The day's first hour leaves the brain dormant. In such vacant moments, the realities of post-university life dawn. On the platform, one glance left and right reveals generations of routine. My one month of commuting into the city is a microcosm compared to those alongside me. The biosphere of adulthood drifts towards responsibility, one train at a time.A train carriage is a melting pot of professional diversity. All it takes is a sense of intrigue and you're whisked onto a safari of the British commute. C-level executives send micro-troops into virtual battle on their iPhone screens, sometimes even paying for bonuses with their corporate coiffeur. Others engage in personal conversations via WhatsApp, sending loving, angry or even sexually explicit messages to their respective other halves. Then there's us, collectively observing the above.
Some of these people have been programmed into this routine for longer than I have been alive. The previous 23 years probably seem like a bit of a blur for them, a frightening prospect for this year's rookie. From the up, down, left, right dynamism of university, travelling and every adventure that graces our early adulthood, we suddenly attach ourselves to a binary cord between home and office, receding to the mean. Damn.
When people reach the office, auto-pilot is deactivated. The duo editing their Fantasy Football teams on the bus suddenly retain parallel roles in their hierarchies. The unassuming woman on the ThamesLink becomes the best designer in London. The twitchy nerd opposite you on the Northern Line continues coding, improving and creating the apps loved by billions. Me? Well I'm a grad, baby steps.
Being a fresh, shiny cog in the machine is unique. The last 12 months of pre-adulthood are crammed with people telling you to change the world, chase your dreams, and then, ultimately, that you're not good enough. The doors to adulthood are constantly open, but the club is exclusive and bouncers unforgiving. Then you do make it in, and you realise the club is not that exclusive at all and you're simply another face in a crowd of millions.
The transition is complex. The autonomy of university allows midweek boozing and daytime snoozing to antidote a lack of motivation or drive. If you wake up and decide that today isn't for you, you roll over and turn your back on reality. It's undeniably satisfying on the day, but it trickles a long-term stream of delusion into the trench separating new graduates and the real world.
You've jumped the trench, now what? Sure, you're in now, but what are you going to make of that opportunity? Are you going to fulfil the promises made in your application or dine on the victory of the recruitment process?
Maybe we can change the world, maybe we can't, but if there's any time to believe it it's now. We are energetic, enthusiastic, exciting and undeterred by professional politics. We have spent years shouting up at this world to let us in, so now we've walked through the door let's prove we deserve to be here
We're adults now, after all.
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