So I graduated. I made the long walk and the long wait so that I could take that brief stroll across a stage to shake the hand of an elderly academic. Years of work and thousands of dollars to gain a piece of paper and the right to wear a bat-cape and morter board without being judged.
An amazing and surreal experience that I am profoundly glad that I did. A sense of achievement that permeates the deepest layer of being.
A sense of achievement that was muted somewhat by the events proximity to ANZAC day. Studying theoretical business practices and accounting standards to slice out a tiny slot in the 5% of people world-wide with a degree doesn't seem nearly as impressive when compared to those that fought in the wars. Men that were, for the most part no older than I am now who left the security and comfort of their homes to venture in to the unknown only to be killed in the name of king and country.
The sacrifice of time and money verse the sacrifice of life. It is not really a comparable equation is it?
But I shouldn't let that take the gloss off what I have done. My degree is still a degree - still a symbol of achievement - no matter the date of the ceremony.
And, while the presence of that little piece of paper doesn't change intrinsically who I am, it does seem to change how the world sees me. Employers now see me as too qualified to perform the junior roles and not experienced to do anything else. This brings up the often asked question of where experience comes from. I know I'm not the first to ask that and I sure won't be the last. People who have known me for years, friends and acquaintances that don't have higher education now see me as someone who thinks themselves better than the blue collar when nothing could be further from the truth.
Pressure comes from every side to achieve the next "moment". Graduation is over so what's the next move? What's the next celebration. It is a pressure that wishes our lives away, breaking it down into segments of "important" events. And to the outsider these events seem to sneak up with relatively little effort.
To those on the outside, the other 95% of the world, a degree really is just a fancy piece of paper. Flatting is something you can jump headfirst into without thinking through finances. Jobs are something you just fall into and careers are myth, and money something else to take for granted. And to others, those in the 5% but in the creative end of the spectrum, growing up is optional not mandatory - discouraged rather than encouraged.
Surely there must be some balance. Some way that we can keep the youthfulness joy of life while still moving forward.
But pressure has a funny way of stealing the joy. Professional and academic pressure I can handle, but the eroding quality of the pressure of others is starting to wear on me.
