Returning to university as a mature student convinced me that higher education has no place for teenagers
One of life's strange ironies is that the older we get, the younger we feel. Sadly, I don't mean that in the physical sense. Skin and tendons rarely become more elastic over time. But rather emotionally.
At 18, I feel like the oldest – or rather, most mature – person on the planet. I know everything, can do anything, have seen it all. In less than 20 years, I achieved the legendary status of “official adult.” All before learning to drive.
Going to college at age 36 changed the way I viewed mature students.Credit: iStock
At 36, I can drive (more or less). I also have a career, a mortgage, a long-term relationship and a child. From the outside, I have grown up. But I know, deep down, I'm a child.
The bigger my world gets, the more aware I am of my smallness. When I discover beautiful and interesting things, I understand my innocence and simplicity. This strange trick about identity and time is often made especially clear to me. It takes me back to my childhood when browsing tax forms or trying to remember if I'm due for a cervical screening. But I don't think I've ever felt as young as I do now – oriented adult student life.
As suggested, confidence was not an issue for me at 18 when I studied My first admission to university. Thirteen years of average schooling and a very average VCE performance have inexplicably made me feel like a king. Sitting in lecture, I felt like I could easily take my place behind the podium and show the professor where it was. That's when I appeared.
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If my attendance is not regular then my attendance does not exist. Studying journalism as an English major, you would assume I would have done some prescribed reading. But any memory of them has long been lost to time and $1 beer specials. However, no one was more shocked than me when I failed my first semester.
I have finally come down to earth. Life, work, smartphone-induced carpal tunnel and the small humiliations of having your heart broken by boys who will learn Auslan but aren't your last name have humiliated me. With each birthday, I feel younger and younger. Less certain about my abilities. Less certain about my specialness. Less confident about your place in the world. That's probably why I returned to that lecture hall nearly two decades later. This time, however, instead of wondering whether I should stand up and preach, I eagerly waited for someone else to tell me who I should be.
Despite the traces of cringing, I still have a lot of affection for my younger self. But if these two personalities somehow met, I doubt the feeling would be the same. Back then, adult students annoyed me endlessly. Listening to their endless questions and personal reflections, I couldn't help but feel sympathy for these gentle creatures teetering on the brink of self-actualization. I mostly just feel uncomfortable.
