When I began my college journey approximately 400 miles away from my home and family in Chicago, Illinois, at St. Catherine University in St. Paul, Minnesota, I had everything figured out. I would get the highest grades possible and graduate in four years—I even declared my major in Pre-Nursing before I moved into the first-year dormitory. Inspired by an older sister who was a nurse, caught in the middle of expectations as the youngest child in one family and the eldest in another, and living as a Queer person of color with a mixed financial background, I felt like nursing was my only option for "success." My parents had already made so many sacrifices for me to attend school and participate in band for eight years (my first introduction to the arts), and I felt enormous pressure to perform in a way that would make them proud. So even though books had always inspired me—so much that I often got reprimanded for reading during class—and I loved writing essays, book reports, and personal fiction, I chose a path in healthcare because that's what everyone promised would make me happy. I rejected the part of my mind that imagined what it would be like to write my own books. I forgot the encouragement my instructors gave me after grading my written assignments and the deep connections I had with every single one of my English teachers. I dedicated myself to a road of illusions that I had no interest in beyond financial stability. And while it was not the path for me, it was not without its lessons. I learned that writing is what I'm meant to do for the rest of my life. Using words to craft stories and images is my thing because writing is as nuanced and layered as I am, and I feel like my whole self whenever I do it. I realized the only thing stopping me from becoming an artist was myself. The expectations that plagued me when I entered university were not my own, and the shame I endured helped me understand that healthcare wasn't for me. And while college has been the most challenging experience of my life, I am still learning every single day that I am meant to be here, struggling and making the wrong decisions. In the words of Taylor Swift, one of my favorite artists, "my mistakes led to the best things in my life." If I hadn't chosen a path of illusions, I never would have suffered and realized that I wanted to use my voice to make my own story, my own path. If I hadn't failed my nursing exams, I would never have considered pursuing a degree in the arts. My journey to those points of awareness was not linear, the path to where I am now as a journalist and media manager with my university publication, The Wheel, has been even less so, and the road ahead to my dream job as a freelance journalist will likely be even more complicated. And that's okay. Taking my time and making space for myself to figure things out is okay, too. I have learned about language, history, ethical writing, and so much more as a college student. My studies and connections have shown me that I can make a difference with my art and directly inspired my career goals from wanting to be a nurse to wanting to have an occupation that allows me to show up as my entire self. And I don't have everything figured out, but I've learned to be okay with that, too.