Remaining Undeclared While Enjoying Senior Year I have been thinking a lot lately about my major. I am nowhere near the right amount of decisiveness to choose a major, though I have been noting my feelings toward certain things I do in my life. For example, as I finish an art project, I'm noticing that I feel more annoyed that it took so long rather than feeling joy for making the artwork itself. I had a similar experience on a field trip with my A.P. environmental science class; we went to the University of Arkansas to visit the agricultural center, where the crops consisted mostly of soybeans. (Doesn't everything consist of soybeans now? I'm serious, check your products; there are soybeans in them.) While we were on the tour, I just didn't feel right. I felt no joy. The only settings in which I found pleasure are inside of a book, or when I am writing. Generally I am happiest when words are flowing through my head and I can think about, change or understand them in new ways. I don't know what this means for my career, but I am happy to remain undeclared until I figure out just what it is that I want to do with my life. Now that I am a senior in high school, it is amazing to enjoy all of the benefits of being an upperclassman. We have a designated parking lot, easier and more enjoyable classes, and the freedom of being 17 and 18 years old. For the first three years of high school, it felt as though these things were far away and unreachable. I always felt that I would never actually get to the point where I could have that much fun in high school. And then, out of nowhere, I am a senior. Twelve years behind me, only one more to go. I look over my shoulder and picture every year of school, every essay I ever wrote, every quiz I ever took, every monotonous class period spent trying to keep myself awake and take detailed notes, and I suddenly realize that every one of those things were building up to this one momentous year. This is what I have been waiting for. It takes my breath away a little, makes my stomach swell with that small glow of joyous triumph and the excitement that my 13-year-long quest is almost over. The end is in sight; my goal is just over the horizon. Whenever I become discouraged or tired, I just have to lift my head and look to May 17, the day that I will be walking across the stage in Bud Walton Arena on the University of Arkansas campus in my Mountie-blue cap and gown, and then I will be handed that diploma for which I have labored such a long time. I can hardly wait. Senior year of high school is truly, my friends, a force to be reckoned with.