by Joon Baek ’23

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” This question has followed me around for a time that feels like forever. Every Korean baby’s first birthday is celebrated with a dol-jan-chi, which roughly just means ‘first birthday party.’ On May 19, 2006, two parents laid out multiple items in front of a baby symbolizing career paths, such as a microphone for a singer, a toy violin for a violinist, and a toothbrush for a dentist. That baby then crawled and grabbed the violin. The choice was nothing but a mere joke at the time, but the question always lingered close by. Soon enough, the baby grew up into a high-schooler. Conversations of the future with adults became more serious for him, and every conversation started with, “What are you gonna do when you graduate?” and ended with receiving their advice “You do what makes you happy.”

“Do what makes you happy.” This is the worst advice an adult can give. Up until ninth grade, I had wanted to become a professional violinist. I thought that I could keep playing for fun as I had been, and money would follow. However, when quarantine hit, my violin lessons stopped and I stopped practicing. It was weird that my violin sat unused because there was no doubt that I loved playing it, but I was also overjoyed by the feeling that lessons weren’t forcing me to practice anymore. That was when I realized being a violinist would not make me happy. Realistically, the joy I feel when playing violin, or making art, or playing table tennis, or volleyball, or even meeting friends comes only when I know I can choose when to do them. A career in something gets rid of the choice of NOT doing that thing.

So if I were to tell the baby that grabbed the violin one thing, I would say “Don’t pursue the things you love; don’t confuse the things you love with your future.”