On this 27th June past I knelt to receive a BA Hons degree from prestigious university swathed in the black cotton of my gown, the (synthetic) white fur of my hood and the sure and certain knowledge the whole wide world and all its adventures awaited.
This is also a blog about change.
This 1st July past I pulled up to draughty parish hall in my darling father's Renault and climbed out to Zumba an hour away among a dozen forty-somethings. We danced to Pitbull and club remixes of Las Ketchup and Rocky. There was a lot of thrusting and unfortunate gyrations. Emmanuel, our tiny lithe instructor, camper than a row of pink tents with a thick, coarse, sandpapery Belfast accent, is the cause of this provocative display. We are the back-up dancers Jay Z ordered from SAGA. Except me. In the words of Macklemore, "I rocked that muthaf**ker."
And it is a blog about uncertainty.
Let me take you to the inbetween times. The times where I watched England slip away from beneath the wheels of my Easyjet flight to Belfast International and when a small, perhaps naïve voice said, "We were supposed to be in London..."
Too right we were. Me and small, naïve voice were supposed to have been gainfully employed by some, maybe small, London company. We were supposed to be finding a serviceable flat. We were supposed to be independent and cosmopolitan. We were not supposed to be flying back to our ancestral home.
This is also a blog about the times in which we live, staggering unemployment and all.
And I know this is what a vast and uncounted number of you are thinking in your heart of hearts. What do I do now? Where do I go? Will I get stuck? Where will I live? Who will I love? What is my life??? And I am here to tell you that it is perfectly alright to be thinking these thoughts and be a little bit depressed, yea verily, even unto wandering into the night at prestigious university town, finding a pub, ordering a cider, staring moodily into it and then exclaiming, "I could have been somebody Frank! I coulda been a contender. Instead of being a bum. Which is what I am." Patrons believed me to be an impromptu movie quote pub quiz... In a minute I will tell you to snap out of it and think positive, but so will so many and they won't understand the need, for at least a little while, to be melancholy.
But, this is also a blog about hope.
Enough! We have dreams! And I say unto you, I'm getting mine, better go and get yours. Keep up your hard work and don't lose your happy thoughts. I know many twenty-somethings are all in the same boat so I took it upon myself to write a bit of a ship's log.
There are very few words more depressing that "this year we received applications from a vast number of highly qualified and very able candidates. Unfortunately..." And it is there that the vast majority of us stop reading, maybe for good, maybe long enough to bang our heads against the keyboard before we have to pull ourselves together and reply with optimistic words and thanks.
I myself have read these words 72 times at the last count. I've been applying for jobs since November. So far, so poorly. But if you tickle us, do we not laugh? And if you try and try and try again, do not good things follow?
A very dear friend once said to me, "Darlin', if people read what you write you're a professional, but even if you write in obscurity forever, you'll still be a writer." I think he stole it from Wilde but I won't comment, it was a lovely thought, even second hand...
And at its heart this is a blog about not giving up.
So write I shall. I am the writer of Madrid: A Cautionary Tale which was a rip roaring success about my trials and triumphs in the capital city of Spain. And I am now the writer of "The Twenty-Somethings." And through this blog we'll go through that grubby and much handled piece of paper I hoked from my pocket as the trolley dollies of Easyjet unfastened the dining cart. The first few points read:
- GRADUATE FROM PRESTIGIOUS UNIVERSITY
3. MOVE TO LONDON
4. FALL IN LOVE
5. BE READ
A line is drawn through number one. And I very much hope that the rest will follow in time. As I hope you will all follow me on my weekly perusals of life after university. It might be narcissistic prattle. It might be insanely useful. Who can say...
And so! Next week! Is the light at the end of the tunnel a train? How intimate can one get with Her Majesty's Department of Work and Pensions? And a beginners guide to fielding the "What now, young lady?" Q&A from extended family!
xo
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