You’re (never) too old for this

I am someone who has always been deeply persuaded by what others think of me. I have grown dependent on the opinions of others to make even the smallest, most mundane day-to-day decisions. Whether it be my parents, my friends, a significant other, or even my TAs, my own thought processes rely heavily on these influential, situationally authoritative voices in my life. I find myself sending drafted text messages to multiple friends before hitting “send” to first ensure that others approve—and I mean, “should I send ‘hey’ or ‘heyyy’” kind of indecision. I have always passed this off as perpetual indecisiveness and assumed it was something normal that everyone experienced. My indecision was a cruel, self-perpetuating cycle that, along with many things, was interrupted by the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, leading me to make one of the most socially controversial—yet most liberating—decisions of my life. 

I can still recall my mother’s words echoing through my head as I sat in my apartment, anxiously hanging over my computer as I pondered over the possibility of extending my undergraduate degree. “If you take time off, you’ll lose your momentum and never go back,” she said. You would think, during a global public health crisis, that a decision like this would be the least of my worries—but it’s amazing how one source of anxiety seems to exacerbate the rest. Before COVID hit, I had never even considered the option of taking more than the designated four-year period to finish my degree. It’s one of those quietly taboo topics that no one wants to broach because we have somehow come to equate taking more time in school with some form of unspoken social failure. 

Sure enough, I faced great consternation and negative reactions not only from my family, but also from my peers. “What?! You’re not going to graduate with your classmates?” At first, this mirrored my own feelings about the idea: people will think I’m being lazy or that I’m incompetent, or they will assume that I’m not able to keep up with my schooling. I was haunted by the social repercussions I thought I might face by going down this path, and that fear blinded me from all the positive reasons to do it. And man, I wish I’d done it sooner. 

It’s difficult to articulate something so profoundly interwoven into the web of our social makeup, but let me say, it is a remarkable relief to finally gain awareness about the colossal swaying power of the opinions of others and the socially-fabricated timelines that subconsciously dictate all of our choices. Making the decision to extend my undergrad not only gave me more space and time to focus on my own goals, but it also compelled me to confront the deeply problematic stigmas surrounding these facets of reality. Why do we care so religiously about how others perceive us? Why do we place such value in the opinions of others and so little faith in our own? Why does graduating in five, six, or even seven years make me a failure through the lens of society? 

It all begins, I decided, with the vicious labour of academia. That’s when that little voice starts to gnaw its way into your head. Get into university (not for an arts program, that’s a waste of time), graduate by the time you’re 22 (you’re too old for this now), secure a job (not that minimum wage position, but a stable career) so that you can make a salary (not to buy that plane ticket, but to buy a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a wrap-around porch). Then, find a partner (obviously life is too tedious on your own), get married (white is such a happy colour, isn’t it?), pop out a few kids (so they, too, can someday become pawns in our capitalistic society), and make sure you do all this before you’re 30, or else the offer expires along with your social recognition (mental health and all other personal desires sold separately). From the beginning of your adult life, that voice is always present, demanding, reverberating through every thought and decision, in every milestone that your parents, teachers, and social circle whisper for you to accomplish. It invades your mind until, like me, you fall into a state of existential dread and find yourself allowing the script of society to dictate your decisions because the consequences of deviating from the predetermined timeline are too exhausting.

A friend of mine once said they needed to graduate “on time” so that they could “do something meaningful and important, not just writing articles.” While it was hard not to take this personally as a writer, I’m convinced that this was a prime example of what I’ve been talking about: they had simply internalized the narrative that constantly shoves the timeline of “success” down our throats. I am no exception to this phenomenon. My own sense of identity had become so intertwined with these social norms that it’s been one of the biggest challenges of my life to distinguish the version of myself I felt I was supposed to be from the one I truly am. Despite the many people who looked at me with baffled expressions when I told them that I’m a 22-year-old going into my fifth year, I now realize that the concept of a meaningful existence is fluid, rather than a singular, fixed form, and an existence unburdened by social standards is far more rewarding. If there is anything that being a fifth-year student has taught me, it’s that the “success narrative” we have been manipulated and seduced by needs to be re-written. It’s time to start romanticizing the unpredictability of life instead. 

Don’t get me wrong—the timeline is inevitable, but it is yours to discover and create. The path that has been strategically laid out for you is not your only option. Extending my undergrad gave me not only the time to focus on what mattered to me, but also allowed me to see past the barriers of social norms that have defined my decisions for so many years. I will no longer allow myself to succumb to the opinions of others who think they know what’s best for me. I will not be suffocated by the pressures of social milestones, and I refuse to confine myself to a narrative that has been written for me when I have the power to write my own. Happiness is not limited to a four-year track culminating in a graduation cap or a wrap-around porch. Rather, it is found within the pursuit of your passions and in the little mundane moments we experience every day: the pleasures of writing, of creating, and of simply being. I believe that fulfillment will come when we stop looking for it in social recognition. So, breathe in, breathe out, and I have a feeling you will find beauty and serenity in the uncertainty of your future.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I promise, you’re never too old for this.