Christie Cary 

Ah, summer.  

The natural break from everything when you’re in school. From kindergarten through college, we’re told that we just have to make it until that magical date on the calendar. You know the one: it stares at us like a neon sign, blinking unwaveringly in our hopeful faces, as we count down the months, weeks, and then days until we can relax and melt as one into our respective couches or computer chairs. Even as I sit here in semi-loaf mode on my couch, writing this, my mind is doing background mathematical calculations on how much time I have to spend on readings, weekly assignments, and final projects before I can exhale and enjoy my well-deserved time in the sun. So, tell me why all I can think of doing this summer is…sleeping? All I want to do is crawl into my bed, which has offered me a position of permanent residence, I might add, and not wake up, since honestly, enacting an imitation of Rip Van Winkle feels like a much better use of my limited time over the summer. 

Summers used to symbolize days of lying in bed until I needed sustenance to continue that pesky “keep myself alive” thing that interrupted my peaceful bliss. Or early morning trips to the beach spent lying in the sun until my skin was toasty (and possibly slightly crispy), taking dips in the icy ocean to cool off until the sun set and bonfires were built as the inky night descended and the sand turned cold. Or just driving around, listening to whatever song happened to be on the radio with the wind whipping our hair into our mouths as we tried to sing off key at some ungodly decibel that probably frightened small children and dogs. There was a definite feeling of going somewhere with no real place to be. And back then, summer didn’t feel like something I had to recover from. It just felt like living. Those were the days to look forward to. Now? I’m just tired.  

This burnout is real. It’s not just the workload. It’s the constant mental tab that never quite closes. The list of things that still need to be done, even when you’re technically “done” for the day. The way rest starts to feel like something you have to earn instead of something you’re allowed to simply have. Somewhere along the way, the finish line stopped feeling like relief and started feeling like another deadline to survive.  

I know I’ll come back in the fall and be ready to sit at attention in a class full of people whom I may or may not recognize, do the required readings that I may secretly love (don’t tell anyone), and participate in lively discussions and debates with my professor and fellow peers, like a good student. But, right now, in this moment? I’m exhausted. And even the draw of summer isn’t helping that exhaustion fade. The neon sign? Yeah…it’s not that bright. It’s kind of flickering off and on and has a low humming sound emanating from it that reads as, “I feel you, dude. I feel you.”  

Maybe that’s the part no one really talks about. That sometimes the break doesn’t feel like a break right away. Sometimes it takes a little time to remember what it feels like to not be constantly moving, constantly thinking, constantly doing. So, this summer, I will remember. Remember the late mornings, sunburned afternoons, music too loud, windows down, chewing on my own hair, with nowhere to be. I’ll remember to breathe. To just be. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.