I am in the fifth year of my four-year degree. It won’t be my final year. I’ve studied across two institutions, changed my major more times than I can remember. Across my nine semesters in university, I’ve always been a full-time student jogging along in the rat-race with seemingly no end in sight, historically with no direction at all. Over the past year, I have been experiencing degree anxiety to a paralysing level. When my head hits the pillow at night, I spiral about the lives of those around me that seem to be moving forward at an incredible pace: graduation pictures, new jobs, thriving updates on LinkedIn about six-figure starting salaries and postgraduate degrees. I can’t sleep. I compare myself, and I always seem to come up short. I feel like I’ve dug my own grave and been left behind. Yet, without fail, when I meet new friends on campus and find myself talking candidly about my university career, there are always resonant and enthusiastic claims of agreement about eclipsing the three-five year time frame assumed of most degrees. Some of my closest friendships have been made by bonding over a miserable lack of direction.
Almost everyone I know has taken longer than the period allocated by the university to finish their degree. In 2017, VICE reported that a third of Australian tertiary students do not finish their undergrad degree within six years of enrolment. Furthermore, only 45% of students actually finish within four years. I’d hesitate to say there has been any improvement on those statistics over the past decade, where our cost-of-living crisis is forcing people to work longer hours and take fewer breaks. Both the rising (and ridiculous) cost of degrees and lack of job prospects post-graduation have deterred people away from uni altogether. If you have not finished your degree over a three-four year period, you are in the large majority. Sometimes I forget this, and think my chances of being successful have died an unfortunate death. Sometimes I desperately need the reminder that it’s normal to operate at a different capacity to others, or simply to change your mind.
On occasion, I try to take my family’s advice. My Dad, in particular, seems to always bear the burden of consoling me when my mind starts to spiral about my degree progression. Without fail, he looks at me quizzically. He always tells me that a difference of 18 months means nothing in the real world. He is always quick to tell me I’m ‘being silly’ when I’ve come full circle in the cycle of anxiety and approach him again for reassurance. When my mind calms down and I can breathe properly again, I feel content with the experience I’ve gained throughout my studies. When I’m not in the throes of a paralysing spiral, I’m grateful for the times I can be a reassuring figure for younger people in my life who have approached me for advice about their paralysed degrees too. There is no need for self-flagellation in this constant process of learning. We are all trying to balance it all and fine-tune our directions. I love nothing more than finding reassurance in friends who feel the same way, cheering each other on as we each find our footing. In truth, I think setbacks in the university experience allow time for reflection and growth. Perhaps it was never a lack of direction but the endless options that needed to be whittled down in their own time. Without setbacks, I likely wouldn’t be editing this paper that I love so much. I hope next year will be my final year, but I reserve the right to take my time.
(And no, I don’t want to look at my HECS debt).
