The transition from study to work has been just as everyone said it would be. Already I can feel myself osmosing through the bubble; I’ve distanced myself from all things student, and have started using phrases like “nine to five”, “PR event” and “I can’t, I’ve got work tomorrow”. It’s partly summer. It’s partly enjoyment of learning in a very new, hands-on way. But it’s also partly, terrifyingly, because I am falling off the radar: I’m just not on the academic wavelength any more.

Among other things, I’m learning how difficult it is just to get a doctor’s appointment outside of work hours; don’t even get me started on picking up parcels which wouldn’t fit through my letterbox from the local mail office. How does anyone do all these things in a normal day?

It’s a serious societal problem, in my view. I feel I need not only eight days a week, but a total reshuffle of said week. Where did the idea of a week even come from? What a constrained view of the world the working person is forced to have: five days a week spent being robbed of your mind, body and soul, with two days to recover. Then back to the grind. I don’t even have children, yet I can imagine how difficult it must be for people with them. If we must have these standardised working hours, then why on earth doesn’t the school day fit with it accordingly?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely content at the moment. I love the people I work with, love the work, and have expanded my horizons in many ways. I cycle everywhere now to save money, and have seen a whole new side of London because of it. I’m very grateful to everyone I’ve met in the past few months.

But I’m not ready for this. I know that I want to study again; you can’t beat the feeling of opening doors of knowledge, and the relative ease of student life. And fighting for space in my heart is the overwhelming urge to travel, too. I’ve got the rest of my life to work, and I will try my best to avoid slipping into a routine I will one day look back on and regret, ten years down the line, wishing I’d postponed real life for longer. It’s study and wanderlusting for me, for now.

Stevie, you were just 22 years old when you penned Landslide.. such nostalgia! Yet “I’m getting older too”, and I hope I can continue to fend off that which threatens to pressure me down a narrow tunnel.  Sometimes I relate to you far too much.


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