Will University Degrees Make You Feel Enough?

“Formal education will make you a living; self-education will make you a fortune.” – Jim Rohn

The internet killed the gatekeepers of education, and it seems the data agree. According to a 2019 article in the Guardian, “Only 65% of under-16s think it is important to go to university, compared with 86% in 2013”. Anyone with WIFI can educate themselves these days. And it isn’t just a “social media” education either. Google Scholar is a mostly free resource for academics and laymen alike, depending on one’s understanding of statistics. We can all lose ourselves down rabbit holes and follow the rainbow of information for as long as we like! What a gift! So then, do university degrees still matter in 2023? Is there still a place for a formal education now that the floodgates have been burst open by the technological revolution? As always, the answer is . . . it depends.

I’m interested in the contemporary perceived value of a university degree because I find myself unable to fully come to terms with the answer myself. I don’t know whether university degrees still matter or not. I hate it when things “depend”. It annoys the hell out of me. Why can’t things just be binary? Why can’t things just be right or wrong!? My OCD would be so much happier.

What has always been true is that the value of a university degree, just like every other endeavour, is dependent upon one’s goals. Although the social value of a university degree might have been greater in the mid twentieth century, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been worth much to a young, ambitious rural farmer. A farmer might well have felt a sense of achievement upon graduation because the completion of a university degree is by no means a trivial matter; but in terms of whether his or her degree might have helped crops grow? We’ll leave that for the jury to decide.

One of the biggest struggles facing our modern world is what American psychologist Barry Schwartz coined The Paradox of Choice. In his 2004 book by the same name, the author states, “Learning to choose is hard. Learning to choose well is harder. And learning to choose well in a world of unlimited possibilities is harder still, perhaps too hard.” The choice of whether to study at a tertiary institution, become an entrepreneur, get a job, or head off travelling for a year paralyses the best of us—especially the young adults. Having just completed a tremendously difficult year of high school—possessed by raging hormones, enslaved by the rigor of the schooling system—one, no doubt, desires total freedom and liberation. And then they are told that they must decide what to do as soon as they finish high school because it will have a tremendous impact on the rest of their lives. A plethora of opportunities . . . but choose wisely or else suffer the consequences!

“Go for it! Take a gap year! But you know you’ll fall behind, don’t you?”

“That’s it, apply for university! But you know you’ll miss out on the opportunity to travel whilst you’re still young, whilst you still have time.”

So many choices, so many opportunities; it’s absolutely overwhelming.

I cannot help but empathise with our youth, and with everyone, for that matter, who finds themselves drowning in a vast sea of potentiality. I currently work as a Counsellor. It is a fantastic job. I love working primarily in the existential and relational spaces, working with both individuals and couples. Having completed a Bachelor of Business (Sports Management), majoring in Economics, I chose to go back to university to complete a Graduate Diploma of Psychological Science for additional education beyond my Diploma of Counselling. I could stop there. I have a great job, both as an employee and working for myself in private practice. I love the time away from studying—time spent writing, interviewing amazing people on my podcast and hanging out with my family. Yet, something bugs me. Nestled deep in my subconscious, I cannot seem to ignore a voice that tells me there is more to be gained by pursuing further study—perhaps a master’s degree in counselling or an Honours year and a PhD in Clinical Psychology. Where did this voice come from and why won’t it leave me alone?

I try to ignore this voice. I try to view it as a habitual, internalised insecurity, a “not enough-ness” spawn from a childhood incident. Still, it remains. After months of trying to ignore it, I finally cave in.

“What do you want? Can’t you see I have a wonderful job—a job that pays well too, might I add! What use could there be in further study?” The voice responds. It speaks of social validation and prestige; it speaks of a title that depicts expertise and intelligence. It beckons me to consider what standing upon the top of a hierarchy might be like, even for a minute. My ego desires being desired.

No, no, no. What sort of Counsellor would I be if I chose not to follow the very advice I implore my clients to, advice that seeks internal, as opposed to external validation. Who cares what others think. What matters is how we feel about ourselves when we’re alone, when our head hits the pillow at night and everything’s quiet. We all know that comparison is the thief of joy. We all know not to care about the Joneses. We know that chasing external validation will only lead us to pain and suffering. Just as Barry Schwartz says, “The secret to happiness is low expectations.” I shut this awful personal reflection exercise down and go grab a coffee.

Months roll by like days. The voice is all but forgotten. I’ve been able to disregard it, to rationalise it away. Yes, I think. It really was just the latent voice of insufficiency compelling me to find my “enough-ness” in accolades and social perception. I hated the clinical model of psychology by the end of my degree. Journal entry after journal entry pointed to the pain and resentment of viewing clients as numbers on a screen:

“I am forcing myself to try and enjoy stats, but I don’t. I enjoy writing and comprehending great literature and ideas. I love conversation and the “art” of therapy, not as something expedient, not as a means to an end. I am interested in who an individual becomes as a result of therapy—the process and the experience of therapy. It isn’t fair to be putting myself through all this merely for prestige. It feels so wonderfully wonderful to have all the time in the world dedicated to reading, writing and furthering my competency in process-centred therapy. I don’t think I want to study the mind as much as I want to meet other minds. Ah, the clinical, scientist-practitioner model bores me!”

For a long time, my pride got in the way of making the right decisions. I desperately wanted to be able to introduce myself as a “psycho . . .” something! It didn’t matter what succeeded it: ‘ologist’, therapist, analyst—even path! For my pride, anything was better than Life Coach or Counsellor. It didn’t matter either, the fact that I’d studied for many years and obtained registration. Nothing outside of myself would have made it go away. Much of this was depicted in a memorable dream:

I am sitting on my bed in the front room of the house with mum and sister. We are having a great time: Laughing and chatting like we all used to when my sister and I were young. Suddenly, the L.A. tour bus turns right onto the driveway leading up to the house. I remember this bus. We were on it when my family toured around L.A., passing all the famous houses in Beverly Hills and the shops on Rodeo Drive. I remember the driver too—a charismatic and assertive foreigner who wasn’t afraid to give it back to the locals!

I am now in a rush. How could I have been so stupid, so forgetful? We were headed to L.A. that night and our driver was outside waiting. I fall out of bed, rushing into the bathroom to brush my teeth hurriedly before stuffing clothes into an old, warn out bag. As I clamber back into the bedroom (the front room), I notice that both my mum and sister are neatly packing clothes into a suitcase like two senile women debating last night’s Bingo results. I cannot believe what I am seeing. Aren’t we in a rush? How long will the bus driver wait?

As soon, as I woke up, I knew what it meant. I journaled that morning:

I really don’t feel like I’m enough. I’m always in a rush, never present. I’m always in the process of trying desperately to get to a better place. There are so many roses along the path. Seldom do I pause to appreciate their colours and smells. I know I should, but I justify my behaviour to myself. The sense of inadequacy is so subtle, so cunning. I feel it in my belly. It disguises itself as a sense of agency. It deceives me. It makes me feel in control, even though I’m in the backseat of the car. Is a slave a slave if he does not know he is a slave?

Why must I prove my sufficiency as a therapist by studying yet another degree when I already have the job the degree might liken my chances of getting? Why is the term “Psychologist” better than “Counsellor”? The purpose of a degree is to help you get a job. I already have the job the degree would help me get; and at the end of the day, I am vastly more interested in university because of its reading and writing requirements!

Universities help students broaden their minds and expose them—hopefully—to alternate and contentious ideas. Degrees only last a few years. Being a student of life lasts forever. Resting upon one’s achievements, posturing moral superiority proportional to the letters that postface an email signature is anything but the sort. I say that, and I believe it. Yet I hear the voice in my head, and it is loud. He wants the title and the accolades. He wants proof that I am enough, externally, because he feels inferior. The little ego man is using the outside world to regulate his internal quarrels and conundrums.

Rather, than going back to university to study, why not reside in the discomfort of not being enough to find out what it wants and where it came from? Then and only then, when it is no longer loud and mediated by behaviour, will my “not being enough” be understood.

Ultimately, in times of doubt and uncertainty, remind yourself that the purpose of a degree is to help you get a job. Its purpose is not to make you feel enough. If you are studying because you need a degree to work the job you want, aim high and study hard. If you are studying because you don’t feel enough, strongly re-consider your degree. Nothing outside of yourself will make you feel whole when the problem lies within you. As Peter Crone, the Mind Architect, states, “Wellness is a by-product of dropping your resistance to what is.” In other words, suffering ensues when we try to wriggle out of accepting the truth.

I was a content creator prior to becoming a Counsellor. What started out as hosting a podcast quickly grew to making YouTube videos about my own past struggles with mental ill-health. Before long, my videos evolved into offering advice. It was at about this time when a psychologist got into contact with me to offer advice.

He called me over the phone. I sensed apprehension and foreboding. His tone was cold, an omen of grave portent! Without going into the details, the next fifteen minutes of my life were a blur. What I got from it was, “Know your place.” This was not his intention. He wanted to protect me from working outside the confines of my merit. I’m at peace with the conversation now, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t leave its mark. What I took from it was, “I’m not good enough, not smart enough and I should live my life according to that.” Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I can see now that the word “psychologist”, for me, subconsciously, meant being good enough.

I am learning, slowly, that no amount of doing will heal the limiting belief taken from that phone call. I am learning that I should want to be a Clinical Psychologist not because I need to prove myself to someone who never intended to make me feel unworthy, but because I see it as a worthwhile, meaningful and authentic pursuit. That we feel obliged to do things to validate our worth to others is unnecessarily cruel and sacrificial. We each have our own conceptualisation of our own ideal (a twelve-year-old client once spoke about wanting to become a politician!) and it is that alone—our own vision—that we should use to measure and define success.

My dream showed me what being rushed—a seemingly intangible feeling—looked like when played out. When you rush to get all the “doing” done, you’ll never have time to for the things that truly matter—the moments those approaching the end of their lives cherish and wish they could go back to. Why not learn from those who’ve since passed? Why not bask in the moments that matter, as opposed to convincing ourselves that only upon the completion of this next task will we find our salvation. Being and doing can be friends. We can feel enough as we do enough—as we do what is necessary to live the lives we want. Feeling enough shouldn’t depend upon the amount that we do—at least not entirely. Whilst it is important to contribute and to feel that we are using our time well, the source of the sickness of the modern era lies not in doing too little but in doing too much. I don’t think it is possible to meditate and “empty your mind” when our expectations are telling us that we are days behind in our chores and years behind in our career and family goals. Since self-acceptance is influenced by expectation, we need to carefully navigate the line between expecting too much and too little of ourselves. We need to find the right balance. At the end of the day, anxiety comes from not making a decision, not from making the wrong decision.

So, will university degrees make us feel enough? The answer is abundantly clear: no. What makes us feel enough is self-acceptance and I believe self-acceptance comes from our ability to “flow” through life. It has become clearer to me that the happiest people aren’t those who have, know or achieve the most, but those who flow the most. And the only way to flow in life is to do things for the joy of doing them, not what one perceives will occur as a result of doing them. For me, I like to write because the act itself is fulfilling, not necessarily—if at all—because I want to hold a book written by me in my hands. We can use this idea of flow to, in the final analysis, come back to whether pursuing further studies at university will make us feel enough. Again, if the course itself is interesting, that “enough-ness” will ensue throughout. If the course is undertaken as a means to an end—if it is expedient in any way—then one will no doubt resent dragging their legs through the never-ending, unfulfilling muddy swamps of groundhog day. Ultimately, doing what makes us happy, today, not what we think we will feel tomorrow as a result of doing something we hate yet believe (from conditioning, childhood trauma, perceived expectation or a desire for external validation) is necessary, is the way to find—and sustain—happiness and contentment.