The Centerfold — Why Did We Never Learn to Pause?

“Sorry, I’m just stressed.”

“Sorry, I have a lot on my plate right now.”

“Sorry.”

Having just wrapped up my senior year of college, apologies were what I hid behind in the last few weeks before my BFA thesis was due. In part because it was true. I was tired, overworked, and more than ready for the homestretch of finals week to stop stretching. The exhaustion left me feeling incompetent, and yet I more so felt incompetent for being exhausted in the first place.

And then, on the other hand, I think I subconsciously found a strange sense of accomplishment in the burn out. It felt like I’d pulled myself past some sort of milepost with whatever I had left in me. But also like I had an imaginary sign around my neck that said: See those bags under her eyes? Those eyebags are because she kept working while the rest of the world slept. Those eyebags mean she’s going places.

I don’t mean to discredit myself. I worked hard. College is hard. In fact, in the few weeks it’s been since graduation, I’ve taken a minute to rest and recollect — something I haven’t carved out the space for in an inordinate amount of time.

And so, this morning, when I went to my annual check-up and my doctor was going down her list of generalized questions about my life as of late, graduation came up.

“How exciting!” she said. “What are you doing now?”

I choked in trying to answer. I didn’t know what to say. Was it even a viable response to say, “nothing”? To say, “taking a break”? To say, “I have no idea”?

All of a sudden, I felt like I was in last place.

But in this period of nothingness, I’ve had lots of time to think about who I want to be next. Call it an identity crisis, or maybe I’m just growing. I’m not yet sure. I will admit, however, that this train of thought began somewhat self-depreciatively. How much of a narcissist was I for essentially flaunting how strung-out I was from stress? My first answer: the biggest in the world. But then I turned the focus away from myself.

We’re taught that there is a top and all you have to do is pull yourself toward it to get there. From kindergarten to college, grade by grade by grade, we’re told that by keeping one foot in front of the other, the end is promised. But only on one condition. Only if you don’t stop moving. So, we push, and we climb, and we spread ourselves thin just carry those bags under our eyes to prove to everyone around us how badly we want it. Seldom do we ever take even a second to look the other way and see how far we’ve come. To enjoy where you already are — way up there.

Like I said, I’m still deciding who I want to be next. But what I do know is that it’s not someone who glorifies stress, or in other words, not who I was both three weeks ago and for the past four years. I want to be bound to the centerfold; to be able to look back and forth and yet still grounded in the medial pause of the present.

For now, after doing everything for so long, nothing feels as good as doing nothing.