I’ll try anything once. Unless it has mayonnaise in it. That’s my rule. In my two and a half years at Cambridge that has meant many things, from working just the one May Ball to studying in any library, café, or warm corner that presents itself. I even once found myself cycling from Oxford to Cambridge but that’s a story for another time. It has also meant involvement in societies. Lots of them. From serving on my college JCR, to giving Water Polo a go, to writing for Varsity and even auditioning for a play (thankfully, I was unsuccessful). Just a few depressing minutes of nosiness on LinkedIn tells me I’m not alone; Cambridge students are always on the go. But in the tired senility of my third year, I have to wonder if this culture of overcommitting ourselves is worth it. In doing so much, are we carpe-ing the diem better than anyone else or have we become ludicrous in our Debby Ryan-esque fear of sitting still?

“But in the tired senility of my third year, I have to wonder if this culture of overcommitting ourselves is worth it”

It starts in our first Freshers’ Week. We arrive with a barren inbox and seven days later 25 societies are begging for our attention. We try out a few (if we can convince our flatmate to come with) and become involved (likely sans flatmate) with maybe one or two. So far, so good. But, the realisation in Easter that first year went quicker than a train from Cambridge to London (rail replacement bus aside) marks an uncomfortable shift. Suddenly, everyone around you seems to be interning at a Magic Circle law firm or lining themselves up to become Union president. God bless the class of 2023, they already have a Member of Parliament among them. It’s unsurprising this is panic inducing for a student population that takes itself so seriously – clinging on to having once been big fish in small ponds. We return to the emails we have been marking as junk for the past year, or find something else to try, and start accumulating CV fodder. In this ocean, we won’t settle for sardinehood.

The graduate job market is tough. Or so we’ve been led to believe. It seems like a fair assumption, and it’s one that’s quite explicit in our attitude towards extracurriculars. Talk to people across Cambridge and ask if they’re involved in a society. If it isn’t sport or theatre, it’ll be only a matter of time before they run out of reasons the society is important and defend their commitment with the concession that it also looks good on the old CV. Such forward-thinking is nothing to gawk at, not in this economy. But it is also a tragedy of our University experience that so many spend time on bureaucracy of their own invention to increase their employment prospects. I’d like to think this CV-padding function of extracurriculars is secondary for most people. Returning to our thespians, I assume their primary motivation for being on the ADC stage isn’t to end up on Graham Norton’s sofa in twenty year’s time, though that would be a nice bonus, I’m sure.

“When you’re enduring something for the sake of words on a resume, it’s time to let it go”

For those of you on the other side of the coin, decidedly unpassionate about what you spend your time doing and motivated solely by a distant future, might I pose the following question: if you don’t especially care for something you do, what sort of job do you imagine it will land you?

The privilege of the Cambridge experience is that there is so much to get involved with, whether that’s academic, social or otherwise. But when everyone seems to have their thing (gigantic emphasis on seems) it is, for some reason, tempting to take on responsibilities for the sake of it. We may be bad relaxers, but contacting speakers for a panel event is no substitute for a bath, or a trip down the local pub, even during dry January. I’m firmly in the camp of not hating the player, but the game, so try as many things as you like. But, when you’re enduring something for the sake of words on a resume, it’s time to let it go. As keen on academia as we are, I expect there is a lesson many of us have been putting off – the importance of giving up.

Lent is a beautiful term. It has neither the intensity of Easter nor the expectations of Michaelmas. It presents a rare opportunity to reflect and realise that just because you can do something, it doesn’t always mean you should. Lent’s namesake asks us to give something up for 40 days. In my lame and extended pun, I say: don’t take it back up again in Easter. You could try something new, finally start your dissertation, or be radical and enjoy a cup of tea with friends. If it’s weighing you down, shed it.

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