I keep a mental ranking of how each year of my life measures up to those that came before it, always willing the next one to be better than the last. Thankfully, this has largely been true, though 2017 was an odd one.
I was two and half years into my literature degree. My love of reading had been gradually ground down into a dust that would take years to rebuild. I had made great friends and had been living comfortably in Manchester. It had been the formative and rich experience that I was assured it would be.
However, as the final few months of the three-year course began to draw nearer, an important question that I had mentally deferred almost daily for three years was starting to become too vast an elephant to ignore any longer. What was I actually going to do when I graduated?
Now, I should’ve taken initiative earlier. Universities provide plenty of workshops to help students develop themselves into work ready graduates with shiny CVs. There were also the model examples of people around me who had bagged internships in areas that they genuinely wanted to go into whilst simultaneously juggling their uni work and social life.
I was too busy gleefully wasting afternoons that seemed to be served hot on an endless, Epicurean conveyor belt like they had been for so many years before. It was only now that this childish sense of time was finally exposed and a fear started to stew with an elevated intensity each day.
Things would have been easier had I ever been blessed with a clear idea of what to do with my life. English Literature doesn’t lead to an obvious avenue of progression, something that adults around me were often quick to point out. Though these naysayers about the merits of a literature degree unanimously came from the mouths of people who hadn’t been to uni themselves, there was a sense to their words. Scanning thick, academic books for quotes that I could twist into essays about 19th century love poetry was probably not easily transferable to the working world.
I was and still am in awe of people who figured out this conundrum early on. My brother already knew he wanted to dedicate the next decade of his life studying medicine since before he went to university. This foresight and sense of knowing exactly what you want baffles me. Without even trying anything? It never made sense to me.
During those early Spring months, the hunt for a future would gather pace as the end of the semester neared. I went looking for answers in the only place I could think of: Indeed.co.uk.
For me, it was a despairing wasteland in which words like ‘executive’, ‘marketing’, ‘associate’, ‘representative’, ‘operations’, ‘administrator’ were thrown around in various combinations, all requiring two years’ experience in the somethingorother sector or with a social media port folio or proof of cat wrestling experience. It was disheartening and I felt even further away from an answer.
In a panic, I looked into a master’s degree. It was apparent it was gonna be expensive which put me off and thankfully it also awakened the repressed thought that this was nothing more than a procrastination exercise. I should have known better than. It looked as though indeed.co.uk would indeed have to be my saviour. I had never even heard of LinkedIn…
I only stumbled across the ‘teach English in China’ advert once or twice. I might’ve done nothing more than skimmed the words ‘China’ and ‘teach’, but the seed had been planted. I didn’t seriously consider it initially. Instead, over the ensuing days and weeks, small fantasies of a country that I knew very little about danced into my head with increasing frequency. I had visions of myself in a classroom with a bunch of Chinese kids hanging on my words and occasional outpours of laughter. Moving to China sounded ridiculous, but something about it tipped me into an excitement whenever I thought about it.
I started to bother others with my growing idea, slipping it into conversations under the guise of a throwaway comment whilst hanging on to every word of response in the hope of unearthing some clue or hint that it was the right thing to do.
The most prominent conversation I had was a mid-party walk to the off-license with a guy whose name escapes me. Said man serendipitously told me about his Erasmus year in Spain and what a time he had had there. I played my little game of dropping my sprouting idea of moving to China, he simply replied ‘do it.’
He was right, and he proved it by quickly dismissing my poorly thought-out reservations. Things that Jordan Belfort accurately calls the “bullshit story that you keep telling yourself” that prevents you from doing the things you want to do. My booze run companion was the wall I needed to kick my idea against.
That was the definitive push. Like any good push, the pusher didn’t give me any new information, but instead forced me to confront myself. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. I didn’t have the courage to entertain my ridiculous idea until I sought out the ear that I needed. I won’t make the mistake of ignoring that feeling again.
But I didn’t apply for the job quite yet. Graduation had already come around and I was quickly at my mum’s house without a job and being a drain on resources.
Finding a job was easier now I had a plan to work towards, and my full-time debut as a graduate kicked off in a bowling alley. I put it kindly: it was rough. On a particularly fortuitous night, perhaps two of the twenty lanes would run smoothly. The rest would clink and clank away, increasingly feeling the wear of the balls that had probably been flung down them since the 80s. I worked a very modest bar there whilst juggling a deep frier. The manager was an interesting creature. He hid a baby monitor above ceiling panels by the front desk because he thought we were talking shit about him (we were).
September was when I applied for my job in China. I’d spent months playing with the idea that I should have pursued straight away. Fortunately, the opportunity lay waiting the entire time, perhaps another opportunity in the future will have a less forgiving time limit. I sat at the kitchen table, half-suited for my first Skype interview (this was pre-Zoom).
Within a few days I woke up to an email telling me I’d got the job. In a hungover haze I gazed at my phone, as is natural instinct. The subject told me all I needed to know: ‘Offer of Acceptance.’ I put my phone back down and closed my eyes. A comforting warmth started to spread through my head. I remember vividly the mixture of relief and joy unfolding as I laid there, finally feeling certain that I’d made the right decision after months of doubting and deliberation.
That was the start.
