My first day at university unfolded with fewer nerves than I had braced for. Overthinking has always been my Achilles’ heel, and I’m pinning hopes on this course to help me tame that beast.
The class is a diverse tapestry of ages and backgrounds—around 38 in total. We have fresh-faced school leavers straight from their A-levels, about a dozen people in their twenties each with their own unique stories, a solid representation in the thirties to forties age group with seasoned life experiences, and then us in the 50+ brigade. The gender ratio stood out too, with just six men in the mix, a point that didn’t seem to surprise one of the more mature ladies I chatted with. Perhaps I’m more of an emotional outlier than I initially thought.
Icebreaker games did their magic early on, easing everyone into conversations. I met several lecturers, and it wasn’t long before names and stories were being exchanged freely—I’m jotting them down to keep track because there’s no way I’ll remember them all at once.
The late start after lunch felt like a gentle introduction, typical of fresher weeks designed to ease us into this new chapter. I could definitely get used to this pace, though I suspect this might be a rare luxury.