I have no right to feel guilty when I tell a rocket scientist or a pre-med I’m an English major. And yet I can’t seem to ditch that ball-and-chain question that follows me everywhere I go: why am I doing this? Who will I be helping? I know the generic answers, the ones that bespatter college applications: I really enjoy writing (true), I want my writing to have an impact on the world (good luck with that), I like to read (also true), my favorite author either went here or teaches here (though I cannot possibly live up to her). When I look at what my major has taught me thus far, I see infinite possibility – which is synonymous with impossibility.