Growing Up

Life Through the Lens of a Big Kid

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Why Taking Time For Yourself Is the Most Important Thing You Can Do All Week

I like to be busy. And if I had to be slightly masochistic right now, I really enjoy being busy. I like it when my brain is running wild with thoughts about school, work, and things that I personally enjoy. For example, for the last year I have been learning French, reading books on cognitive science, recently learning HTML, and blogging. And these are just the things I try and do in my spare time.

We all have things we love to spend time on. Whether it’s the profession that you pour yourself into seven days a week or your family that you are consistently investing yourself into. We love throwing ourselves into things. Or at least I do.

This weekend I was reminded of the importance of taking time for myself.

It’s now a month into my last semester of my undergraduate career and I my senior recital is all but 19 days away (dear Lord). I am currently working three small part time jobs to piece together a livable income while also trying to piece together some sort of social life. Things are stressful – as life is, and this past weekend I was drained. I had nothing left to give myself or anyone else. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to study French, I didn’t want to blog. I wanted nothing. And then when I did NOTHING I didn’t feel any better.

Church 1 "Escape"

On Wellington Street

There is something strange about the church here. Although it is possible to see the simple construction under the layers of new pieces, the white painted wood of the exterior framing the opulent, well crafted stained glass, the ancient bell framed by the fine, bronze roof. It is an absurd sight, mixing in a unbalanced manner the differing elements. Yet it is an embraced part of this community, and a place people have gone for generations for guidance. I have not been to a church service in a long time, but...at Lucia's insistence, I agreed to meet there. I did so in the hope I may find what others find.

I arrived soon after noon, a heavy fatigue causing me to sit on the steps for a few minutes before I could gather the energy to go inside. I didn't manage to get further sleep last night, leaving me feeling exhausted. But my heart has been running fast for days, and I doubt I could sleep even if I lay down. Walking inside, I found the interior showed little indication of the simple construction that I witnessed over half a year before. Much has been changed, the fine windows and marble floors paired with elegant pews and a new alter.

I found Lucia sitting in one of the back pews, and didn't seem to quite notice me till I sat down next to her. When she turned to look at me I could see the concern in her eyes. I suppose the conversation from the night before couldn't have been very encouraging. She gave me a hug, and I was thankful that the church was relatively empty that day. I didn't want to have to worry about anyone listening in, not while I am like this.

“I'm sorry about your parents.”

Instantly I felt the familiar lump in my throat, and I began to feel sick again. I felt a intense urge to leave, but I resisted. Not wanted to push away one of the few people I can trust here. I thanked her for the sentiment. I am not sure how loud I was, as I barely responded beyond a whisper. Regardless, she didn't ask me to repeat myself. She sighed to herself and looked around. I followed her eyes as they moved around the room, from the pillars to the windows, to the large crossbeams that criss-cross the roof.

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