The end of an era

It’s been six amazing years and I haven’t regretted one minute of it, but here is the end of an era, closing in on me so fast it makes my head spin.

Two months ago life was easy, stressful but easy. I got up every morning, knew exactly how I was going to spend my day, evening and night. Then the end came, with responsibility and uncertainty. Though I was luckier than most, already having made plans for the immediate future it was still strange. Six years spent trying to reach a goal. Then suddenly you find yourself at the finish line, looking around with a puzzled expression on your face.

Were the years supposed to go by this fast? Was it all supposed to be so easy?

Then you think back, realising just how many hours you’ve spent working, how many nights you didn’t sleep, how much time you’ve wasted fretting over things that suddenly seem so insignificant. You’re there, you’ve finally accomplished what you set out to do so many years ago.

You’ve changed so much over the years but somehow this one thing has stayed the same; your goal, the reason for your entire existence. Friends (and others) have come and gone, the roof over your head has changed and your flatmates with it. Nothing is the same as it was the day you first walked into that building, your entire future ahead of you. Young and untainted, a blank piece of paper.

Years later and more than one notebook filled and stored away on the bookshelf. So much you’ve learned, so many people you’ve met, so many years, so many heartaches.

The future lies ahead and suddenly you’re terrified. What now?

Shocked, you realise you’ve grown up, wondering exactly when it happened. You remember a time when you would say ‘adult’ like it was an insult. Now, you’re one of them and strangely enough don’t mind it much. Now ‘teenagers’ or ‘kids’ are the ones you look down on. Depending on the mood you claim to either feel ‘old’ or ‘mature’. The truth? You’re neither. Still a child at heart and not nearly old enough to lay claim to the adjective.

When did you change? What happened?

Time happened and it went by without you even noticing. Somehow life changed, you changed, and you didn’t even realise until the day you stood there, the papers claiming you’re fit to join the outside world again in hand and a heart full of dreams. This is what you’d been working for: A small piece of paper telling you, and everyone else that would care to ask, that you are indeed qualified, that you too have something to claim; a title. Worthless, perhaps, but still it brings so much pride. One word, that is what you worked so hard to achieve, one single word that would sum you up; a label.

We strive so hard not to be put in boxes, not to be labelled, and still that is all we want. To be able to go up to another human being, grin cockily, and introduce your self with your title of choice. Strange, really, how much it means to us. But there is a difference to labels. Single? No, that one is mostly delivered with an apologetic smile, like you’ve got something to be ashamed of. ‘I’m sorry I don’t appeal to other people enough to have found a partner yet.’ Straight (or, if not, your sexual orientation)? Well, that’s just stating facts. But work? No, that’s something we care about. For some obscure reason, that’s what we take pride in. Look what I have achieved, it’s written on this piece of paper (and it only took me five, six if you count my sabbatical, years to get it).

So, as we step out of that building again, many years later, we change status. Suddenly you’re not someone’s student anymore, you’re their colleague. You’re not an ignorant child anymore, you’re a knowledgable adult. Somehow, things change that day, with that piece of paper in hand you change.

What you don’t realise is that the change didn’t happen that day, the change was subtle and slow. Over the years you matured as your horizons broadened and you learned about life by living it. You think a piece of paper changed you, but it didn’t, time did.

The only thing that changed that day was your everyday life.

Now you’re not supposed to go to school every day, you’re supposed to go out to look for a job or, if you’re lucky, go to work. There is no getting up whenever you feel like it anymore, but regular hours and a boss breathing down your neck (metaphorically or not). There are still bills to pay but somehow they increase, either because you move out of your cheap student home and into an apartment or because you have a student loan to pay back. Perhaps both. Either way, your responsibilities suddenly seem to double.

Then there’s the moving. Moving because your partner lives in another town or because that’s where you got a job. Moving somewhere there are greater possibilities or because you want to be closer to your family. The city that’s been your home for so many years turns into a closed chapter in your history, one you look back on with fondness. ‘Remember when we were still students?’ It’s where all your memories are, perhaps it’s the city you leave all your friends in to move away and start a new chapter in your life. No matter what, it will always be that place where you spent a huge chunk of your youth, where you made memories that will stay with you for life, the city where you turned into the person you are today.

It’s been six amazing years and I haven’t regretted one minute of it, but like I said, it’s the end of an era. It’s strange and leaves me with a nostalgic sadness. Still, the time to move on has come, either I like it or not. The future still lies ahead; now I just have to figure out what to do with it. The possibilities are endless and I’m both nervous and excited to get started.

So, this is me changing label. Student? No, not anymore. Architect.

Welcome to adulthood.