I am chronically bad at answering my phone. It’s a bit of a joke at this point, my allergy to answering text messages, but if I’m being honest, I find myself overwhelmed by it most days. I spend most of my days running around like a lunatic, with hardly any time to breathe, much less look at the growing list of notifications pinging from my phone. Right now, I probably have at least fifty messages unopened. And I’m not even counting all my other notifications: if I counted up Instagram comments and TikTok DMs, there would definitely be over a hundred little red dots blinding me every time I open my phone.
It’s gotten to the point where texting my friends feels like another task on my never-ending to-dos, which kinda makes me want to scream. How can talking to my friends sit on a list between doing my laundry and filling out my grad school applications?
Being a college student is an overwhelming experience. I think everyone can relate to that. We all have so much to balance, that it makes even the smallest things feel completely so much larger than they actually are. But I think it’s more than just the college experience. Sometimes, it feels like the world itself is moving far too fast. Five conversations are happening all at once, just three clicks away from each other. Last month’s trends are already waiting for me in the thrift store bins. Beloved celebrities are thrown into the trash just as quickly as they rose to fame.
And it feels like we’re expected to be going just as fast: if my schedule isn’t filled to the brim with classes and meetings and parties, running from one thing to the next, to the point where if there’s a blank few hours it feels like I’m missing something. Everything changes so fast, that it feels like my own life is blurring in front of my eyes, running away from me, trying to keep pace with everything around me.
Two weeks ago, I woke up with the hint of the sun rising above the horizon. It was six a.m. on a Saturday morning, I had been out the night before, and my body was very unhappy that I was up as early as I was. I considered going back to bed, but instead, I grabbed a hoodie and my old sneakers, quickly ate breakfast, and stepped outside.
Earlier that week, I had felt so stressed that I forced myself to work on the quiet floor of the library, which is probably the closest thing to actual torture a yapper could do to herself. Sitting in the quiet under blinding lights, one thought kept circling in my mind: when was the last time I had actually gone outside? I had asked my friend that question when I saw her later that day and didn’t have an answer either.
This led me to that early morning, tying my shoelaces outside Schenely Park, my phone completely off in my pocket. We spent a few hours that morning hiking through the park, and I think it was the first time in weeks I felt like I was moving at the same speed as everything around me. It sounds so stereotypical to say so, but I actually felt at peace, listening to my friend and our footsteps and the breeze against my hair and the families walking past us and the little birds in the trees. I didn’t even think about everything else I had to do until long after I stepped back into my apartment.
It felt like, just for a moment, I had managed to pause the world.
And while that cannot be my every day, maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up late and not think about the stack of papers sitting on my desk. Maybe instead I’ll sit and lay in bed for a little longer and watch the sunlight pouring through my drapes. Maybe I’ll make myself a cup of tea and head down to the park near my apartment. Maybe I’ll sit in the grass and remember how to breathe.
And maybe, just maybe, I will open my phone back up and finally start making those red dots disappear.
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