Tenth Term at Oxford: Fleeting Present

Fleeting present Since last year, I’ve known that by my fourth year, I wouldn’t care much about Oxford anymore. History has shown me that in the final year of anything, I can’t help but obsess over the future, losing sight of the fleeting present—and inevitably regretting it later. It’s hard not to admire the pure, coffee-to-math machines among the first- and second-years. That admiration fades as…