Edit desk: Technically speaking: Lines between work and play

Had Lehigh been functioning as per usual this semester, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take a quick vacation to my family’s favorite spot: Cape Cod. 

Throughout the week leading up to our trip to the Cape, I became very anxious about how the whole vacationing during school thing would pan out. Would being busy in a place I’m normally relaxed make me depressed? Would I have my own space to get my work done? Would I even be able to make it to the beach after a long day of classes, homework and meetings? 

All I knew was that I had one week to appreciate the best parts of Cape Cod — the beach, the cool breeze, the seafood, the sunsets and the deck and outdoor shower at the house we rent almost every year — and I was not about to sacrifice my schoolwork to appreciate all of those special things, so I conducted a plan. 

I was going to wake up at 6:30 every morning, do homework until my first class at 12:10 every day, finish my classes and then walk away from my laptop and not look back until 6:30 am the next day. 

This all seemed very ambitious of me, but it worked out perfectly. I had never felt so in-control of my academic life while also enjoying every bit of my personal life. 

When I was doing my homework, I was completely focused. When I wasn’t doing homework, I was enjoying myself without that nagging voice in my head reminding me of due dates and assignments. This was so different from my attitude at home, and I began to analyze how and why working at home was so much more stressful. It became clear that, at home, my perspective on life is different. 

I’m not in a time crunch to enjoy my surroundings. They’re always there and, frankly, I take them for granted. I’ve been home since March, and I’ll be home until at least January. I’m in no hurry to absorb the views I’ve been seeing for as long as I can remember, but maybe I should be. Why isn’t the monotony of my daily life important? Why isn’t the goal of working hard to create time for myself? Why is the goal of working hard just to work even harder? I believe the answer is American workism. 

I am no stranger to “workaholism.” This habit of non-stop work has been ingrained in my head since before high school. In high school, all I wanted was to get into an Ivy League school. I had the GPA, the SAT scores, the extracurriculars, and the leadership positions, but I didn’t get into a single Ivy. I became so disillusioned and my once unwavering respect for America’s most elite schools was replaced with disgust. By the time I got my acceptance letter to Georgetown, the most competitive school I’d gotten into, I knew that a low acceptance rate might not be enough to make me happy. 

I made my decision objectively, with a clear head, no bias, and no elitism, which has fortunately landed me where I am today. I’m happy at Lehigh knowing that my hard work is being invested into myself and my own happiness rather than sacrificing my well-being to meet almost impossible expectations. But after my time in college, I’m concerned that the expectation to be the best no matter the consequences will start looming over my head again, especially with the option of working remotely. 

Working in the comfort of my own home can be really great. Being able to roll out of my own bed, make a quick breakfast, and take classes in comfy clothes is a luxury. When businesses began to run remotely due to COVID-19, plethoras of headlines about how a future of working from home is on the horizon flooded my phone notifications. 

While all of the aspects I mentioned about working from home are enticing, my experience on vacation makes me worried about how that will change people’s lives for the worse. Blurring the lines between work and play also blurs the lines between work life and personal life. Where do we draw the line between our lives and our jobs? 

In the United States, our jobs are a definition of who we are. When people introduce themselves, they give their name followed by their occupation. Our occupations open up even more windows into our lives: how much money we make, how much free time we have, how stressed we are, how many degrees we have. But why emphasize these quantifiable aspects of our lives if they say nothing about who we are, what we enjoy, where we come from and what we value?

The beauty of going into an office or a classroom is that there is a time limit and a dedicated space for work. You go to your workspace, do your work, and when time is up, you leave and re-enter your personal space. With this traditional work structure being almost obsolete now, I fear the perpetuation of American workism and its consequences. This all seems like a perfect storm to push Americans towards discontent. But, with all of that being said, had I not been working remotely this semester, my revelational trip to the Cape would not have happened and I would not be writing this column. I guess it’s all about perspective.