I've been smiling for like 300 hours.

Actually, that's a rough estimate, but I've been smiling for a long, long time.

It's gotten to the point where it is even kind of painful.

Brushing my teeth, running for the bus, taking a test -- smiles. All the time. It's sickening.

I suppose that is what I get for finally looking forward to my future.

This is going to sound really corny, but I believe I've found the secret to why some people walk down the street with smiles on their faces, and others look like they're three blocks away from the toilet they desperately need.

It's all about knowing you are doing what you want to do.

I came back from spring break knowing that my life was no longer running down a conveyer belt. I am no longer just along for the ride. I'm in the driver's seat, with my foot on the gas and my blinders on.

Yeah -- you should probably be afraid. I know I am.

I'm absolutely terrified.

It's just that I haven't been really, truly happy about the way my life was headed in more than a year. I knew where I was heading, and I knew what I was doing, and every single step along the way was laid out for me to follow.

Now, I have no idea where I am headed. I don't have a clue what I am doing, and I have no idea where I will be in 20 years.

I'm terrified, but I just can't quit smiling. For the first 16 years of my life, I was the perfect engineering specimen. I built ridiculous Lego constructs, and I constantly stole things from my parents to tinker with.

I was at the top of my math and science classes in middle school and going into high school, I had already envisioned my Nobel Prize acceptance speech for being the guy who invented warp drive.

Two years later, and I've penned my fair share of poetry and prose. I've developed an audience of thousands on the Internet, tried my hand at poetry slams, and I've even managed to get a weekly column in a prestigious newspa -- yeah, OK, The Daily Collegian.

I took my first footsteps on this campus under the guise of an engineer. My first year seminar is "Engineering in Science Fiction," my engineering design team developed a marvelous electric toothbrush, and I'm knee deep in math and science.

So, yeah, makes sense that the day this column runs, I'm heading over to Burrowes Building to become a writer.

It took me two semesters, a handful of arguments, and too many sleepless nights to finally make my decision, and I've been smiling ever since. I've heard stories about people who have these life-altering moments. They awake one morning and life is forever changed.

Think American Beauty.

I've preached about how it is important to make your own way in life. I've spent a lot of time writing about faith and vision and the importance of staying true to oneself. I always saw the importance in "Go. Be. Do." And I knew that so many lives were being run down all across the country in engineering programs like the one I was in -- it just took me a while to subscribe to my own doctrine.

The truth is, it is really easy to say something, but it is about 10 trillion times harder to do it.

That's right, 10 trillion.

It took me regretting every morning I woke up on campus to finally get around to changing things. It took hours on the telephone with a few friends, support from former teachers, and the guidance of the writing I had been doing for more than a year.

It took me finally realizing that I had ability and a voice and a calling, and if I wanted to be wasting that, then I might as well be working at a Burger King and saving myself tuition.

I'm not packing up the Legos. I'm not putting away the tools, and the CAD software will remain on my computer. I will always be fascinated with the concept of engineering, but my heart lies in putting words on a page.

We grow up having "follow your heart" engraved into our psyche by Disney. But until that principle is put to the test, until you finally decide to take the long way home, I'm not sure that there's really any truth in it.

I envy the people who are engineers and love every moment of it. I really do. I also envy the people who are cowboys, sculptors, baseball players and mothers. It's a terrifying thing to move off the conveyer belt and onto the prairie. I just have to keep telling myself my decisions are right, my motives are appropriately placed, and my convictions will see me through.

My smile lets me know that I'm at least partly right.

Damn, it feels good to be a writer.