T I M E

Time is such a constructed concept. Nowhere does this become clearer than when I am traveling. Leaping across time zones and boundaries, I find myself departing at 2 pm on Thursday afternoon, only to reach my destination on Saturday morning. Or more fantastically, travel out at 1 pm on a Sunday afternoon to reach at 12:30 pm that same Sunday! Readjusting watches, recalibrating myself to the jetlag—this all seems so strangely false. In a more insidious sense, I have felt the pressure of time these last few months as I’ve tried to recalibrate my own life.

            

I made the decision to quit Teach for America in June, weeks before the school year ended. Right after that, I traveled with a friend on a long-planned journey to India. When I came back, I was struck with a sudden panic that I was losing time professionally. You hear that your twenties are a time to experiment, to boldly try new jobs and take more risks. Especially if you’re a woman, apparently. Afterwards, the winding road of life imperceptibly straightens and slows. You’re expected to work a steady job, be sure of your income. Putting things away in savings. Settle down. Have children. Buy house. It’s funny, after all this ‘progress’ and supposed shifting of the 21^st-century American psyche, our collective societal goals are still the same age-old goals. I scoffed at it before, but I see the reality of this path in my older friends and relatives. I know I’ll be drawn to those same goals in just a few years.

Until I went to college, time seemed to plod along so slowly. Summers in particular were endless. I joined the myriads of activities that is a suburban [Indian] kid’s rite of passage, of course. Ice skating, swim lessons, piano, bharat natyam dance, ballet, gymnastics, softball, baseball, basketball, soccer, Carnatic singing. None of ‘em stuck. My sister and I played with Barbie dolls, fought, did our homework, and waited anxiously to grow up. We couldn’t wait to do this and that as we got older. And also escape the loving, somewhat stifling gaze of our parents.

               

 In college, I was suddenly unendingly busy. I finally had total control on how to structure my time, but I felt pressured to stuff that time with classes, work, and extracurriculars. It seemed like I blinked and I was suddenly a fourth-year who realized she had not given enough thought to what she wanted to do with her life. I quickly settled on Teach for America, and another year went steamrolling by.

  

Suddenly, here I was in August 2015, after five incredibly fast years had gone by, once again thinking about what I was going to do with my life. I was scared. Unemployed, living back at my parent’s house, that’s not where I envisioned myself a year after graduation. I realized I was lucky. I had a safety net and a family who could support me. But I didn’t want that—I wanted to be self-sufficient. And I felt time slipping by in a different sense, careening onwards as I was suddenly stagnant and losing out on professional growth.

  

In Lean In, Sheryl Sandberg advises her fellow professional women to seek growth while they’re young. As we move into our late twenties and thirties, the pressures of settling down weigh more heavily on women. After all, we’re the ones who must carry and deliver a human being. Our aging bodies can be more dangerous for a baby’s health. Women remain much more likely to step back professionally than men in this time.

Yes, I know I’m only 23. Objectively I understand that a year out of the workforce won’t cause irreparable personal damage. It’s just that there are so many things I want to do. I realized that I need to go to graduate school. I want to explore on-the-ground development work in India. I want to work for the government. I may want to practice law. When will I settle on what I want? Is this a millennial problem? I thought frantically those first few months.

I began applying to graduate schools, fellowships, scholarships. I slept nine hours a night. I traveled a lot, and I visited friends across the country. I learned to knit. I will be starting an internship in February. I’m mostly happy, and I should be. But there’s this gnawing part of me that screams, You should be doing more! It emerges after I spend a day (or days) guiltily binge-watching TV. Or reading all day instead of studying for a graduate exam. Shouldn’t you still be doing more? The voice screams. Experimenting with new recipes, exercising, cleaning the house, working on that story you thought of? Taking charge of your time? I am faced with the tyranny of choice, and it overwhelms me.

The sneers of that voice have manifested in ugly ways. I have found myself much more volatile, particularly with my parents (mother). My own frustration at my lack of self-discipline morphs into anger, and I turn it to the people who I know will never shun me for it. Isn’t it a terrible thing that we release our worst selves onto the people who love us the most? Even as I get angry, I want to apologize, but the words catch in my throat and I choke on them. I’m so sorry.

I realized that I’m only as disciplined as I have to be. I work hard when I need to. That’s how I’ve gotten through my whole life. I’m driven by people around me, motivated by their discipline. Alone, not so much.

This guy, Daniel Gilbert, says that it really only takes a few simple things to make us happy. Spending time with family and loved ones, exercising, getting enough sleep—basically living a healthy and balanced life. But I think it’s more than that! At least for me, I need to be driven by something professionally that contributes to a greater societal good. For me, the idea of contributing to something beyond me to make it better, that idea takes the place of religion. It gives me something to believe in, something to work for. I’m ready to get back to it.