The night after taking the SAT test, my roommate and I talked for hours. Of course, as junior students, we never deviated from the topic of college admission.

“I am going to choose nutrition as my major. I have sorted it out. I am sure that’s what I want,” she said with determination, giving a list of reasons why she would choose this major.

“But I remember you once said you wanted to be a doctor . . . Why did you change?”

“Yeah, but my mother said that if I study nutrition, I could graduate earlier and find a steady job. Besides, I didn’t really want to be a doctor. My parents are doctors, and I just wanted to live just like them.” She paused. “I mean, what else could I choose?”

I suggested that she could still be undecided and explore her interests in college. To my surprise, she said, “No, I can’t do that. Just thinking about studying without a focus horrifies me. I need a direction in my life, even if it’s not set by me. ”

Her words triggered a stream of memories.

The same anxiety about the future, the same fear of being “undecided” (in a general sense), was once unfamiliar to me. My life seemed decided by my parents and teachers; most of my spare time was filled with endless homework, piano sessions, and English classes. I was told that if I continued to fulfill their expectations, I could get into a good school and become successful, so I believed this and took the monotonous routines for granted.

This ended when I got on the wrong bus on my way home: as I stepped out of the bus at the next stop, the world that I was familiar with shattered into pieces. Instead of the same view that repeats itself 365 times a year, I saw the infinite paths I could have but didn’t take, the infinite possibilities of my choices.

That fear came to me over and over again. I started to imagine other versions of my life: when I was watching a concert, I admired the passionate musicians, and when I was reading National Geographic I saw beauty in the career of a wildlife photographer. All these paths were just overwhelming; it was as if I were standing on a diving board, feeling dizzy from the numerous possibilities out there, and could never make that final leap.

Later, as I read Sartre and Kierkegaard, I understood what I was going through: an existential crisis. The terrible burden of anxiety comes with direct encounter with one’s absolute freedom. Therefore, we try through any means to hide away from our freedom, even if it means willingly confining ourselves to “fate.” However, this safety can never last long. We must face this freedom and happily bear the burden of our choices. Our confrontations with anxiety hold the possibility of self-discovery — what might we do, independently?

I suddenly knew what should I say to my roommate. “But you are free! I know that you need a direction, but at the same time, you have options. I know making a big choice on your own can be terrifying, but this fear is what makes you the person you are. Although your family wants to protect you, this fear, it’s not something that bad. So take time and explore what you truly love to study. ”