This topic is so mundane, I don’t even know why I’m compelled to write a post about it.
Part of me thinks this is something to blog about because it is the current state that I’m feeling. When we write about the experiences we feel at the moment, our words are more real, our descriptions more alive, the theme of our stories penetrate deeper. As the cognizant person that I am, I recognize the very moment when I’m filled with emotions, both the lows, the highs, and the neutral states. A lot of times, the two extremes are what is talked about, not the in between.
Which is why I precisely want to capture the in between.
The in-between, the mundane, the logistics of life, the minutiae– these are the things that remain unnoticed, the backdrop that takes us from one major life event to another. We talk about the business of our lives to rant and to rave, as a form of social currency or as a way to de-stress. We rarely ponder the weight of our busy schedules, physically, mentally and emotionally, and give it even less attention that it deserves in writing.
Today, a coworker who started to take night classes asked me, “How do you do it, go to class twice a week? I’m already dead after work.”
I replied, I just have to do it. I’m used to it.
This is true. I realize my mind is still processing non-stop from morning to late night, even on days when I don’t have class. I’ve gotten used to the fact that my brain has to function hours past work hours.
Honestly, I want to claim back my time. I want to take walks without thinking about the homework I have to do, or feel guilty for every minute I’m not spending reading a required textbook. I hop on the bus, pull out my book, pack it back when I hop off, go to work, go to class, open my laptop and take notes, then take the bus home but stop by Starbucks first to finish up some more readings. This is my life. It sounds complicated and exhausting, but this is actually the simplest depiction of it, reduced to the basics.
I now understand the irony of being so tired but having your mind continue being alert. It’s the worst combination.
I walk down the streets of Chicago with my backpack that contains laptops, books, journals and sometimes gym clothes. I walk block after block, organizing myself enough to finish important school work or work to take home, lifting my bag, readjusting the weight of my work and the requirements of life contained in the small backpack.
Then, I whisper to myself, sometimes once, sometimes multiple times, “Hard work will pay off. There will be a place in this world for my dreams.”