I’m not entirely sure what’s happening….
…but we’re all growing up. How that happened, I’ll never know. One minute, you’re watching your friend hand in a year 10 English assignment titled ‘Attack of the Flying Monkeys’( it was supposed to be a serious essay), and the next he’s piloting commercial aircraft without a monkey reference in sight.
But blatant Wizard of Oz rip-offs aside, we’re all finally entering the real world, as it were, and as you do, you have to take a moment to reflect on where you’ve come from. Well, I do. I’m reflective by nature, which is lucky, considering how many reflective essays I’ve had to do over the years.
We’ve gone from drinking hot chocolates to coffee, sneaking a illicit pash behind the water tanks to, well, not having gap as soon as you see the deputy principal walking in your direction, and from worrying about putting on too much eyeliner and getting a weeks worth of detention to worrying about not putting enough to set of the 50’s vixen look you’ve tried to go for with that morning’s makeup application.
And then of course uni came, and finally we all managed to find like-minded people that didn’t laugh at you and your ridiculous ‘big’ word usage and useless current affairs knowledge (Journo crew holla).
This jump is the biggest of all, going from the world of theory and academia to writing for actual people. If we fuck up now, it’s not a D, it’s a defamation case. Scary.
It’s at uni where you find people who think the way you do, meet smarter people than you, learn things you actually care about and learn what it’s like to actually contribute to the world in your own way, and because of this, well, for me anyway, they’ve been the best years yet.
The feeling you get when it’s affirmed that what you want to do with your life is what you’re meant to do is probably the best in the world. This was identifiable to me in true journalistic fashion when I would sit in the newsroom, with a deadline rapidly approaching my blank word document, and I would get calmer, rather than more stressed. But I’m pretty fucked in the head, so who knows if that’s normal or not. Probs not.
It’s also the time when you begin to, as corny as it sounds, figure out who you actually are as a person. Nearing the end of my three years, I’ve learnt many of life’s biggest lessons whilst juggling media comm essays and soul-destroying PR assignments, which I’ll remember for the rest of my life, guaranteed. Sigh.
I’m lucky in the respect that I’m leaving my course with a job, which is a rarity and I thank my lucky stars everyday that this was how my career started (actually, I have a lucky golf ball, but that’s a long story about my pitiful attempt at golf in year 13 PE. The luck is supposed to be ironic. Never mind.).
It will be the most surreal feeling walking down Queen Street with my class and getting handed a piece of paper which says I can actually write. In keeping with my inner (and frequently outer) geek, I’m planning on wearing a maroon dress. Our robes are black, and we have gold hoods. If you know me, or are a fan of a particular book series, you’ll understand what this is in homage to.
So this blog really didn’t have a point, I don’t think, it’s merely a reflection. One I wasn’t forced to do, or get marked on, or get critiqued against. And that is a bloody fantastic feeling.