“What would you rather do, make berry jam or organise your wardrobe?” When I was in secondary school, I remember being given a list of questions by a counsellor in either fourth or fifth year that was supposed to help with your options for further education. There were thirty or forty questions, in my mind they were all along the same lines: jam or wardrobe, design a bridge or change a tyre, manage supermarket staff or study bird nests. None of it felt right.
My eldest son is currently in this exploration phase, and while I’m pleased to say he knows more about higher education than I did in the nineties – and his school is actually pretty good at this whole career guidance lark – he still has his doubts. Thank goodness, there is at least a top three, but any interesting documentary, trip to a museum, or visit to a courthouse is likely to change that in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t yet know what will make him truly happy, or what he’s good at. I don’t blame him. Sixteen years is far too little life experience to really know that.
The portrait of the final-year student in this edition – master’s student of European Studies, Marek Wittenberg – is an excellent look at how ‘bumpy’ that road can be. Neither journalism nor law were the right fit, he studied a higher professional degree in European Studies, then started working, before finally deciding to go to university after all.
I decided to check in with some colleagues. What did they want to be when they were little? “Writer or news reader”, “playwright, but before that I wanted to be a motorbike cop”, “no idea” (the most common response).
And given what they know now, would they have chosen a different degree at the time? “Yes!” The three who studied journalism would, in hindsight, have chosen something different. History, psychology, or a University College. You can learn to write later, they said. The only exception is the astronomer in our midst, who would apply to Leiden again in a heartbeat.
I’m not sure. Arts and social sciences have brought me so much, but I like the sound of medicine (I’d just need to learn to cope with the sight of blood), psychology, or the Rock Academy, where they teach you to sing and dance professionally. That last one sparks my imagination. Of course, reality is far less appealing. It reminds me of what Cleo Freriks said, having once considered studying archaeology before quickly realising: “Digging up the umpteenth iron spearhead in the Netherlands? Braving the cold, the rain, and the wind? No, thanks!”
The editor-in-chief gives a look behind the scenes at the editorial office