Friday, April 19, 2013

In Conclusion

I think I've made it quite clear of late: college is coming to an end. We've officially had our final lecture, our final night out before exams, our final review form for lecturers and modules... The book of college is coming to an end, with one more chapter to go: the exams. The Dreaded Exams.

I will never be able to speak of them kindly. That's just a fact of the matter. I can't wait until they're over and done with, and I can get on with figuring out the next steps in my life. I have a lot to write, a lot to learn about life. I was lucky last night for a friend to tell me about how she used to live, before giving it all up to come to college. She's older than I am and still has a couple of years to go, and here I am terrified about life.

It didn't take much of her story for it to dawn on me that just because we all make different choices in life doesn't mean we're any worse off for it inherently. I chose to come to college, and to avoid going directly into teaching. I have my reasons, a lot of which have to do with personal growth, and I know the only way to really "find myself" is to live some semblance of a life. I need to figure out what works for me and what doesn't, how to make life more than just bearable tasks between unsatisfactory breaks.

The book of college is coming to an end, and following it is a new book. It doesn't have a name yet, it's not written, it's not pre-determined. For some, it's the book of teaching, others of traveling, others of further education. I don't believe any of them are any better than another. Yes, some will lead to better career prospects or monetary earning or life experiences, but that doesn't mean they're better.

Books and chapters are an easy way for me to understand this, to see the world broken up into little life stories. But these are books that have no set-length. The conclusion can sneak up on you suddenly, and you have to pick up a new book or lay lifeless in the ether. Even then, there's a story being told, and it gets harder and harder to pick up a new book and start with its first chapters to see how you really like it.

I've thought about a few different books, almost afraid to wait and see if one of them really exists or if I'll just be avoiding the books that are there, waiting for the reading and the living that make them worth continuing.

That's my vague way of saying I'm worried that my plans that don't look like plans to some people might fall through. I'll quit with this little philosophy of the stories of life with that. We all have choices. I know what some of mine are. I know I can't afford a Masters course, so that's out of the question. All the publishing and writing aspirations are the uncertain ones, but I'll just have to take the advice of some friends as they trekked across Europe: power through. Eventually, they reached the destinations that made the journeys worth it.

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