The idea of starting third year next Friday doesn’t necessarily scare me. Which is interesting and sort of dull. I always thought I would greet my final year of undergraduate study with intense fear and trepidation. The knowledge that in a mere eleven months or so I would be released into the big bad world. Potentially unemployed, definitely with a mountain of debt hanging over my head, but hopefully eager to see where my twenty-one year old newly graduated self might go.
Hence, the fact that I seem to be approaching Friday with unerred indifference isn’t quite living up to expectation. Am I becoming a realist? Can this be called realism- just accepting what is to come with next to no emotion? I started drafting this post whilst I was about a third of the way into a four and a half journey from Leeds to Suffolk. I’ve come home to spend a final weekend with my family before doomsday and also to try out the new decking in the back garden (hopefully in the sunshine with a glass of wine). Then I’m off to London to do Zoe Solomons’ intensive at Greenwich Dance. Busy, busy. Sadly I won’t be reliving freshers as a third year; just cuddling dogs, train journeys and trying to get my summer body back into dancing mode. I feel like I’m slightly avoiding Leeds. Am I subconsciously trying to delay Friday by being away from Leeds?
I don’t know the origin of this quote but:
Your twenties are a time of exploration, not certainty. Get out and try. Don’t sit at home thinking you should already know.
So although I’m already getting excited about ceramics and the prospect of putting things in frames as opposed to blu tacking them to the walls, I still want to appreciate being a student. A third year who isn’t expected to have my sh*t together, I can make mistakes, have a bad couple of days in class and watch cartoons without being judged. Perhaps it’s good that I’m not worried about third year. It’s gonna happen regardless and we should all just embrace the constant turning of time.