If you’d have asked me before beginning my degree where I’d be in three years, my answer would have probably been reminiscent of some kind of Carrie Bradshaw-esque life. Although I’d trade New York for London, and probably a sex column for a fashion writer. Nevertheless, I believed I would be living it big in the big city. Fast-forward three years, one degree and one life-altering pandemic, and the reality is a lot different.
Not to give too many spoilers, but I’m writing this in my pajamas, sitting in my family home. I haven’t been to London since pre-pandemic. My friends are dotted around the country. And I spend my days writing blog posts for businesses I’ve never heard of. It sounds pretty bleak in comparison, right? That’s what I would have thought if someone had given me a glimpse of this life as a fresher. But in reality, I’m living the dream. I told you I’m writing in my pajamas, didn’t I? I don’t have the glitz and glam I dreamed of, but I also don’t have to sit in a stuffy office for six hours a day. And I get to write every day! I found my spot. Well, I’ve found my spot for now. I’m content with where I am as a recent graduate amidst a global pandemic, and I’m very proud I found my way here. Today, I’m going to share that story with you. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know many freelancing graduates. This is something that brings me both pride and bouts of loneliness. It’s an unusual pathway to take, which is why I’m so keen to share my experience and show people there’s an alternative to taking a salaried nine to five.
I’d always wanted to be a writer of some capacity. However, when you announce you want to be a writer, you’re usually met with disgruntled shakes of the head and unsolicited comments about how hard it is to be a writer. I don’t doubt becoming a writer in a more traditional sense (i.e. novelist, journalist) is extremely difficult. And being a writer is always mentally exhausting. But the claim that becoming a writer is impossible or a life-long struggle is false. When people inquired what I wanted to do with my English degree, I’d mumble about wanting to write before quickly shutting myself down. My desire to write was rapidly becoming a guilty little secret.
I expected I’d spend my third year fighting tooth and nail for a low-paying magazine internship that killed my passion but got my name heard (and that’s all that matters, right? Being known). To get an internship, I’d have to have some form of writing experience. Thus, in my second year, I lapped up any university writing jobs I could. I began as a journalist for a new fashion magazine and resorted to my first love by becoming the books editor of the university newspaper. Twenty-year-old me envisaged these two roles would be my golden ticket to a successful writing career. Despite overworking myself, paying little attention to my retail job and having even less interest in my degree, I kept writing.
The second term of my second year threw a spanner in the works (a global pandemic sized spanner). In March 2020, I moved home as our worlds became saturated with fear, speculation and the horrors of reality surrounding a new virus. At the time, I would never have imagined this would be the end of my traditional university experience. Never again would I sit in the writer’s office or attend an in-person seminar. University and the world had changed.
After several months locking down at my family home and testing the waters of zoom uni (still can’t say I’m a big fan), I returned to university for my third year. Despite speculation that most studying would take place online (soon to be all studying), I took the opportunity to escape my home city and move away for my final year. I had little interest in continuing my various writing roles online (ironic considering my current job). Instead, the third year was academic-focused (and having fun in my new student house, of course).
As I’m sure you’re aware, lock downs over 2020 and 2021 were somewhat like getting on a roller coaster blindfolded; you can’t see the track, but it’s too late to get off. And in December 2020, Santa Claus bought sadness in the form of another lock down. At the time, I was working in a retail store in my university city. I was on a temporary contract, set to end in the new year. However, the impromptu lock down meant my contract ended early, and concerns over the economy promised there was no chance I’d be rehired. I packed my bags and headed home for Christmas.
After spending the Christmas period with my close family, I began preparing to return to university for my final term. I wasn’t in a position to spend the final few months of my degree without a job. However, the treatment of my previous company during the pandemic had left a sour taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to continue selling overpriced goods for a business that cared so little for its employees. After five years in customer service, I decided I wanted to move on. Looking back, I think most people would have worked a similar retail role for the last few months of their degree and then taken the opportunity to graduate into a new position. But I knew this was my opportunity. I don’t consider myself very spiritual, but I believe these events happened for a reason. This was the universe’s way of telling me it was time to move on. I just didn’t know how or where to yet.
During one of many endless internet searches in the deep depths of winter’s lock down, I stumbled across SEO. It was a term I’d never heard before. I had no idea the power and influence search engine optimization had on the world. And I was fascinated to find out so many marketers, writers and SEO experts were spending their days helping businesses improve their SEO writers, just like me. Before my university term began, I dedicated my days to studying SEO, online marketing, content and copy for business. I felt as though I’d stumbled upon a hidden industry. It was my dream job I never knew existed, and people were doing it from their homes! Once I’d made as many notes as possible on how to write the perfect blog post, how to drive organic traffic to websites, and a whole host more, I decided to put my knowledge to the test.
I joined a free freelancing platform and began selling my writing services. Those months spent agonizing overbook articles and fashion blog posts at university finally felt worth it. In a quiet corner of the internet, I’d finally found my spot.
Fast-forward six months, and now I work from home, create my schedule, and best of all, I get to write for a living. I might not be living Carrie Bradshaw’s life, but I achieved my dream of becoming a writer in a way that aligns with me. And guess what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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