why. The alternative is rejecting the nihilism and pretending things matter and suffering with everyone else. Together.

That is a sad world for us to live in. It would be much sadder if we were alone but it might be the reason people are addicted to learning new things or sitting down with a cup of tea and a satisfying book. They look to these things to distract themselves from the existential dread I suppose. Absurdism is another way of looking at things. I can help keep people sane and entertained with my words. I can accept that as my purpose. As for the schooling, I will hope for the best. Maybe we can help keep each other remain sane. With magic.

Author's Note

I'm trying to make the reader feel immersed in this character. Please let me know what I can do better and what I am doing well.