It still feels foreign to me to not have homework. When I come home from work, I have projects, and chores, and errands, but no homework. Nothing due, aside from due dates I place on myself. Admittedly, the number of said due dates seems to be climbing, as we approach the launch of my travel magazine, and I have a piece due for Libertine, and a pitch for Atlas Obscura, writing for Medium, marketing for Tequila Tuesday, and maybe an Indiegogo campaign to save my hometown movie theater… Okay, maybe I have comparable work to when I was in school. But the fact that I have nothing that is required of me still catches me off guard.
Just two short months ago, I graduated with my MBA. Five weeks ago I left London. Three weeks ago I moved to Seattle, and started my job. Routine began, schedules fell into place. I know now what time to catch the #1 bus to work with my favorite driver on the least crowded bus. I cook meals, like chicken enchilada casseroles and fresh veggie stir-fry. I watch lots of Breaking Bad and Wilfred, and sleep and write and work-out to fill in the gaps. I’m learning a bit of Spanish through an app on my phone and will start the Pimsleur approach to Italian tomorrow. Work grows ever intense, to the point where there are actually huge spans of time that social networking doesn’t cross my mind, and I concern myself greatly with the fact that I am shortly going to be working much harder than I could have imagined when I started. Life is happening. Leaves are changing and the Seahawks continue to win. Seattle feels increasingly comfortable, and I plan my life out six month, rather than two days as the listings pop up on job boards.
It’s weird. It feels more foreign than living in a foreign country did. It feels like someone else’s life.
What no one ever seemed to understand at Hult was that school was my life. My great offense to those who spoke with eagerness of getting back to “the real world” was that for me, school was my world. I have only ever been out of school for 14 months, aside from school vacations, since I started kindergarten. If you take that 10,000 hour rule for perfection: I am a perfect student. I’m Olympic calibre. I love learning, sitting in classes, doing readings, and turning in assignments.
Life without it feels uncomfortable. I seem to be just letting it slide by, or maybe it’s just the lack of pressure that creates that sensation. After all, despite my magazine, Libertine, Tequila Tuesday, and my other projects, I still don’t have that much on my plate right now. I just have the kind of productive life that I think a single person should have to stay stimulated. Just drifting through life, work and television, would make me regret my time in Seattle far more than having all of these projects that keep me working on a Saturday night.
Or, this is all just one big justification for overachieving and a failure to relax and perfectionism. I may be the one in psychology, but I’d rather not look to closely at it.