Footnotes, Fate and Other Detours

For the last year, I've been trying to decide where I want to go in terms of my career. I have a bachelor's and master's in History, and I genuinely love it. I love the idea of spending my life researching, of going on for a PhD, of living inside archives and footnotes.

But there's another truth I've had to admit—one I've said before, but only now really facing. I studied history mostly because I adore it and because I'm good at it—not necessarily because I knew I wanted it to be the place I end up.

Of course, it's never too late to start over. But the price tag of square one is...sobering.

Lately, I've been thinking about the fact that my Saturn return is in the 9th house—career, purpose, higher learning. And I can't help but to wonder: is this the moment where things finally click? Is this where I'm supposed to realize who I'm meant to be in my professional life?

I was FaceTiming with my sister the other day when she said, "What happened to the stories you used to write when we were kids? You used to write great stories. You should've been a writer, I don't know what you're dumb ass is doing now..."

Sisters really have such a way with words, don't they? Especially the Virgo kind.

(Mind you, she doesn't even read my blog.)

But she wasn't wrong. I used to tell everyone I wanted to be a writer. And in many ways, I am—I've written research paper after research paper, built arguments, brought histories to life. Still, I know there's another kind of world-building in me, one I've been ignoring.

I started telling her about what I'd been writing lately, listing off a few projects. She immediately shut them down: "Boring." "No—something ELSE." And then, almost as an afterthought, I mentioned a fictional piece I'd played around with during a slow period. One I barely talked about, one I keep tucked away on my laptop.

Her response? "Now that's what I'm talking about."

Funny how our sisters somehow know about the we have little secrets like a side fiction story were writing on our laptop that no one else would have a clue about.

But writing isn't my only love.

I want degrees—yes, multiple—in criminology. It is wild that we expect 18 year olds to know exactly who and what they want to be, because it's only in the last few years that I've realized how deeply I would've loved that path too.

Sometimes I feel like I'm rushing myself. I try to force a polished, linear career so I can get on with the timeline I imagined for my life. In doing so, I forget that I have creative instincts—ones that could actually lead somewhere, too.

Maybe I could write the next Harry Potter series, minus the transphobia and buffoonery, and be successful? What if I sold prints of my art? What if I took more time curating videos of my closey and daily outfits? What if I auditioned for a role in a community musical?

I'm so eager to know what's coming next that I forget it doesn't have to be just one thing. I have many tricks up my sleeve, many passions, many possible paths—and they don't all hae to lead to the same destination.

And maybe that's what my Saturn return is here to teach me. That my academic intelligence isn't the sole prize. That achievement isn't the only measure of worth. That all of me—the scholar, the writer, the creative, the curious is the real win. And each is full of potential and possibility.

Maybe the question isn't what I'm supposed to be—but why I ever thought I had to choose just one part of me to do it all?