In certain socioeconomic circles in the United States, academics have a culture of toxic excellence. Growing up across the bay from San Francisco, I know that the parent rat race to fit kids into the most expensive private schools starts early. Ironically, I’d have to consider myself lucky that my parents were content with sending me to a public school—the experience of being in a chronically underfunded high school has made me appreciate the benefits of Case Western Reserve University that much more.

But the contrast between some private school attendees’ values and mine has made me realize the extent to which our goals, hopes and dreams were shaped by the environment that was constructed around us. I’ve known people who feel an incredible amount of pressure to live up to their parents’ expectations, to the point where they barely even have a say in the field of study they choose. But it can also be much more subtle than that. Take, for instance, someone whose parents were both engineers. Even if their parents never explicitly encouraged them to become an engineer, they’re still prone to do so because they have role models in the field. This can be unfortunate because you don’t know what you don’t know. When I was a kid, my dad once told me, “There’s a chance that you’re a professional hockey player at heart, but you just haven’t tried it yet.”

And then there’s passion, the thing you write about in your college essays but struggle to actually feel. So much of our media portrays characters who know exactly what they want to do and who they want to be at a young age, but these characters aren’t accurate representations of most young people. One of my high school teachers mentioned that it’s quite rare for someone to know exactly what they want to do in high school, which is why she recommended picking a college based on its location instead. Personally, I think passion is overrated. When choosing your life path, it’s easy to become attached to a story, a narrative, an archetype of a person who might become a teacher, for example. But doing so can obscure much more practical questions, such as: How likely am I to land a stable job with this major? Am I actually suited to the lesser-known tasks in this field, such as writing grant proposals or filling out timesheets? What kind of working conditions and pay can I expect if I enter this industry? That last one is especially big for the teaching profession. Schools—and, by extension, the governments that fund them—have largely remained financially solvent because teachers are willing to endure poverty wages and unjustifiable hours for the sake of pursuing their passion.

So I ask you, dear reader, do you really want to become a doctor? Or do you just enjoy the look of recognition and respect received when mentioning that you’re on a pre-med track?

Do you really have what it takes to rise above everyone else trying to work as an aerospace engineer for NASA? Or do you just love space, but not enough to sacrifice 80 hours a week for it? Do you actually want to become a lawyer? Or do you desire validation from the people close to you? But, most applicable to the average reader—are you positive that the major you’ve selected is right for you? Or do you just wish to confidently tell people what you’re studying?

These questions may come off as harsh and judgmental, but if you take the time to seriously consider them, you may realize that the things you want to achieve don’t necessarily have to come from your career. You can devote your life to helping others without being a nurse—that could mean volunteering on the weekends or getting involved with local politics. You can make your parents proud without becoming a biomedical engineer. I don’t know your parents, but I’m willing to bet that they’d still be proud of you even if your job isn’t the type they’d brag about to their friends. You can still experience the joy of creation without destroying your mental health trying to stand out among other aerospace graduates. All it takes is a level of pragmatism. Be curious about fields and topics you’ve dismissed as “not your thing.” Are they actually not your thing? Or is it just difficult at first glance to picture yourself as, for example, a machinist?

Passion is important, sure, but it’s also something that you can acquire from experience. Take me, for example. I didn’t even know what civil engineering was before I went to college, but I’d definitely call myself passionate about it now. So when deciding what’s right for you, also take into account more pragmatic aspects: Are you good at the core subjects of this field? Do you like the general culture within the field? Is the academic department for it here at CWRU set up well to help its students? What do the job prospects look like? Remember that you’re paying a lot for your education. You should think critically about whether you’re getting your money’s worth out of it.