Notes From an Average Girl | I can’t do it all

On Tuesdays, I have four classes. I go from one to the next, running back and forth between buildings, taking a break only to shovel the pasta salad that I made the night before into my mouth. On the first Tuesday of the semester, I raced out of my last class, already late for a seven-hour shift at a job I hate. 

As I lunged into Cathy’s revolving door, I joined the students no more eager to leave the building than I. We circled to the outside at an ungodly speed, with no remorse for those launching themselves into the partitions. My mind mimicked the door as it swarmed with concerns about my assignments that already piled up, even though it was only the second day of classes. 

After surviving the death trap they call a door, I opened the Canvas app on my phone at the same time that the outside cold pierced my skin. I stared at the list of “Due at 11:59 p.m. tonight” assignments, knowing I wouldn’t get out of work until at least 12:30 a.m. I scrolled further and saw an assignment that required me to write about something delightful I experienced that week. 

Thinking it was easy enough, I looked up for the first time since stepping outside, in search of a “delight.” Greeted with a cotton candy-colored sunset, I stopped in my tracks. Behind me, a student with his head in his phone, slammed into my back, nearly knocking me over. 

Had my professor not assigned that wholesome task, I probably would have made it all the way to work without noticing the beauty of the sunset. 

Later in the week, I quit my job.

That reaction may seem rash — to leave behind my only source of income because I almost missed a sunset, but it was a long time coming. 

When I applied for the job, I thought I could do it all — school, volunteering, The Pitt News, a social life and work. First came the FOMO, as my friends hung out without me, went to all the football games and visited me at work as customers. Then came the late assignments. Sometimes I didn’t have the time or energy to complete them before work. I submitted them the next day and my grades took the hit. 

Shortly after came the burnout. I dreaded volunteering every weekend when I used to love it. Instead, I wished I could lay in bed all day. Finally came the feeling of being a failure. I wanted to love my job. I wanted to balance the load I put on myself. I saw people around me doing it, and I grew ashamed that I couldn’t too. 

When I called my parents and proposed quitting my job, I expected them to discourage it, but they didn’t. They were entirely supportive of my decision. They told me I had plenty of money saved, and I’d only be in college once, so I should enjoy it.

When I told my friends, I thought they would judge me, but they were happy. To them, it only meant I’d have more free time to spend with them.

The pressure I put on myself was just that — pressure I put on myself. I couldn’t do it all, and that’s okay.

I live in a world where at any moment I could be killed by a revolving door or a rushed student looking down at his phone. So if I have to choose between my minimum wage job and a cotton candy sunset, I choose the sunset.