When I submitted “Financial Economics” on my UCAS application, it wasn’t out of some lifelong undying passion for the subject. In fact, just a few months earlier, I thought I would apply to study biology to investigate the gut-brain axis and become a doctor. As a soon-to-be-college student at the time, submitting that initial application felt monumental – like I was locking in my “forever” career, and essentially cementing the trajectory of my life.
Whether as a high schooler submitting university applications or a college student pursuing internships, there’s no doubt you’ve experienced the looming questions of: What if I picked the wrong path? What if I don’t love my degree, or know with 100% certainty the career I hope to pursue?
See, we enter university with the unbridled optimism of having the entire world at our fingertips, yet the simultaneous weight of each decision feels life-altering. Though unspoken, we all feel the pressure to make the “right” choice: pick the right degree, land the right internship, network with the right people, commit to the right job… be perfect. Alternatively, we hear praise for following your passions, seizing the day, and living while you’re young!
The constant barrage of pressure to know one’s life direction with certainty is enough to paralyze any student. Each choice begins to feel as if it closes just as many doors as it opens, discouraging any choice to be made at all. So instead, we delay. And delay, and delay. We’ll tell ourselves we’ll apply next time, join later, figure it out when we’re “ready.” Soon enough, we stopped choosing – and started waiting.
But here’s the thing – you’ll never be ready. Ever.
The Bell Jar
Moments like this bring me back to Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. For those unfamiliar with the book, in essence it explores the main character Esther’s descent into depression as she grapples with the stifling societal expectations placed on women in the 1950s, dissonance between her career and inner aspirations, and an intense fear of failure. While The Bell Jar offers a wealth of lessons, for brevity and the purpose of this article I always come back to the analogy of fig tree.
As Sylvia Plath writes, “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked…I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Essentially, the fig tree embodies how the anxiety of choosing is actually the fear of loss, but that passivity of choice ultimately loses everything.
As college students, we’re bound to make mistakes. While we may hold ourselves to the expectation of perfection by making the “right” choices, whether for career or life goals, in reality, we’re not meant to have it all figured out. Not at 16, not at 18, not even at 21. So, if you’re waiting for the moment when everything makes sense – when you feel 100% certain and ready to pursue a given life path – you might be waiting forever.
So what’s the answer?
Stop waiting. You don’t have to know exactly what you want to do, you just have to commit to something. Two years ago I thought I was going to be a doctor. Now, as a sophomore in university, I’m pursuing energy investment banking. I wasn’t born with a clear career in mind; I discovered an interest and committed myself to exploring it to its fullest. I joined the investment society, read everything I could about the field, reached out for coffee chats, applied for the internship. I gave it my all.
It took embracing the doubts of “what if I picked the wrong path?” to appreciate that choosing one dream doesn’t mean the loss of all others, rather that you’ve committed to starting.
Coming Back to The Fig Tree
“Don’t let your figs rot” means you can’t wait for the perfect moment because it simply doesn’t exist. At this age, uncertainty is inevitable. I may have a rough idea of where I’m headed, but at the end of the day, I’m still learning, still changing, still unsure…and still human. And that’s okay. You don’t need to have it all figured out; you just need to start.
Maybe I can’t have every fig on my fig tree, but I can pick one, and that’s enough to begin with.