I am about to start a new phase of my life. A new adult phase. I will, in a few days time be partaking in a conferring ceremony which will furnish me with a Bachelor of Arts, joint honours in English and Drama and Theatre Studies. I will be a graduate.
Now most people, upon graduation, launch themselves into the world of work, becoming gears on the great machine that is the economy.
However, the thought of becoming such a worker bee fills me with dread. The kind of dread that leads one to break out in a cold sweat and start to hyperventilate. For I am, as of yet, still unsure exactly what kind of worker bee I wish to be (see what I did there?).
Being in the world of theatre for so long as I have, in particular the last three years, has left me in the precarious postition of loving every part of it so much, I don't know what part I want to do for a living. Do I want to perform? Do I want to direct? Do I want to write? Do I want to teach or work back stage? I just don't know!
In order to to try and sort myself out, I have decided to further my studies in this field by completing a MA in Drama and Theatre Studies. Specifically, advanced performance. Along side this, I shall be fulfilling my role as Production Officer on the Dramat Committee which will give me great insight into that side of theatre, and who knows, I may direct and/or write to top it all. Hopefully by the end of the next twelve months I will have determined a positive course of action.
Alongside being a Postgrad (scary stuff) I have of late been finding myself embroiled in other 'mature' activities. It seems the world is doing it's best to make me a grown up. I'm fighting it, of course, but there's nothing for it. Renting a house from a proper letting agency, (spanish inquisition, I tell ya!) getting a loan from the bank and organising and paying for my first proper holiday fully independant of the parental all requires a certain maturity. That and being in an actual relationship. But the less said about that the better.
I must tell you, as I near my 22nd birthday, as maturity and adulthood is thrust upon me with the would-be force of Huricane Gustave, I feel the need to actively become more mature; more cultured; to appear intelligent and witty and all things desirable in an adult in the cultured circles I frequent. I feel the need to download Stephen Fry's podcast, and shun the Sunday Independant for the Sunday Times and scoff at Sky News, favouring Reuters more worldly unbiased view of world events. I feel I should listen to jazz and alternative underground not-yet-discovered artists. I feel I should stare at an unmade bed in the centre of a room and declare it genius. I feel I should be able to quote Shakespeare and Byron and Keats at the drop of a hat in an unaffecting manner. I should be all things together. I should be effervescent. A delight to be around. I should be all of this without being hauty or snobbish, but rather graceful, and seemingly ignorant of my own brilliance. More importantly, I should know exactly where I am and where I'm going. I should have a five year plan.
The truth? While I do download stephen fry's podcast, scoff at Sky News for its sheer irritability, I'm more inclined to listen to the soundtrack of Wicked rather than jazz, love art galleries and can, to a degree quote Shakespeare and Byron easily enough (not so much Keats, doesn't really float my boat)I am not all together. A five year plan? Ha! You must be joking. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do beyond this year. This month actually if I'm honest. Why is there so much pressure to have a plan? Did people my age always feel pressurised into having a plan for their life in the same way we do? I get that sense that people just got on and did things in the past because they didn't have as much choice as we do. We have so many choices facing us. We have degrees and qualifications to beat the band and more kinds of jobs than you could shake a stick at. The days of girls becoming nurses or teachers, and boys being farmers, priests or teachers are long gone. Now we have the kind of jobs that defy description. People have job titles that give no indication of the kind of job they actually do. Are we better off, despite the pressure, or worse off?
Someone once said that ignorance is bliss.
I have decided to leave the answers to my questions unresolved. What will be will be.
Que sera sera.