I’m 23, and experiencing a Waterloo September for my 6th year in a row. Friends have moved on. They’ve started jobs in big cities, settling into their new grad lives. Whether it be finding their long-term partners, beginning classes that last longer than 4 months (because it’s the first time in your life you’ll be somewhere longer than 4 months), or starting their careers in places we’ve always wanted to work, it feels as if our lives are diverging. Is this what growing up is about?
I spent the last year mulling over what comes next. I wrote thousands of words scattered across journals, and conversations with friends, or mentors - to help me develop a sense of what I wanted and I just couldn’t figure it out. Typically, it feels that there is always the ‘right’ choice. It’s clear which company you should land at, which city to live in, and who to follow.
I’ve been describing this feeling to anyone that would listen with prose found in Sylvia Plath’s “Bell Jar,” - with this concept of a fig tree.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.”
There were two options—return to school or work. Returning to school would buy me more time to figure out what I’d like to do next, more time to decide on a city, more time at home with family, and finally, more time to learn about things I’m interested in (society and tech, writing, coding, creating for the sake of it, design craft).
On the other hand - I’d spent the past year recruiting, revisiting my portfolio, and interviewing throughout my senior year, for nothing to work out. I wasn’t ready to go all in on the job hunt, knowing that while the effort with the school would result in a degree, effort with this job hunt could result in nothing.
It became difficult to come to terms with uncertainty about where I’d be next when those around me seemed to have a sense of what they’d like to do next. As people spoke about moving in with their partners or which neighbourhood they’ll move to - I began to develop grief for the loss of the plans I had idealized. In theory, I had all these options - I could return to school, find work, or do something completely different if I wanted to but “the sheer illusion of optionality [felt] crushing instead of liberating”1.
Returning to Plath’s analogy of the fig tree, as she sat contemplating all these options, “the figs began to wrinkle and go black.”
“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Throughout my undergrad, I had been waiting for this degree to be over. I felt like my life couldn’t start until I finally settled down. I couldn’t invest in hobbies, or indulge in writing and running clubs, or even commit to long-term relationships because I always had one foot in. With grad school, I was the same. I completed another internship before starting school, in hopes of returning right away. Even in the last few weeks of this internship, I had no idea where I’d be living in the next month. I had wasted time being indecisive, grappling with the fear of doing something completely different from the plans I had spent my life hurling towards.
I’m halfway through the first semester of my master’s at Waterloo now. This wasn’t at all what I had planned, and I’m still unsure if this is what I want. But I’m trying to embrace that it is okay not to know what you want next. An undergrad at Waterloo feels so inflexible. Your internships must keep you away from Waterloo for 16 weeks, no less, no more. You must take controls, linear algebra, and design. You’re allowed to take electives, but they must meet our strict requirements on what is considered an elective.
With this program, I can only take 3 courses, as opposed to the 7 I was taking when I was here in April. I have time back to myself - I’m no longer holed up in the SYDE workshop, and instead sit outside doing readings for my AI ethics classes, exploring campus with new and old friends, and am reverting to the version of myself in 1st year who pushed herself to grow and meet new people.









I’m finally settling into Waterloo again. I return to the cafes we frequented, discovering new study spots and exploring Waterloo’s tunnels and many bridges, reading endless research papers for my classes on society and AI. I’m forming new friendships, and rekindling old ones. I get to spend another year living just an hour from where I grew up, and where my family lives. Having this time to indulge in my interests, slowly learn, and become more educated is an immense privilege. Despite things not going as planned, this uncertainty and learning to shift my perspective with ambiguity have allowed me to focus on enjoying today instead of being fixated on what might have been.