We all have our trying times, the periods that test our endurance, our resilience, our sanity. For me, last week was a tough one. Sleep was an alien concept, and by Tuesday the days were smearing together like pencil graphite under a perspiring palm.
Between various exams to pass, assignments to complete, books to read, meetings to conduct, a story to report, a career fair to attend and a newspaper section to run, I was busy ricocheting pinball-style across campus. And those are only the things I remember doing.
So here I am, sitting in a recliner with weekend mode fully activated, and I have to say in retrospect: I don't regret a bit of it. Sure, I probably still have circles under my eyes, and maybe I've begun lobbying my congressman about canceling Monday, but I can look back and reflect that the last week of my life did not go to waste.
Perhaps I am not unique in enjoying the feeling of collapsing into bed after an honest day of hard work, every muscle aching and every synapse fried. The best days, I find, are the ones when the things that wear me out are the things that matter most to me.
When it's a banal homework assignment or a meaningless pursuit keeping me up all night, it's not the same. But what makes last week so beautiful in hindsight is that I was wrapped up in intrinsically satisfying tasks.
I was captivated by the book I had to read for class. I ripped my Logic test a new one. I was exhilarated to go out with my reporter's notebook and jot down the news. I was proud of my writers in The Mix. All things considered, I've got no right to complain.
That's the beauty of this college thing: All the jittery nerves, all the all-nighters, all the tough circumstances are self-inflicted.
Sure as a lamp with a tungsten filament, each one of us will burn out from time to time. But in those times, we have to remind ourselves why we're here. Sure, there are hectic times ahead, but who ever said that chasing our dreams would be easy?
Take a good look at my mug shot on this page. Make a mental note of that face, and if you catch me wallowing in self-pity about my education or career, I hereby grant you permission, gentle reader, to slap me around until I suck it up.
Legendary distance runner Steve Prefontaine once said, with characteristic panache and bravado, "The best pace is a suicide pace, and today is a good day to die."
I would say that I ran a suicide pace for the entirety of last week. Just as in running, it would be an unhealthy choice to sustain that pace constantly. But when the need arises, I will always be ready to lace up my racing shoes and take off at a sprint.