Making space for slowness

It’s the easiest small talk to resort to on campus: how much work do you have, how much sleep are you getting, how stressed are you? Before lunch, you’ve had at least half a dozen conversations about how much work everyone has, and because of this repetition and constant comparison, you probably start to identify as an overachiever, someone who bites off just enough to chew. After all, everyone else is doing it.

And then, on the edge of burnout, when we’re ready to accept that it’s time for a break, we feel this twinge in our guts that tells us whatever we’re doing must still in some way be productive, impressive or aesthetic. Before, I’ve found it easy to believe that this is just what a high-performance culture entails. Maybe there is no other way to surround yourself with highly motivated individuals while receiving some of the best education and experiences that the world has to offer. 

It took leaving Midd for me to discover that this isn’t true.

I took this fall semester off, spending time organizing in anticipation of the presidential election. I had thought taking a semester off would be a surefire way of burning out; previously, when I engaged in organizing work during the academic year and on breaks, I had loved it but it also exhausted me.

But this time, things have been different. I no longer had those panicky conversations about being overwhelmed that make my cortisol levels skyrocket, I didn’t drink four cups of coffee a day anymore, and I didn’t go out on Saturday nights anymore just because I felt like I was supposed to. This time last year, I was at rock-bottom — anxious, depressed, stuck. Now, every day is a gift. Days just flow in and out of each other, and I can breathe.

Here in my family’s little bubble in the Philadelphia suburbs, all four of us have found a slowness we haven’t before. We don’t set alarms but instead get to work when we feel well-rested. We cancel meetings and commitments when we’re sick — mentally or physically. We snatch snippets and hours of time from each other throughout the day for planning, cuddling with our puppy or taking time to be present with each other. I even have time to explore sustainable living, classic and modern literature, and creative writing.

This doesn’t mean that we aren’t “productive.” My mother is healing herself from a spinal surgery that leaves her with chronic pain two years later. My dad is figuring out how to distribute pediatric vaccines all over the world. My trans sister works at a rock climbing gym and is taking the year to find herself during her transition. And I was working with Sunrise activists in Vermont and Pennsylvania to win the 2020 election; preserve its integrity; and fight for climate, racial, and social justice.