Work experience – the worrisome week when teenagers like myself don blouses and smart shoes and look totally gawky doing so.
I’ve spent my week here at The Falkirk Herald. I’ve met a variety of people, from councillors to film producers, and it’s been brilliant.
I’m told work experience is essential, and I suppose it is.
I certainly don’t want to drag myself through a minimum of 16 years of compulsory education just to sit with a piece of paper confirming, why yes, I can indeed do trigonometry.
Work experience is allowing me to see the adult world as it really is: desks, ringing phones and enough coffee to fuel an eight-hour-long caffeine rush that is the working day.
Really, it’s not unlike school is these days.
However, sitting at the computer typing this, I feel like the toddler who decided to traipse around the house in mummy’s high heels.
I’ve gone from a brash teen to a little girl again.
Nevertheless, everyone has been helpful and offering me cups of tea like I’m part of the team.
I appreciate that a lot. I’m being constantly reminded “we were all teenagers once” and I think I finally get it. (Cue a chorus of Hallelujah).
The thought of growing up has given me many a sleepless night, but I’m now certain that’s something nobody grows out of.
Nothing changes in life, we just get better at doing what we’ve already done.
There are no “proper” adults, just those who pretend they are.
I can now happily say I’m content with masquerading as an “proper” adult for the rest of my life.