“Swamped.” That’s the adjective I normally use when people ask me how I’m feeling this time of year.
First, the room (my life) feels like it’s “filled or covered with water; flooded; inundated.” You’ve seen the Grammarly ads. I’ll soon need a boat to stay afloat. Second, I feel “overwhelmed, especially with an excess of something.” That excess is usually work, but it doesn’t have to be. This weekend, I’m overwhelmed with RA duties and dental appointments.
There’s a third thing too. “Swamped” gives “swamp,” gives a boggy area filled with mud and low-lying plants. Gives watch out for alligators. Gives once you fall in, you’ll never get out.
Is that my fate? Our fate? That’s the sad but comforting thing: Here at Duke, none of us are alone in this.
My friend and I were waiting for class to start one day, when he opened his calendar. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust — it looked like a Tetris game seconds away from game over.
I opened up my own calendar to compare. The first thing I felt was shame: Next to his, my week looked naked. Then, relief. After this class, my friend had a meeting in French Science and an event in Sanford to attend, while my afternoon would be free.
Not free in the sense that I didn’t have work to do — God no. But free in the sense that I could choose which assignment to tackle first and which second. Free in the sense that if I got hungry, I could go to WU and get dinner. If I got sleepy, I could retreat to Bell Tower and call it a night.
Free in the sense that none of this was on my calendar — I could steer my afternoon whichever way I wanted to.
There are two types of people: those who put only the mandatory and out-of-the-ordinary on their calendars (meetings and appointments) and those who leave nothing out. They know exactly what’s coming up: from classes, to study breaks, to gym sessions, to meals, to moon cycles. They Tetris their schedule down to the very minute.
(There’s a third kind of person who claims to be able to remember everything and puts nothing on their calendar. I don’t know if there ever was such a type at Duke. If so, this specimen has since gone extinct.)
I’m of the former category. I like my weeks to feel a little breezy — at least on paper. My to-do list is dense, but not rigorous. I give myself some calendar reminders — upcoming Econ midterms and mandatory RA training. But I also give myself the space to take longer than 30 minutes to have breakfast if I feel like it one day.
I never thought about why until this week.
First, I try to avoid futile work. Inputting a couple more tasks on my calendar would not take a lot of effort — but it doesn’t serve me. Take ten minutes to input tasks every day, and that’s 70 minutes by the end of the week. Four and a half hours by the end of the month. There are better things I can do with that time.
Second, I find full calendars visually overwhelming. Which tasks are urgent? Which are just fillers? Why is your physics midterm the same color as that Theta Chi party next Friday? By noting only unusual and/or important tasks on my calendar, each stands out. The rest is routine — fades in the background.
This affords me flexibility. I get to grasp opportunities as they come.
Because it’s hard to guess correctly how long things are going to take. There are a lot of variables that go into how your day pans out. You never know when your friends are going to text you at peak dinner time, “table near JBs,” or when your professor is going to start a discussion thread on Canvas — posts due at midnight.
And the reverse is true as well. You never know when your class is going to let out early or get cancelled because of a hurricane warning. You never know when it’s going to take you only one hour to write your Chronicle article as opposed to the usual two.
You’ll learn some things about yourself: If you find yourself with a spare hour, will you use it well, even if you have nothing planned? If something takes longer than expected, will it wreck the rest of your plans?
You should learn to be flexible not only physically but also mentally. If you find it stressful when your minutely planned day doesn’t turn out exactly the way you intended it to, that might be something to work on.
Not in a bad way — it’s not your fault. Assigning every minute a productive task is simply unreasonable. Even good days, where you achieved 80% of what you’d set out to do, start to feel like failures.
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Yet, Duke students have an urge to fill up their time with all sorts of activities. As soon as a sliver of a half hour opens up, they rush to fill it.
Instead, let’s start cherishing the little time we have.
I won’t ask you to “take it easy” — that’s not really an option. I know you can’t afford it. But maybe, take it easier. Just because everyone around you is on a tight schedule — a hamster on a wheel — doesn’t mean that’s normal or okay.
Last month, I wrote about some favors I try to do for my future self. This is one more. I grant myself the luxury of a little breathing room.
If you’re the type to leave zero white space in your calendar, I'll ask you one more thing: How much does your schedule dictate your relationships? By filling up your day with tasks, you risk squeezing friendships out.
Because even Tetris masters can’t keep playing forever. This game is exhausting. Inevitably, some pieces will slip through the cracks.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be one of those pieces.
If I call you in the middle of the day, will you answer? If I get stuck in an invisible swamp, will you have time to come fish me out? We’re hanging out one day, and you get an alert that it’s time to go back to studying. Will you still walk me home?
Anna Garziera is a Trinity sophomore. Her pieces typically run on alternate Sundays.