As a psychology student I like theories with random names. As a fan of Freud I particularly have a thing for theories with no real evidence, credibility or falsifiability and end up insulting everyone involved along the way (the ‘Hedgehog theory’ is a favourite.) Here I present my very own ‘Goldfish’ theory, applying uniquely to Cambridge freshers. 

Life here is tough and students succumb to stress and anxiety. The reason for this is that we have de-evolved into goldfish. We eat where we pee, and sleep where we work. Well not quite, but almost. In my first term, I have spent the majority of my time in my room at my desk with coffee (or Red Bull), chocolate and my laptop; I am exactly 3.4 m away from my loo, 1.27m away from my bed and 0.47m away from my window. I sit in the same chair, at the same table, with the same view, mugs, pens, lamp, dead plant, slippers and pillow for approximately 3-7 hours a day. Life is on repeat, with the same routine week in week out; wake up, work, eat, sleep. Groundhog day in a goldfish bowl.

Being from the countryside I am used to spending my spare time frolicking through grassy green pastures à la Tess of the d’Urbervilles, absorbing fresh silage, cow-dung infused country air instead of breathing in vacuumed carpets and scented room fresheners. The move has made me feel a bit like of a fish out of water here.

All good theories have a controversial bit.

The pressure and expectation to achieve is promoted and sustained by the university’s reputation and selection process. Our supervisors and lecturers peer through the glass to make sure that we are still swimming; to make sure that tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. The university recognises and supports the bowl, investing energy and resources to ensure that that work is a priority with maximum time dedicated to it. In my corridor, there is one kitchen for sixteen of us, discouraging us from cooking and encouraging us to get a quicker bite in hall. Essentially we are caught in a cycle where we have to work harder and swim faster to survive. It’s kind of like the ‘Red Queen hypothesis’, where Alice has to keep running in order to keep up; it’s vicious and exhausting with no finish line in sight for us freshers. In short, I think I might be a goldfish.

Outside people looking in can see how my life has become so confined to work, routine and desks. From within my goldfish bowl, however, I am so absorbed and busy in my own little water world, that there is no time to contemplate my unfocussed world surrounded by glass skies and refracted light. Holidays are basically a water change; time in the wider ocean where we can be fed, cleaned and float around for a bit, preparing to return to the bowl and start the cycle again.           

We chose to live inside a goldfish bowl, but were also chosen as those who have the ability, strength and stamina to lead such a life. At times life in the goldfish bowl may seem too tough to continue, but please ‘just keep swimming’ (as Dory advises in Finding Nemo) and one day we will break out the bowl and enter the sea, not as goldfish, but as whales.