Before Welcome Week of my first year at university, my parents told me I was about to experience some of the best years of my life, during which I would make unforgettable memories.
Flash forward three years, and my father sits me down before I set off for my final year in Edinburgh. He tells me I should think about how I can “maximise my chances of success” after graduation, and asks me if I’ve considered consulting as a potential career path – you only have to get through a case study interview, he tells me, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, every day I’m bombarded with headlines of just how bleak the labour market is for recent graduates.
Instead of taster events and parties, my week is spent in the deserted library, stressing over whether a supervisor will take on my dissertation. I can’t help but watch excited, wide-eyed first-years with a slight hint of jealousy, thinking of what I would give to have another go at the past three years. Every interaction and social event is already tinged with nostalgia, everyone aware that we won’t be in this sheltered environment much longer.
I know I’m no longer the target audience for Welcome Week events, nor do I miss the awkward conversations and icebreakers that characterise this time. But I can’t say I’m a fan of the growing feeling that I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, about to be pushed off, fully responsible for creating my own parachute.
So, is the party over? I won’t sugarcoat it, in some ways, yes. I’m no longer itching to make the most of my newfound freedom, nor am I lining up for my free Domino’s pizza slice. Perhaps the party’s just quieted down a bit. My years at university have strengthened the friendships I formed in Welcome Week (it can happen!) and given me new ones throughout, and the feelings of cluelessness and anxiety have made way for feelings of comfort and familiarity – though I can’t say for certain that I wouldn’t do it all again.
Photo credits “Graduation” by James Almond is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.
