Sometimes I feel as though my life consists of a series of coping mechanisms. This happens most in winter, when the world is cold and dark and tired, the gym becomes foreign territory, my defenses against the allure of sugar and caffeine crumble and all I want to do is retreat to my bed to watch TV. I’m tired, I’m stressed because I’m tired, I eat because I’m stressed, I work out because I ate, I’m tired because I worked out, I drink coffee because I’m tired, I’m wired because I drank too much coffee, I can’t sleep because I’m wired, and then, I’m tired. And so on and so forth.
But now, in the spirit of spring, I am shaking off the depression of Winter Quarter and going into Spring Quarter with new resolve to do such things as study and work out, which, just weeks ago, were hard to do, at least for me. I was actually diagnosed with seasonal affective disorder, which explains why I was having such a hard time there. Yes, the person who diagnosed me was me, but I’ve taken Intro to Psych and I’m pretty sure I’m qualified to do that.
It’s not just that I’ve been tired: I’m tired of just surviving, of just getting by. I want to work for things, not against them: to work for energy, calm, fitness, success, instead of against tiredness, wiredness, atrophy and failure once they’re already looming on the horizon. I’d like to get off the treadmill and go for a run outside. (That’s a metaphor; in reality, I’d be happy if I ran, period.) Enough of just fending off disasters as they come, as though my life is a re-enactment of that game in which a little sniper on the ground fires at missiles raining down on him from the sky in a never-ending barrage of enemy firepower.
If I want to do more than just get by, I’ll have to take control. I got the keys, so shut up and drive, as Rihanna tells me whenever I do go to the gym: I have the power to stop moaning and start living better. OK, maybe that’s not what she meant, but I’m comforted by the knowledge that while I may feel out of control at times, on some level it’s actually my choice to feel this way. I may employ coping mechanisms, but I choose to do so, whether consciously or unconsciously, and I can change how I react to the inevitable ravages of a busy college life. I’m all for some healthy wallowing: a pity caramel frappuccino here, a leave-me-alone afternoon in bed there, but enough is enough. It may take mental effort to switch from reaction to pro-action, but it takes plenty of that already to stress about procrastination or the fact that I don’t remember what the inside of Blomquist looks like. What would I rather focus on, self-motivation or self-blame?
Look at me go, I should write a self-help book. But in all seriousness, here’s to Spring Quarter: three more months of opportunities to actually leave my room.
Weinberg sophomore Hayley MacMillen can be reached at [email protected].
