The words loom in the air with the weight of anxiety and the promise of prosperity: consulting, finance, investment banking. Among senior circles, they’re rattled off in quick succession like machine gun bullets. They supersede normal discussions of things like class, friends, or family. To me, though, they’re entirely foreign.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer and to work with literature. I’ve remained fairly confident in this decision over the years, pursuing an English major despite a consistent onslaught of questions about career stability and my capacity to provide for myself in the future. It would take a powerful force to rattle my plans at this life stage.

But I have to admit, I’m rattled.

All this talk around campus about recruiting, career fairs, and OCI interviews has me diagnosing myself with a fatal case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I usually contract this disease on Saturday nights, when the only consequence is that my face fails to make it into a briefly circulated Instagram photo, but in this case the stakes have presented themselves as a jobless, penniless existence. I realize that this is an exaggeration, but my anxiety is not entirely unfounded. In fact, I’ve ascertained that it boils down to two key factors (I won’t include salary among them, although I wouldn’t mind a hefty addition to my bank account).

First, consulting and finance provide a clearly lit path to success that is actually facilitated by the Harvard administration. As a self-professed obsessive planner and stickler for organization, this sense of structure offers an immense appeal. My current job application process, on the other hand, has consisted of sending out resumes into the nebulous vortex of the Internet based on a few postings I found on a random, outdated website. Not exactly a recipe for job security.

Second, consulting and finance firms actively pursue new hires as opposed to publishing houses or magazines, where you’re lucky if you get a confirmation email. In my brief stint in the working world, I’ve come to realize that the career search is very much like dating, and it doesn’t feel good to be the one who’s more invested in the relationship. Consulting and finance firms make you feel as if selecting a job is a reciprocal endeavor.

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What this all suggests is that the path to a career in the humanities is in need of a serious overhaul, one which includes the sorts of luxuries offered by finance and consulting firms. I, for one, long for the opportunity to meet with potential employers in a formal setting on campus instead of stalking haphazardly selected employee profiles on LinkedIn. But I know I must realize that just because an opportunity is accessible or streamlined doesn’t necessarily mean it suits me best.

Try as I might to convince myself that I could enjoy being an investment banker or business analyst, I am and will always be a writer and editor at heart. That may mean graduating without knowing where I will be employed, or if I’ll be employed at all. That may also mean accepting a less-than-desirable entry-level position in order to work my way to the top. But it does mean that I can go to work every day knowing that I love what I do, and that every hour I spend working overtime or grinding away to meet a tough deadline will be done in the service of something about which I am truly passionate.

So as many of my fellow seniors await a series of offers and interviews this fall, I am fully prepared to be their cheerleader, relishing their successes and the wonderful things they will go on to accomplish. Meanwhile, I will continue to send my resume into oblivion and frantically call friends of friends, looking for insider tips on job openings. Perhaps I’ll even start a humanities support group for those who find themselves in a similar position. And then one day, with a bit of luck and a sufficient amount of effort, I will finally join the ranks of the working class, contented by the fact that I am paid to do the very thing that I choose to do for fun.

Aria N. Bendix ’15, a Crimson editorial writer, is an English concentrator in Quincy House.