Yesterday I was clearing out a cupboard in my childhood bedroom, desperately trying to find my Boots advantage card which has laid there neglected since I moved to Spain - I had points that I have been accumulating since coming back to the UK which needed validating. It's all about priorities... they may get me a free nail varnish one day or at least a sweet chilli chicken wrap on the meal deal - and it was an interesting experience.
I must explain first of all that my old room has now been turned into the family's dumping ground; anything that you are not keen to get rid of due to its sentimental value or an ill-conceived notion that it may be worth something one day (i.e. a full set of Natwest piggy banks in pristine condition) or just things that are deemed too hideous to display elsewhere in the home get thrown unceremoniously in there, with the door slammed shut behind them. Thus, going through the cupboard was like going through a real Aladdin's cave of memories... or, more appropriately, simply an avalanche of general tat. Amongst the items, I found birthday cards from years gone by (I am approaching 28 in a couple of weeks, and found ones from my 21st and even my 18th which made me a little sad), old teddy bears, expired make up and congealed nail polishes (hence why I needed the Boots card in the first place!), photos and their original films of me on school trips and D of E expeditions as an eager 16 year old, Nokia 3310s with chargers and even a tin full of pogs (if you don't know what they are, you were never a child of the 90s). Right at the back, however, I found some stories I had written at the age of eight, with "written and illustrated by Kayleigh Mills" proudly emblazoned on the cover, accompanied by some old copies of the Lancashire Evening Telegraph and the Rossendale Free Press from when I did work experience there and got my name in the paper or had something I had helped with printed. I even found old newsletters from my time volunteering at my local hospital radio, which has now ceased to exist. Rather than be overwhelmed with a warm, fuzzy feeling of nostalgia, the whole idea was rather disconcerting. I had everything so clear at the age of 16. I knew I wanted to work in journalism/radio. So where did it all go wrong? Why am I not doing it now?
I started off on the right track, I was getting lots of work experience and was told not to study media at University but rather to do something else to offer a different skillset. So, I went on to study Spanish. Instead of choosing a three-year degree at an English university, which, in hindsight, would have given me plenty of time to have done a postgrad in broadcast journalism afterwards, I fell in love with St. Andrews and went up there. Even then I opted for the five-year degree, instead of the four-year option. As I write this, I am incredulous of the fact that I took these decisions. As much as I adored my time at the home of golf, after five years I wasn't prepared (or economically equipped) to go into further education/training. I then panicked and didn't know how to get into what I really wanted to do. At the time, I had never heard of any BBC training/grad schemes and didn't feel that, at my age (then I was 25) I could feasibly go back to living with my Dad, work for free and start from the bottom, making the cups of tea and slowly working my way up. I then felt extremely nervous, I didn't know what to do.
So, I sent some CVs off to English Language schools in Spain as a plan B, and when I was offered a job that same night, I jumped at the opportunity and thought my problems were solved. I had a job. A month or so later, my bags were packed and I headed off to the relatively unknown.
What's the moral of this story? In part, I can never regret that decision because it was there that I met the love of my life. However, professionally speaking, I do regret just taking the first job that I was offered out of blind panic and not investigating the other options more in depth. So I feel that I am back now, 10 years later, to square one. Sure, I have got some life experience under my belt and some admin/managerial work to boast of on my CV, but I feel that I am no further forward in regards to my dream job than I was a decade ago. In fact, if anything, I was better off then as I was more actively involved in things. They say hindsight is a wonderful thing, and if you were to ask me if I would have done things differently, the answer would be yes. Still, they say that everything happens for a reason. I am older and wiser now, and not arrogant enough to think I am above making cups of tea and starting at the bottom. That's what I actually want to do now. Who knows, maybe in another 10 years' time, I'll look back and think everything happened as it was meant to. After all, it was only because of the jobs in Spain that I now have the money to support myself while I work for free and gain experience. But right now I can't help feeling that in some way I have wasted years of my life. Let's hope I'm wrong.
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