by Zoe Mott
Growing up, I was always told that the “world was my oyster”. And it was a good thing. Endless possibilities; I could do anything! I was only really limited by the bounds of my imagination, and my young mind knew no limitations. But as the years surpassed me, this notion of the “world being my oyster” has somehow morphed from a blessing to a burden. The fire that used to burn within me has cooled to a lump of coal that lives in my chest; the plethora of choices horrifies, rather than excites me.
Of course, this feeling is one shared by many people in my own circumstances. My friends and I talk frequently about Sylvia Plath’s Fig Tree analogy, and how we, all in our early twenties, could possibly know what the right path could be. It’s a shared sense of existentialism that brings us together, and it’s comforting to know that we all grapple with the same anxiety. But it does not escape me what a privilege it is to have this existential crisis. In fact, it weighs heavily on my mind.
When I think about my future, I can see a million versions of myself; a variety of careers in a myriad of different places, with new characters,hobbies and styles. A multitude of lives exist within me, and whilst this is fundamentally overwhelming, it is also a phenomenon that not everyone is afforded. I spend so much of my time debating which path to follow; should I heed my creative passions or stick to the safety and sensibility of law? It’s a debate I can never seem to settle.Whilst I can hear the voices of my parents and close friends urging me to ‘follow my heart and chase my dreams’ I’m plagued by a sense of responsibility to use my privilege and my education for something practical and meaningful.
It is impossible to ignore the state of the world; countries torn apart by war, our planet’s temperature increasing at an alarming rate, and even just the disparity of rights and equality within our own nation is being projected across all forms of media. Not everyone can help and, certainly, not everyone is willing to. I’m confronted daily by the ignorance and level of delusion we convolute ourselves with; it’s an epidemic of apathy. But I am a young woman, studying law and creative industries, getting a grasp on the world and forming opinions and perspectives and the skills to voice them. That positions me in a place to make change and to advocate for those less privileged than myself. And whilst I don’t know the specifics of what that would entail, I feel an obligation to pursue it.
And it’s not that a career in advocating for the underprivileged or for policy change would be unfulfilling, in fact, I’m sure the opposite is true; it’s just that I feel that I would be more fulfilled in a career that centralises around art making and creative practice. So, I suppose the real question I grapple with is: where do I draw the line between following my heart and doing ‘my bit’? And,does my privilege mean that I have a moral obligation to contribute to society to drive change?
Despite how it troubles me, I think worrying about the state of the world is imperative. We must care; it’s what underpins our humanity. Our sense of community (though admittedly dwindling) and our empathy is what defines us as human. So, in a climate that feels increasingly afflicted with nonchalance, caring can be difficult.But to succumb to apathy is denying ourselves the depth of the human experience. And if indeed, we do only live once, then should we not intend to dive as deep as possible into our experience on this planet?
It is exceedingly important for those of us who are privileged (roof over our head, food on the table, basic education), to at least have an awareness of our status in the world. Because, why us? We have done nothing to earn our place, most of us are here merely as birthright. Chance is the only thing separating us from those who were born in developing countries, or to families who are impoverished or marginalised. Why should we get to follow our dreams and devour the platter of opportunities that seemingly fell at our feet, when billions of others must live in suffering? Who’s to say that there’s not someone out there more talented and hardworking than you, who simply does not have the same opportunities? We have a whole fig tree to pick from, and their tree is nothing but bone-dry branches.
I’m not suggesting we forego these opportunities and dreams in an act of martyrdom; that would only drive self-inflicted unhappiness. Instead, I think we owe it to ourselves, and perhaps the world, to follow our passions with everything we’ve got. But it must be done with awareness; the knowledge that you are lucky. You may have worked incredibly hard, you may have endured sleepless nights and bathroom tears (I know I have), and far worse to get where you are, but you are still lucky.
So, like everything, I think it’s a balance. If we don’t strive to follow our dreams, then who will? But simultaneously, if we don’t make a change, then who will? We must combine our individualism with the severe demand for community and social change. Pick a few of the metaphorical figs and make jam. Amalgamate our desires and deepest passions into a sweet nectar that can be shared around; spread on the crust of the earth. And yes, maybe making jam is harder than picking a fig or two, but isn’t it just so much more delicious? There’s enough to go around if we care enough to share it.
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Zoe Mott is a Brisbane-based, double-degree student in Law and Creative Industries (Drama) at QUT. She has experience across theatre and creative projects. with a focus on storytelling. Alongside her studies, Zoe has written an original work, supported productions in both Australia and the UK, and is passionate about the ways art and law intersect in shaping culture.
This piece was submitted for the 2025 Annual Edition of Glass.
