It's my last day of summer. The very last.
For the past seven years, I have spent the summer months in a somewhat lazy, carefree, responsibility-lite kind of haze. Until the summer after my first year of grad school, I didn't even go to work when school was out. Summers were about watching too much TV, raiding the library, fooling around on guitar, writing fiction, poetry or music, and spending some time with the family that I'd leave 2,000 or so miles behind come late August. Even in my seminary off-season, I found myself with an abundance of free time in spite of my two part-time jobs, church ministry involvement, and an online course. Today is the last day of what I will affectionately remember as summer - I had no responsibilities except those which I volunteered to undertake. I wasn't scheduled for work, my class had ended, and even the ugly "adult" bits of life (like paying bills or washing my car) kept their soul-sucking fingers off me for a day. If I'd wanted, I could have stayed in pajamas, watched movies, and added to my newest foray into authorship all day long and without guilt. Because of that glorious word summer.
In the beginning of May, I lamented that my online class would last throughout the summer months until two weeks before the fall semester began. It was the end of an era of justifiable boredom and circumstantially acceptable malaise - the end of selfish isolation or trivial pursuits of whim and fancy. Indeed, my once sacrosanct "summer" was now doubly invaded by both my job and my schooling. Cue the melodrama.
As it turned out, I was quite glad to have my course last all four months, since it gave me something to do and enabled me to study a topic that interested me (the theology of suffering and disability). I realized very early on in my pursuit of higher education that I get a little moody and frustrated when I'm insufficiently busy. I loved college for many reasons, but one was that I was constantly doing things that either stimulated me intellectually (classes) or utilized my talents and skills (extracurricular involvement). I had down time, but it was in appropriate and acceptable doses. Summers lacked that optimization of ability, interest and time, skewing the equation disproportionately toward the latter. This past summer, with my class, job, international travel, and wedding planning, I maintained a better balance. Even still, I had time to binge entire TV seasons (and sometimes entire shows) on Netflix and become an expert on wedding dress lingo overnight. (No soft white sateen trumpet-style or blush strapless princess gowns for me, thanks!) I became aware that, given obnoxious amounts of free time, I will do practically nothing with it.
Not that there's anything inherently wrong with enjoying the time you have to lounge about. In my case, though, I was given a gift that I ended up keeping to myself.
I had wanted to volunteer at a retirement home down the street. I didn't. I wanted to hang out with my graduating high school seniors, but I didn't - not as much as I could have, at any rate. I suppose hindsight is 20/20, but there's also something to be said about the gentle croon of indolence and the insidious nature of Netflix's autoplay feature. ("Next episode begins in 15...14...13...seconds.") Excessive free time, to me, is a siren that sings introverted lullabies and convinces me that work of any kind is anathema.
This was my last day of summer. I spent it doing work.
Not much, but I was able to help with some administrative stuff for my church. I helped out a friend. I dealt with my vehicle registration and fiddled with my resume. The realization that this was likely the last time I would have a day without a real-person job or school work led to a surprising mix of emotions. I expected to want to spend the day doing typical me-stuff. I was very grateful for the calm, casual day, but in the end, I wanted summer to be over so that I could put this in-between stage of development behind me and begin a real adult life with all the real-person perks and challenges.
People say college isn't the real world, and I agree. Unfortunately, grad school isn't, either. It's Real World Adjacent. There are more responsibilities than in college, but there are also restricted freedoms - be they financial, academic (in a narrowed field of study) or even psycho-emotional. Burdens of real life creep in, adding pressure on top of school duties. Only this time, parents are far less prominent in the picture. There's a protective bubble about college kids that gets popped sometime after university graduation and before grad school matriculation. So for me, I had to watch while many of my friends began careers, got married, and truly achieved independence while my life was still dictated by class schedules, part-time jobs, and other grad school minutiae.
For a while, I was terrified of becoming an adult and having to take daily life like a metaphorical man. I hid in the Neverland that was grad school and hoped that crocodiles of insurance claims, student loan repayments and job searching would leave me alone for a while. But it's been almost three years and I'm a fighter, not a coward. It's time I saluted Peter Pan, left Neverland, and grew up.
Today was my last day of summer. The very last. And I'm honestly glad. Tomorrow, I go to work, I pursue a career, and I start to say goodbye to a childhood that has lasted just a smidge too long.
Because there's nothing bad about work. God gave Adam and Eve work to do even in the Garden, before the fall. Work is good. Work contributes to society and glorifies God. There's a humility in "important" work and a dignity in "honest" work. I suppose my next lesson is to be content with both.
Katya
For the past seven years, I have spent the summer months in a somewhat lazy, carefree, responsibility-lite kind of haze. Until the summer after my first year of grad school, I didn't even go to work when school was out. Summers were about watching too much TV, raiding the library, fooling around on guitar, writing fiction, poetry or music, and spending some time with the family that I'd leave 2,000 or so miles behind come late August. Even in my seminary off-season, I found myself with an abundance of free time in spite of my two part-time jobs, church ministry involvement, and an online course. Today is the last day of what I will affectionately remember as summer - I had no responsibilities except those which I volunteered to undertake. I wasn't scheduled for work, my class had ended, and even the ugly "adult" bits of life (like paying bills or washing my car) kept their soul-sucking fingers off me for a day. If I'd wanted, I could have stayed in pajamas, watched movies, and added to my newest foray into authorship all day long and without guilt. Because of that glorious word summer.
In the beginning of May, I lamented that my online class would last throughout the summer months until two weeks before the fall semester began. It was the end of an era of justifiable boredom and circumstantially acceptable malaise - the end of selfish isolation or trivial pursuits of whim and fancy. Indeed, my once sacrosanct "summer" was now doubly invaded by both my job and my schooling. Cue the melodrama.
As it turned out, I was quite glad to have my course last all four months, since it gave me something to do and enabled me to study a topic that interested me (the theology of suffering and disability). I realized very early on in my pursuit of higher education that I get a little moody and frustrated when I'm insufficiently busy. I loved college for many reasons, but one was that I was constantly doing things that either stimulated me intellectually (classes) or utilized my talents and skills (extracurricular involvement). I had down time, but it was in appropriate and acceptable doses. Summers lacked that optimization of ability, interest and time, skewing the equation disproportionately toward the latter. This past summer, with my class, job, international travel, and wedding planning, I maintained a better balance. Even still, I had time to binge entire TV seasons (and sometimes entire shows) on Netflix and become an expert on wedding dress lingo overnight. (No soft white sateen trumpet-style or blush strapless princess gowns for me, thanks!) I became aware that, given obnoxious amounts of free time, I will do practically nothing with it.
Not that there's anything inherently wrong with enjoying the time you have to lounge about. In my case, though, I was given a gift that I ended up keeping to myself.
I had wanted to volunteer at a retirement home down the street. I didn't. I wanted to hang out with my graduating high school seniors, but I didn't - not as much as I could have, at any rate. I suppose hindsight is 20/20, but there's also something to be said about the gentle croon of indolence and the insidious nature of Netflix's autoplay feature. ("Next episode begins in 15...14...13...seconds.") Excessive free time, to me, is a siren that sings introverted lullabies and convinces me that work of any kind is anathema.
This was my last day of summer. I spent it doing work.
Not much, but I was able to help with some administrative stuff for my church. I helped out a friend. I dealt with my vehicle registration and fiddled with my resume. The realization that this was likely the last time I would have a day without a real-person job or school work led to a surprising mix of emotions. I expected to want to spend the day doing typical me-stuff. I was very grateful for the calm, casual day, but in the end, I wanted summer to be over so that I could put this in-between stage of development behind me and begin a real adult life with all the real-person perks and challenges.
People say college isn't the real world, and I agree. Unfortunately, grad school isn't, either. It's Real World Adjacent. There are more responsibilities than in college, but there are also restricted freedoms - be they financial, academic (in a narrowed field of study) or even psycho-emotional. Burdens of real life creep in, adding pressure on top of school duties. Only this time, parents are far less prominent in the picture. There's a protective bubble about college kids that gets popped sometime after university graduation and before grad school matriculation. So for me, I had to watch while many of my friends began careers, got married, and truly achieved independence while my life was still dictated by class schedules, part-time jobs, and other grad school minutiae.
For a while, I was terrified of becoming an adult and having to take daily life like a metaphorical man. I hid in the Neverland that was grad school and hoped that crocodiles of insurance claims, student loan repayments and job searching would leave me alone for a while. But it's been almost three years and I'm a fighter, not a coward. It's time I saluted Peter Pan, left Neverland, and grew up.
Today was my last day of summer. The very last. And I'm honestly glad. Tomorrow, I go to work, I pursue a career, and I start to say goodbye to a childhood that has lasted just a smidge too long.
Because there's nothing bad about work. God gave Adam and Eve work to do even in the Garden, before the fall. Work is good. Work contributes to society and glorifies God. There's a humility in "important" work and a dignity in "honest" work. I suppose my next lesson is to be content with both.
Katya
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