Just recently, I started to think about the future. I am in the eighth grade, which means next year I’ll be starting high school.
In retrospect, that means nothing. But to me, it means that I only have four more years before I finish school. Four more years to decide what I want to do with my life. Four more years to keep my grades up so I can get a scholarship. That’s a scary thought.
A couple of years ago, I decided that I was going to be a brain surgeon. Last year, I wanted to be a neurologist. Now, I’m thinking about becoming a nurse. The field of medicine has always interested me, so to have a successful career in the medical business would be amazing. But I don’t know what the future holds. I wish I did, but I don’t, and that’s what worries me.
