Architect.
You had dreams of designing sprawling eco-mansions in the Swedish countryside with elliptical staircases and floor-to-ceiling triple glazing; or skyscrapers in Taiwan with 30-storey hanging garden atriums and a revolving mindfulness-floor above the penthouse. Instead you spent 6 years trying to schlep crappy foam models of bike sheds to campus without them disintegrating, realised you hate working with CAD, and now you're designing your 14th lift-shaft for the week and trying in vain to get into the manager's inner-circle so they'll let you work on a floorplan for a nursing home.
Lawyer.
Hope you like treasure-hunting for clauses and statute amendments, because if you're one of the 12 people in your cohort that actually land a job straight out of uni you will be looking back at those all-night study sessions longingly while you punch out 60-hour weeks collating case-law for your borderline-personality-disorder supervisor. The good news is after 5 years you'll be eligible for promotion and your first pay-rise, so you can afford the coke you'll need to get through the purgatory that is middle-career litigation. The bad news is the plumber who lives down the street is still making more money than you and gets to knock-off at 3pm on Fridays and charges double on the weekend.
Graphic Designer.
No-one will give a shit about your portfolio full of half-baked anime characters. Two years after graduating you'll have become a 5-star seller on Fiverr helping retirees create websites with Wix for their tarot-reading business. Every so often you'll get work designing a logo for a guy you met at a wedding who drunkenly told you about his potential business idea. Every 3 years you can afford to go back to Japan and pretend to be doing research and networking while you sit in the cafe and draw the same Waifu you've been drawing for decades.
Pilot.
If this was even a remote possibility for you, it means your parents were loaded and could afford to put you through 300+ hours of flying school. The resulting burden of expectation and reward will crush and filter-out all of the beta nerds who wanted to do it for the science rather than for the lifestyle and craft. Those who make it through will be in a pool of roughly 500 insufferable jocks vying for roughly 10 jobs scattered across the country, which you will be grateful for if even the most remote backwater posting is offered to you. Thereafter begins the permanent cuckholdry of copiloting to a 60 year old ex-military stick-in-the-mud who interprets your every query as undermining his authority and experience and brags about how many flight attendants he used to bang in the 80s "when faggots like you were smoking pot behind the arts building". After 5 years of talking about the weather and altitude over a crackly radio that the entire passenger-base resents for interrupting their movie, you'll realise you can make the same money and work less hours flying drones on a mine site in Australia.