I’ve wanted to blog about this for some time, but never really had the balls because it goes against the normal decorum of loving student life. It wasn’t until I’d read the blog of someone I used to go to college with, that I felt I was allowed to write this.
University is said to be the best few years of your life. For many, it is – but I’m always the one caught feeling claustrophobic in a seminar room, chanting to myself ‘really?’ I think a large part of my problem is that I am not passionate. My course so far has served to teach me that having a love for reading is a completely detached love for that of literature. The latter, I just don’t have. I find it hard to combine two identities I’m assumed to own; that of a literature loving person and that of a student with particular career goals in mind. My main goal right now is to get out of university with a 2:1, something that doesn’t look stable at this moment in time. My other goal is just to get a salaried job, any job, just a job in which I’ll earn enough money to own a property and go on a decent holiday every year. So with that in mind, I cannot ignore my inner devil advocate always asking ‘You don’t want to teach English. So where the hell is Milton going to get you?’
If it wasn’t for the people I’ve met and how much I love living away from my parents, not going to university would be a decision I sometimes wish I had made. All of the other times, I only contradict myself. Yesterday, I started my work experience in archiving, and for the first time in far, far too long, I felt inspired. I felt engaged and vibrant and hopeful that one day I’ll be good at something, that I’ll be passionate enough to see something through. I’m excited about career prospects. Typically, there’s a catch to something so good. It’s those who complete a postgraduate and further qualifications in archiving that are tipped for the jobs. You can’t get onto the postgraduate courses without relevant work experience either. So here I go again, potentially working towards another academic year. For the most part, I resent academia. I feel like I’ve put life on hold. Right now, I don’t think I’ve got it in me to commit to more essays, more time reading and more time being a student.
A countless amount of people told me that I wouldn’t go to university after taking my gap year. When I look at where I am now, I’m really surprised in some instances that I did. I resent that I gave up money of a full time wage, to be in so much debt. I resent that the ground I stand on feels a little shakier. I like to know where I stand, even if it is in front of a coffee machine or in front of a rude customer – I like my job. I might have left to look for greener pastures, but it only took me a month to go straight back.
The truth is I’m tired. I’m tired of literature and I’m tired of education. It is lethargy and on the most part, it is a choice of a bad attitude. Come Christmas, I’ll be halfway through my degree and the time is flying by. I feel like I’m running out of time to decide what to do when I’m finally a ‘grown up.’ I’m also envious, absolutely envious of those who have a fiery passion for what they’re studying and those who know exactly where they want to go.
Part of me wishes to go back and research courses, choose all over again. I wish I had knowledge about all the wonderful courses that everyone else seems to be doing. Part of me just wants to fast forward to working full time, the struggles of a normal working life and living. The littlest part of me is grateful to be at university, yet one day I know I’ll discover that I’ve taken it for granted. Mostly, I want to sleep through my seminars, rediscover some excitement and rekindle my love for reading the world of fiction, because it disappeared a long time ago and I can’t help but feel that a big part of me disappeared with it.
Check out Tara’s blog, she’s a third year student and also wants someone to get her out of there. http://taralamb.wordpress.com/