My room in the Ziggurats was like a greenhouse, claggy and hot. I was on the phone to my mum, staring dismally down at Timetabler: I’d just received my weekly schedule, and it was looking very sparse. 

I only have five contact hours a week! Am I going to learn anything at all? 

This was four years ago. I came to university fresh out of college, head still spinning with the adrenaline of A-Levels.

In this strange new world of no exams, where just a few coursework-dump deadlines sat on the other side of Christmas, I didn’t know what to do with myself. 

Am I going to learn anything at all? 

I’d love to grab that version of myself by the shoulders, shake her, and shout four years of learning through her brain. Then crack open the window.

Hot take: lectures are perhaps the least educational part of university (but you should still go to them!)

Sure, a few slides summing up a literary movement might help out with an essay someday, but the most essential learning happens firmly outside the classroom — it’s all about how you do things on your own.

Outside the classroom, through a lot of trial and error, I learned to make ‘on my own’ reliable, enjoyable, liveable.

My first lesson came along with those measly deadlines: I remember staying up all night, turning in a product I was deeply unhappy with at 2:58pm, and promptly having a panic attack.

The worst grades of my university career had to happen for me to understand that in higher education, you aren’t meant to view the classroom as educational ground zero.

I soon understood that the key to success is an early start, one that allows for deep, proper research — not just citations from slides I’d been spoon fed.

I allowed time for research rabbit-holes, started coming away from essays feeling like I could talk about them forever, and began generating ideas that were exciting and original.

It wasn’t by taking lots of notes that I became knowledgeable in my area: it was by developing my self-motivation and intuition, following my own lead… and granting myself the time to do so. 

Similarly, no module is going to teach you how to tend your social life. Like many, I struggled to find my place during my first semester of uni.

There were many nights of FOMO, quite a few friendships that ‘mysteriously’ fizzled out — until I finally understood that, just like my degree, a social life requires you to be proactive.

It requires asking for Instagrams, following up on that drink, hosting pre-drinks even though you’d rather not be washing up all those cups hungover. Then it requires attention: knowing when to check in, remembering birthdays, giving thoughtful gifts.

You don’t need to transform into the life of the party (that’s never been me!), but waiting to be rescued by a soulmate in shining party gear is not the way.

Everyone’s shy, everyone’s embarrassed, and everyone thinks you’re cooler than you think you are -– the momentary discomfort is worth it when you finally find those friends you’ll remember for life. 

By the way, you’re cooler than you think you are. And you deserve a proactive person who looks out for you, too.

I didn’t need assigned reading to figure out that bedrotting in a messy room and eating hummus sandwiches for dinner (I had a good two-month streak…) wasn’t me living my best life.

I learned to air my stuffy Ziggs room, buy flowers for my desk, invest in quality essentials, schedule regular ‘reset’ days where I cull my emails and declutter.

I learned how to de-glaze a pan, sauté and stir-fry.

I learned to love and expect a healthy, organised life, to dedicate time to making everyday feel beautiful and special — and worked hard to build habits that means I actually do it, instead of just dreaming about it.

As my time at university draws to a close, I’m hardly ever in the classroom.

I think that’s the point, though: life is the classroom, and if you’re self-motivated (and paying attention), you can take so much from it. And while ‘proactive’, ‘organised’ and ‘reliable’ are valuable stamps for my CV, the true payoff has been the slow, steady approach of maturity. 

‘You’re a real adult now,’ my mum said recently, over the phone.  

Image credit: Micah Petyt