At this year’s Freshers’ Fair, I signed up for tennis and touch rugby with the unmistakable arrogance of someone who has never experienced the workload of Oxford University. We’re one term in, and both my racket and rugby boots are sitting gathering dust, while I wrestle with Lev Vygotsky in the upper reading room of the Bodleian.

But this isn’t really about my sub-par time management, or even the University’s masochistic deadline scheduling. It’s about the “point” of university — what are we actually doing here, and is it even necessary to involve ourselves with societies?

The truth is that societies, believe it or not, serve a purpose beyond bulking out your LinkedIn profile and Instagram feed. For many, including myself, arriving in Oxford brought with it a unique kind of identity crisis. I have spent years where so much of my personality has been defined by my academic work. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by people who are also “clever”, and my defining characteristic has been stripped of any significance. This is where societies can act as havens from this crisis, and laboratories for discovering who we are beyond our A-levels. You don’t need me to tell you that the range of opportunities available to us is staggering. They range from the obvious, such as drama, rowing, and debating, to the impossibly niche, like the Quidditch Society. Students can even uncover passions for Scottish dance, medieval manuscripts, and underwater exploration (yes, really), revealing parts of themselves that UCAS certainly never knew existed.

There’s a catch: without a firm hold on your actual degree, this exploration (underwater or not) becomes a useless exercise. Staying on top of academic work remains the anchor. Our lectures, essays, and tutorials aren’t just obstacles we need to “get out of the way” between crochet society pub crawls — they’re our entire working weeks, the primary reason we’re here, and the foundation that gives meaning to everything else.

I am watching friends become so swamped by their extracurricular commitments that they are unable to keep up with readings and are beginning to resent their courses and fall out of love with their subjects. In trying to maximise their Oxford experience, they’re missing out on one. Without genuine enjoyment of our work and ongoing curiosity around it, everything else unravels.

So, what is the point of being here? Are we here to collect experiences and form strong friendships, or to push ourselves intellectually? The answer is, of course, that these things are not mutually exclusive, and we are here to do both. Although a hideously boring thing to say, the key is finding the balance. Yes, explore. Yes, experience new things (safely) and discover things about yourself (definitely safely). But don’t let this exploration be driven by the fear of missing out, eclipsing one of the fundamental reasons you’re here. The most authentic Oxford experience, for me, isn’t about joining eighteen societies. It’s about making use of this extraordinary opportunity — academic, social, and personal — with intention, rather than anxiety.