I picked an unusual degree: classics. Only about 20 of the 166 British universities, including Oxford and Cambridge, offer it.
While I attended a private school that encouraged college applications to Oxford and Cambridge, there was no parental pressure to attend university. Nobody in my family had ever done so.
So, when my teachers asked, which prestigious university I was more interested in, I was shocked. Both schools were never on my road map.
I applied to Oxford, and my offer came through.
I loved Oxford at first
I’d fallen in love with beautiful Oxford after visiting several times. I pictured myself cycling past the ancient spires or feeling at home among the books of the famous Bodleian Library.
At first, that dream came true. Oxford is a place of ceremony. On matriculation day, I was dressed in academic gowns with mortarboards.
I looked around and thought, “I can’t believe this is actually happening. I’m here!”
There was the other side I never imagined: the unrelenting workload
Pre-Oxford, I loved studying and translating ancient plays, poetry, and other literature. But Oxford was next level.
It all started with holiday reading the summer before my freshman year. None of my friends at other universities had holiday reading, but I had to read three times the equivalent of all the Latin and Ancient Greek I’d studied for my entire two-year A-level. My friends were out enjoying summer while I was stuck indoors reading Homer’s “Iliad.”
This intensified once I started my degree at Oxford. I’d compare my experience to my friends at other universities, who’d email me saying what fun they were having going out, partying, and socializing — in addition to their studies.
I was mostly stuck in my room, studying frantically in a desperate attempt to keep up with the relentless workload.
I started feeling jealous of them and exhausted by the speed at which I was expected to read and translate Latin and Ancient Greek texts. I had very little work-life balance. It robbed me of the joy I once felt studying these subjects.
I asked myself: Do I want to be mostly holed up in this small bedroom for the next four years?
I decided to transfer out of Oxford during my first year
My answer came when I began dating a guy from another university. He’d tell me how he and some fellow students had gone to the beach, had beers, and built a fire.
That’s when I realized I’d picked the wrong university. I wanted to look back on this as one of the best times of my life before the world of work beckoned, so I decided to leave during my first year.
I was quite nervous about my decision. Everyone was saying, “Are you crazy? You can’t leave Oxford!”
My tutor was aghast. She tried to persuade me to stay at Oxford by changing my subjects. I told her I wanted to study the same subject at a different university.
I was resolute. I started a classics degree from scratch at Swansea University the following year.
Transferring was the best decision I could’ve made
Life became so much more enjoyable. Swansea’s course was far more manageable than Oxford’s one. I hit the ground running and was able to take on extra-curricular activities, which enabled me to thrive and grow as a person.
I started learning Welsh and added it to my degree. I joined a gym. I became a Student Union Lesbian, Bi, and Gay officer and have carried a love for diversity, equality, and inclusion work throughout my career. Best of all, I got to have fun — disorganized, spontaneous fun. All stuff I didn’t have time or headspace to take on at Oxford.
It boosted my confidence to make such a momentous decision that turned out so well.
No job interviewer really cares which university you attended; they care what relevant work experience you have. But when managers have remarked on it in interviews, they often say it must’ve taken tremendous courage to leave Oxford like that. So, it has actually worked out as a career advantage, too.
