05 Jun 2020

My first few weeks of uni were amazing. Picnics with new friends on the lawn, fascinating lectures in beautiful buildings, river swims and nudie runs on camp. I was feeling good. Positive, excited for each day.

Now isolation has started, and I don’t have any of that. I have my laptop, recorded lectures, and shockingly awkward Zoom calls. On top of that, I have way too much time to think.

Now that I’m no longer swept up in the fun part of uni life, and all I have are assignments and way too many readings to get through, I’m starting to realize I have no idea why I picked this degree.

It’s enjoyable, sure, but it came to me that, lonely in bed after a long day of doing nothing in quarantine, I have nothing else planned out beyond the next three years.

I’m very used to having everything planned, with the next goal right in front of me. Finishing Year 12, getting the ATAR I wanted, getting into the degree I’d worked for at my dream uni. 


Now that I’m here, however, I’ve realised that hiding behind my goals throughout high school was a little voice saying, I don’t really know what I want to do outside of the academic setting. I hid that voice, pushed away any serious thought about it, and worked to get into the degree.

Now I feel lost, confused, and bloody terrified. Everyone around me seems to have it together. Yet I’m sitting here, picking my brains to work out what my calling is, trying to understand where I got lost along the way.

I didn’t grow up pretending to teach my dolls in a made-up school, or always knowing that science and biology was my ‘thing’. I don’t even know if I have a ‘thing’. It wasn’t long until I began questioning everything.

But after some self-discovery (or alternatively, self-interrogation) I found a teeny tiny part of me that feels excited. Without any real plans, any concrete ideas about where I’m going, I have the potential to end up absolutely anywhere.

I could meet a friend who wants to start a travel magazine and fly to Europe – and nothing is stopping me from saying yes. I could decide that I want to start a band, write songs and start busking. The uncertainty is thrilling and puts a smile of my face. And it only makes me more excited when I see all different people who lived wonderous, uncertain lives – freelance illustrators, photojournalists, wedding planners.

For the first time, I could understand the age-old words that I’d heard over and over in high school - “everyone has a different pathway.” I’d once rolled my eyes – I didn’t want to do two different degrees and apply for 26 jobs; I wanted it to be clear, simple and easy.

Now I could see what it meant. People simply aren’t meant to choose what they do for the rest of their lives at 17-years-old. You just choose what you’re going to do next. And then when the time is right, you choose another pathway. And life goes on.

We aren’t meant to stick to a predetermined path – we’re meant to chop and change, learn and discover, grow and evolve. Once I realised this, I relished in this newfound freedom.

Who knows where I’ll end up. I might teach. I might write. I might start a business. I might go into fashion. All I know is that thanks to this isolation-inspired freak out, I’ve learnt that what matters is how I’m living in the moment. I’m still loving my degree, but I still have no idea where it’ll take me. And I guess that’s okay with me.

Words by Tallulah Rose