It’s the first week of classes, which can only mean one thing: It’s time to put my small-talk cap on.

Activating the refined social skill of eager, yet effortless, interest in people is kind of hard — being nice enough to ask specific questions, but not too exhaustive to the point where you make people feel forced to overshare.

I’m usually good at the first couple of shots. Fire a “How is your dog?” here and an “I saw you went to…” there — that’s all fine.

But when it’s my turn to answer, I’m taunted by the same recurring question: “What did you do this summer?” Emphasis on the squeaky “you.”

What did I do? I ponder the question. Mostly, I deflect and let the other person take the lead. Besides, when someone shows a little too much interest, I take the hint. They probably thought they offered an incredible question they’ve just been dying to answer themselves for the last five minutes. So I let them.

“You know, I was here and there,” I say at first. Then, I quickly try to recall an Instagram post or look for a tan before asking: “You did some cool things, though, right? How was that?”

And so it begins: They’re making proper money at a widely-known corporate chain, reporting on the news at a massive national publication (conveniently located in their hometown) or doing freelance consulting for a life-saving nonprofit.

I tell them that all sounds great and pretend I didn’t see it three times on their LinkedIn. Their friends’ LinkedIn. Even the Northwestern LinkedIn (everyone loves that “repost” button).

I genuinely feel happy for my interlocutors. You know, the people who really cranked up the summer grind and put themselves out there. They’re already miles ahead of many of their peers’ careers, achieving things very few people our age have. In fact, I admire this dedication and eagerness to go out into the job market.

But I don’t relate to the pride of having worked or done anything remotely world-changing during my freshman summer. Between June and September, I spent most of my time at home. Occasionally, I walked my dog around the block. Being from Greece, I also hit the beach a couple of times to work on my tan lines.

Often, I find it hard not to compare myself to other people. Although my advisor and I talked about there being low pressure to acquire an internship this year or to “have something to do in the summer,” I felt I was the only one who — truly — had nothing to do. And, to me, that felt like a world-ending problem.

What’s worse is that I chose to have nothing to do. I applied to zero internships, looked for zero jobs and did zero research on how to go about getting one. My resume was left untouched — I was just too overwhelmed.

But there was a reason. I uniquely had something many take for granted later in life: an unproductive summer.

My decision didn’t help me change the world, nor did it grant me points for a future job at The New York Times. It didn’t solve climate change or rescue starving children. It let me, however, spend time with those I love most, in the dearest places I call home.

The more we grow, the more likely it becomes that we find things to do, like my hardworking peers admirably did this past summer. Fewer and fewer students return to their hometown — staying in Chicago or Evanston, signing apartment leases or subletting during the three summer months. The more we grow, the more we are expected to seek job experiences — or at the very least, get out of the house.

It’s plausible then — and hopefully true — that next summer I, myself, will put on a pair of navy blue pants and finally say, “I’m off to work!” But the closer I come to this day, the further I am from home: singing in the car with my dad, showing up at my childhood friend’s house unannounced, gazing at the twinkling water of my coastal city.

When I didn’t have an internship, I felt like the planet was going to burn. That was until I looked up at the sun, gazed back down at my favorite book and ran my hands through the sand, my best friend smiling next to me.

“Don’t you just love having nothing to do?” she said. And for a moment, yes. Yes, I did.

Alexia Sextou is a Medill sophomore and author of “Margin Notes.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.

Email: [email protected] 

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