Today is the start of my second week as a trainee news reporter. Here are some reflections.
Last week was an absolute rollercoaster. I graduated. I started my first full-time job. And I learned what the words 'dawn raid' mean. And no, they don't mean raiding a high street shop first thing in the morning after you've slept in a sleeping bag for 12 hours straight.
It took me a few days to understand what it would mean to work full-time, in the so-called 9-5 hours and to be sat on a hard chair with weak wifi for the entire time. Chair yoga is a thing, and yes, I will be participating in it from here on out.
The biggest obstacle, perhaps, though, wasn't working remotely, or trying to get lawyers to answer emails or calls, it was understanding that I'm no longer a 20-year-old journalism student. I'm a 20-year-old reporter, and I no longer have the freedom to skip lectures, be up until sunrise, and go to clubs with dodgy music and overpriced toilets (not that this happened much in the last two years). While I had the freedom before, and chose not to take it, I don't anymore.
And when I reunited with course mates I hadn't seen in months, it felt wonderful, but it felt sad. Like the end of an era. The end of education (although, I'm probably learning more on my job everyday than I was during my BA degree). It feels good to have something to work for, to have a reason to get up in the morning, and to have something to talk about when family members ask me about my occupation.
But at the same time, I feel as though — in a way — I'm not allowed to be young anymore.
So, I guess this week I'm going to try and look for ways to gain that youth back. To prove that I can still work full-time, and educate myself, while having fun and revisiting the spontaneous part of myself that I feel I've lost.
Here's to reigniting the young Olivia that got lost along the way to achieving her goals.