Shamelessly Compiled | Moments Like These

Hello Compilers, 

I am notorious for putting a lot on my plate. I love being busy. I love the thrill of checking that little task box and crossing out lines on a to-do list. Time management is like solving a puzzle for myself –– finding where the pieces fit to create the picture of my day. The work that I prioritize are things that, for the most part, better me as a person or as a professional. However, I can admit that I am still dictated by little colored squares that take over my Google calendar. 

So, what about the moments that are not dictated by little colored squares? What happens during that time that isn’t assigned a task? 

This past weekend was filled with white space. It started with waking up on Saturday morning a little later than I usually permit during the week. The sun was shining bright against the blue sky. If I couldn’t see people walking below my balcony in hoodies and hats, I would have assumed I woke up in June. I wandered through my kitchen littered with various pots and pans from my roommates’ cooking ventures, to my mint green Keurig I have had since my first year. I inserted a pod of medium roast coffee and topped it with cinnamon and almond milk. 

Plopping myself down in the papasan chair that I have had since sixth grade, I sipped on my coffee and read my book. Though I have an ever-growing TBR bookshelf, I can’t help but reread Sally Rooney’s “Normal People” when I need a book that I know will not disappoint me. As I go through the pages, I love to see the underlines and stars from the past versions of me. This time I found something new to underline: “Soon she will be packing things into a suitcase: woolen jumpers, skirts, her two silk dresses. A set of teacups and saucers patterned with flowers. A hairdryer, a frying pan, four white cotton towels. A coffeepot. The objects of a new existence.” 

After reading for a bit, I decided to go on a quick walk up to Dunkin’ to get me and my roommates six donuts as a little sweet treat. Once I returned, I sat the box on our kitchen table. We each took quarters of each flavor, too, because why limit yourself to one flavor? 

At this point it was only around noon, so we did what anyone would do when in need of an activity — we piled in our roommate’s blue Nissan to Target. Lots of other people seemed to have the same idea. I swerved the cart around aisles and other shoppers’ feet while my roommates ventured into aisles that were a bit too tight. We bought Valentine’s gifts — giving each other opinions on ribbon color, what heart-shaped box was cuter and what candy is best. We bought things for ourselves — questioning if I really needed a new throw pillow, asking opinions on what a candle smelled like and convincing each other to buy matching pajama sets.

Upon surviving the self-checkout line and closing my eyes as I swiped my credit card, we continued to Trader Joe’s. Trader Joe’s was equally as busy, but a much quicker trip that consisted of brownie samples and buying flowers for our living room. We bought all of our “fun” groceries such as brookies and sourdough, gnocchi and meatless chicken nuggets. The “necessary” groceries required a trip to Aldi, where we stocked up on strawberries and microwavable rice. We carried on to the stress-inducing checkout procedure. 

Finally, we are on our way home. Three stops in about two-ish hours. Our stomachs grumble as we discuss our lunch plans and how much work we have to do this evening. We drove past the old street we lived on in North Oakland. It always feels nostalgic, though it was only a year ago. I stare out the backseat window as the familiar landmarks fly by. I can hear my roommates talking about the Bachelor. 

In three months, we will all be graduates. None of us know where we will be doing or where we will live. We have a lot of big moments coming up — internships, research, clubs, exams, projects, applications. But, it is moments like these, sitting in the backseat with reusable bags filled with groceries, the soft hum of the music underneath my roommates’ laughs and the sun reflecting through the window, that feel bigger. It is moments like these — the white space — that I will remember. 

I don’t think I will remember the amount of tasks I crossed off.