Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Notes From a Final Year (Part One)

Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Notes From a Final Year (Part One) Original illustration by Dannica Batoon. Deputy Editor-in-Chief Lara Bevan-Shiraz kicks off her year-long series with some self-deprecating humour as she prepares for third year studies. Will she smash it or crash it? So we’re hurtling into final year. Too many nosy parkers:  “What are you going to do after?” “Are you doing a masters?” “What’s your dissertation on?” I. Don’t. Know. Such inquisitions give a very particular pulse to my tinnitus. My prefrontal cortex is still under construction and I’m somehow expected to have the next forty years mapped out? But also, guilty as charged—I’ve asked all my friends this too!  During the nervy slog of exam season, summer appeared long and luxurious, a quarter-year filled end-to-end with blissful boredom or exhilarating adventure.  Then it arrived.  Like a Cadbury’s milk bar, it was all too quickly gobbled up by moving house, internships (some fell through, some had air conditioning), summer jobs, and the logistical admin of becoming a functioning adult.  In my case, I also decided the ideal way to spend a large chunk of my holiday was by signing myself up for an intensive at an Oxford college, largely because it has an absurdly pretty garden. Think less “summer school” and more rehab for perfectionists: pulling all-nighters both dancing and studying, all in the haphazard pursuit of some mythical formula for writing stellar essays without sacrificing too much sleep or fun. So, as we head back to 9am lectures (or, dare I whisper, 9am seminars) some of us are noticeably more refreshed than others. Meanwhile, I’ve got a Google Doc open on my computer that’s been eyeing me for a month, titled Masters Applications. It’s got a neat little table, pastel colour-coded by country, replete with a row for every university I was convinced I’d apply to after finishing my semester abroad in Paris.  I remember thinking, “Fifteen applications? No problem. I’ll have this sorted by August!” It has not been opened since. Amongst my other summer ambitions was the modest goal of “learning how to write a dissertation”. Instagram realised this before I did, quickly flooding my feed with videos promising to ungatekeep academic writing. At present, that’s roughly the extent of my research. But please don’t call it procrastination, it’s productive pre-research. The Oxford course, however, wasn’t entirely self-inflicted punishment. It came from a realisation I’d had during second year: I have exceptionally strong flight tendencies. I located the “Unenrol” button in Student Records far too easily… (as it turns out, though, escaping university once you’re in isn’t quite a one-click process). Jokes aside, second year was the first time I seriously doubted whether I could make the academic jump. I’d won a prize in my first year, yet suddenly every essay prompt arrived with the same internal monologue: ‘This year counts. They expect more now. What if I can’t make the cut?’ Because of my semester abroad, my entire year’s mark rested on just four essays, each worth 100% of its course. Those were my circumstances, but the feeling seemed almost universal. Second year wasn’t necessarily harder, but most of us felt it carried far more weight. My smugly graduated friends insist that final year is somehow easier. I remain unconvinced. This strikes me as a form of academic amnesia—I distinctly remember proofreading their dissertations while watching these very same people visibly unravel. So that’s the luggage I’m hauling along into final year: an untouched master’s spreadsheet, dissertation-induced heebie-jeebies, and a worrying familiarity with the Student Records portal.  Over the course of this academic year, follow along as I try to fly by the seat of my pants without hitting the nuclear button on my studies at the final hurdle or coming out of it looking like I’ve flown backwards through a bramble bush. I’ve not a clue as to how things will pan out. Perhaps I’ll have assembled enough wisdom to cobble together a final-year survival toolkit. If not, a reasonably entertaining catalogue of mistakes to avoid may ensue. For more Comment and Features content, click here. About the author Lara Bevan-Shiraz Lara Bevan-Shiraz is Roar's Deputy Editor-in-Chief (2026-27), having previously served as Comment Editor and Staff Writer. She has a keen eye for detail and a unique observational style. View all articles Recent Posts Flying by the Seat of My Pants: Notes From a Final Year (Part One) ‘Give them a tram!’: decentralise and make Rayner Chancellor says Strand Group devolution Panel Shambolic, devoid of decorum: an unfiltered Bi-annual politics debate Views: 60 In this article:final year, personal essay, university Related KCLSU & Societies KCLSU bars society partnerships with Enough as experts criticise self-swab kits In an email sent to student leaders on 12 October, KCLSU said that neither it nor ratified student groups may enter into new “partnerships... 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