The student summer: The art of boredom acceptance and other niche struggles
Student summers are strange, liminal periods for some. They’re meant to be a break – a much-needed pause from the academic stress and general university hysteria – but they can feel like more of a glitch in the system rather than a welcome comfort. With no structure, no deadlines, and no dreaded seminar room small talk to tether us to reality, you can be left floating somewhere between freedom, boredom, and identity crisis.
The student summer has many shapes, not all of them are especially relaxing
What people do with this time varies wildly. Some work, some travel, some reappear on Instagram in a new location every week. Others sort of just wait it out. Whether you’re stuck on campus, pulling doubles at your summer job, or lying flat in your childhood bedroom, wondering why you cease to function without a timetable or constant stimulation, the student summer has many shapes, not all of them are especially relaxing.
The summer working warriors really deserve a medal. One of my friends is working up to 17 hours a day to fund their university living costs. Seventeen. That’s basically the same amount of time I spend horizontally, colouring, and listening to The News Agents while simultaneously hotboxing my room with vape fumes. Another friend of mine works full-time as a lifeguard. She has mastered the art of the angry lifeguard – able to stop troublemakers with one menacing glare. She’s saving lives while also saving for her first year.
Then there’s another working at a theatre company for neurodivergent young people, putting on sensory shows and managing stage productions with their unique, chaotic flair. She’s a hero in the truest sense, juggling a dozen different characters – some fictional, some not – while maintaining a degree of professionalism I could only dream of achieving.
But not everyone can get a job. I, for one, can’t. And not for a total lack of trying – I’ve sent my CV to countless places – my last, more eclectic, rejection was from a private hospital denying my application to be a surgery cleaner. Maybe I lucked out there. I entered the void of updating my LinkedIn, a cursed activity, which just made me feel worse about my lack of experience. No one has replied to my hopeful messages asking for employment. But I know I’m lucky. I don’t need a job to cover the essentials. I’m not relying on summer wages to pay rent come September. That makes me very fortunate – gratefully so. But my privilege hasn’t cancelled out the feeling of mental free-fall that happens when I feel like I’m lacking any form of purpose beyond the odd babysitting gig.
When your identity for nine months of the year is built on essays, seminars, and the constant stimulation of university life, summer can feel like someone has yanked the plug out
When your identity for nine months of the year is built on essays, seminars, and the constant stimulation of university life, summer can feel like someone has yanked the plug out. At university, there is always something going on, something to do, someone to talk to, a last-minute night out, or a deadline hauntingly approaching. It’s messy, thrilling, and full. And then – suddenly – I found myself at home. The volume is off, quite literally, as my sleeping patterns differ notably from those of my family. My best friends are now hours away by a train I have no way of affording.
Not everyone has the luxury of going home to a group of friends. I’m not sure what I would do without my collection of Sheffield companions. Some students don’t have people to see at home. Some don’t even have homes they want to return to; university is their home. And international students? Many stay on campus all summer because flights are too expensive or borders are too complicated. They deserve note for sacrificing their usual summer for their education.
Lest we forget about those golden few – bless them – who seem to spend the entirety of their summer hopping from villa to vineyard, popping up on Instagram with a healthy glow and a platter of fresh foods. It’s not their fault. They’re not bad people. But unfortunately, they fill me with a jealous rage.
In the absence of a job or a Greek island to flounce around on, I’ve been improvising. I have started frequenting the clubs of Sheffield – these are strange arenas. Obviously beautiful in their own way, sticky floors, triple-shot drinks of a murky blue colour, and an array of bald-headed men always up for conversation. It’s a dangerously cheap night out compared to the Leamington club scene, and honestly, I’ve become very fond of it. Maybe it’s just a phase.
Another part of my improvisation has included attempting to learn Russian. This wasn’t for any noble reason – I just got far too obsessed with Killing Eve and decided it was time to learn a completely impractical new skill. I can now confidently mispronounce most of the Cyrillic alphabet. It’s going well.
Boredom isn’t always a personality flaw. Sometimes it’s a symptom of transition, or of having too much space and not enough structure
At some point during my boredom spiral, I remembered that I am lucky to feel bored at all. To have a home to return to, friends I miss and no pressure to earn money to survive. That’s a huge privilege. But being lucky doesn’t soothe the internal itch of purposelessness. You can be grateful and still feel weirdly adrift. And when that itch gets bad, I start to hear that fabled phrase – “only boring people get bored” – looping through my brain like a crap ringtone. To which I say: respectfully, shut up.
Boredom isn’t always a personality flaw. Sometimes it’s a symptom of transition, or of having too much space and not enough structure. Especially for students who, regretfully, like me, thrive off academic validation and external deadlines, summer can feel like walking around with no gravity – nothing to tie you down but also nothing to stop you floating off into the abyss. I didn’t realise how much of my identity is tied up in doing well until there was nothing to “do well” at.
The contrast between the full-throttle life of term time and the calm, or vacuum, of summer can be emotionally jarring
The transition back to university is tricky too. I separate home and university in my mind so dramatically that when it comes to bridging the gap between the two, I go weird. There’s a mourning period for the life I’ve been living, even if I’m beyond excited to return. The contrast between the full-throttle life of term time and the calm, or vacuum, of summer can be emotionally jarring – for me at least anyway. It’s like I’m switching between two different realities without a transition montage.
I’m learning how to sit with that in-between feeling. I’m not the best version of myself when I’m bored, so figuring out how to handle the weird summertime void has become kind of essential. I’m trying to find the joy in it – really trying. The restlessness. The drift. The panic of not having some time due at 11.59am. The joy of nothing needing to be due at 11:59am. It’s all part of the path of boredom acceptance I am walking.
If you’re working all summer, I salute you. If you’re lying in bed watching The Thick of It, like me, to see how many lines you can word-for-word repeat – I see you, high-five! If you’re somewhere in between figuring out how to not feel like a failure because you’re not doing everything (or anything) – welcome to the club. Still, you’re probably doing better than you think.
It’s all ok. We’re young and allowed to be a little lost and lazy
Student summers are definitely not one-size-fits-all. Some are chaotic. Some restful. Some productive. Some are just a string of 2am breakdowns because you forgot what day it was and only woke up at 4pm. It’s all ok. We’re young and allowed to be a little lost and lazy. And maybe a little bit annoyed because this in-between feeling is frustratingly difficult to navigate.
If all else fails, there’s always the Russian alphabet or hometown clubbing.
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