Today showed the first snows of the year, that is a year begining at a random point in the middle of the summer in which the probability of snow is near zero, such as July. Before the white began to fall I had been talking to my Mum, who insisted that snow would soom be falling, having been predicted on the weather forecast. I mentioned how unlikely the event sounded and how the weather, although cold and misrable, in no way indicated snow. Thanks to the non-sequential nature of my prose, any tension this sentance may have generated has been converted to dramatic irony, and shortly after finishing this call I had to again contact my Mum to inform her that she had been right after all, but that I was sure it wouldn’t settle. A text ten minutes after that showed I was wrong yet again.
However, the snow has already melted and was thus short lived. Although in that time I’m sure the postcard manufactureres were franticaly trying to contact the photographers in order to ensure the supply of next years postcards and christmas cards. I myself marched with tripod and camera to first court to snap a few pictures, before realising that the snow was making my camera very wet.
Now, if I was a good author this would all be leading to something, an analogy about how events in our life may appear unexpectedly, and last only transiently. Indeed, this seems true for many things recently and, although I’ll talk about them here, it is only retrospect and not planning that has lead to the link.
I am currently making choices as to PhD placements, and am waiting on conformation of my part II genetics project before mailing off my CV. But this change has only lead me to consider how transient the last years of my life have seemed. Three years ago I was under a similar process, applying for my university placement, with it seeming but a distant dream. Now I have gone through that, and all the warnings that the time will pass quickly are starting to become apparant for what they are: disturbing truths, not vague rose tinted visions. Although I can hardly say university came upon my unexpectedly – it was my intended destination for a good time before decisions were made – the actual realisation that I had to make a decision arrived sooner than expected. Now, with history unlearned, I am doomed to repeat myself: the same feelings. I realise that despite so much having happened things are once again the same. Cycles. Once again I feel as though the world is ever so slightly large for little me, and while I’m excited by the future, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt it had sprung on me sooner than I had desired. I think the problem is that we never feel ourselves growing up, delta age hides that from us. A PhD has always seemed something that people did when they were mature, when they were 21; but now I am 20, and the difference between the two ages is minimal, I am now ‘mature’ and I just haven’t updated the gap between myself and a PhD. The semi-artificial divisions we place in the way make it feel like a huge step. I compare myself to people who have come out the other side, who are now my lecturers and supervisors, when realy I will be entering a PhD with my peers. Of course, I don’t mean to imply that there is no step up from my undergraduate course, but rather that the step is no longer as large as it seemed three years ago, when my degree still sat between then and now.