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For the first time in close to 20 years, September doesn’t mean anything to me.
There isn’t any backpack-organizing, calendar-filling or schedule-comparing, because this year, I’m not going back to school. Having finished my undergrad at Queen’s University in the spring, and completed my summer job editing at The Globe by the time this newsletter is published, I’m suddenly without places to be and things to do.
As someone who finds fulfillment in keeping busy and belonging to a community, my suddenly empty schedule has resulted in a loss of identity. And I’m not alone in that sentiment.
Young people across the world are currently grappling with what comes next post-grad – and what they feel should come next on the path to success – in a world without an updated rule book. In March, Canada lost a record-setting number of jobs. This loss disproportionately affected women, as well as young workers and those in temporary and lower-paid jobs.
Countless young people are now tasked with paying off student loans, many either unemployed or having had summer jobs and internships end without future prospects. Amidst all this, the pressure is on for recent grads to find “meaningful” work – something in their intended career path – to feel like they’re making the most of their educations, skills and potential.
But it’s hard to feel mentally and emotionally prepared for this.
Schools across the country saw their year ended abruptly and, for final-year students, permanently. We didn’t know that a lecture hall in March was the last place we’d see the familiar faces we spent years alongside. There were no graduation ceremonies, and while writing this, I still don’t have my diploma in hand.
All of this is understandable given COVID-19, but losing these transitional milestones doesn’t help with the difficulty of trying to move on to a new stage of life, which is hard enough already without an ongoing global pandemic.
It feels self-indulgent to mourn an end that was coming anyway, and I feel fortunate as an alum that I don’t have to worry about an uncertain return to campus. But for those of us who built lives at school, working and studying and socializing independently, it’s jarring to try to figure out what comes next in a job market and an economy that don’t allow much sustained independence.
For some, this is easier than others. I’m constantly reminded of my own privilege, inherent in my parents’ housing, feeding and emotionally supporting me while I job-hunt. That said, it’s still been bizarre doing my first “grown-up” journalism job from the childhood bedroom where I did middle-school math.
So, what now? In COVID-19 times, without much ability to move to pursue work and limited post-grad personal finances, finding long-term, “meaningful” employment is overwhelming.
Navigating this has particularly challenged my sense of identity as I perch between two industries. I found an unexpected passion for journalism (specifically, editing) at my university newspaper, and my time at The Globe has strengthened that tenfold – but I’ve planned a career in law since I was about 10, which I remain dead-set on. So I’m moving forward with a hopeful 2021 law-school start, but until then, it’s difficult to imagine where I’ll be spending my days.
One central anxiety-ridden thought pops up whenever someone well-intentioned says, “Everyone understands if you’re not moving as fast as you were before the pandemic.” That’s tough to fathom. If everyone is affected by the pandemic, and I’m as fortunate as I am while others are hit much harder, why do I get off easy? If everyone is affected, I don’t deserve a get-out-of-adulthood-free card.
The fact remains that for recent grads seeking rewarding employment and structure right now, there isn’t a simple answer or a clear framework in sight. The rest of our lives, professional and personal, will undoubtedly be different than we imagined pre-pandemic in some capacity. It’s not that part I mind; different doesn’t necessarily mean bad. The tough part of all of this is not knowing what “different” will look like or what to expect.
Despite this, our skills and experience aren’t going anywhere. I think we tend to underestimate their power in helping pave our paths forward.
And I have noticed a silver lining in all this. The pandemic has inspired an increased sense of empathy among us. I’m seeing my peers championing one another’s successes in ways I haven’t before. In the past, where there may have been an undercurrent of competitiveness or jealousy, there’s now shared accomplishment. Seeing another person’s success amid uncertainty gives us all hope. As well, I think we’re stopping to appreciate small personal achievements we may not have given much thought to before.
I’ve always had a nagging sense I should be doing more. If I studied for the LSAT for four hours in a day, I’d chastise myself for not making it five or six. Now, if I can study for two hours on a working day (and squeeze in a distanced visit with friends), I’m proud of myself for respecting my own limits. This slower and more reflective time has made me more balanced, productive and, importantly, happier. It’s helping me to better see what I’m accomplishing.
I still have no idea what I’m doing this year, and that’s nerve-wracking. But I think it’s important to recognize what we may be gaining from pandemic-related uncertainty – not despite, but because it’s taken place during this critical period in our lives.
What else we’re thinking about:
When a friend recently sent over this Esquire long-read, I became engrossed in the world of non-fiction book publishing. In it, Emma Copley Eisenberg discusses the norm of authors being legally responsible for delivering a factually accurate text to their publishers, as well as financially responsible, since they have to hire and pay a freelance fact-checker themselves. She uses her own experience to dive deep into the process’s financially prohibitive nature and lack of transparency, though fact-checking feels particularly important these days. Eisenberg sums it up well: “The more we ask the big, shifty questions about power and privilege and truth, the more our foundation must be rock solid.”
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