I hate folding laundry. I don’t know how it happens, but as I set myself up to fold my laundry, I tell myself, I’m gonna do it this time. And then just like the last week, the basket ends up in the corner near my door for days collecting wrinkles.
For the first time this semester, I folded my clothes when they were still warm from the dryer. It was a taxing day, where I truly felt the pressure of all my responsibilities from the year gaining weight on my chest. I knew I was in trouble this semester when I couldn’t think straight about each of my responsibilities in one stream of consciousness. So, whatever, I’ll fold my laundry to coordinate something tangible.
Though arguably the longest day of my life, it was still a beautiful one. Fifty-five degrees in February on a college campus where everyone pretends they don’t want to shiver in a short sleeve, myself included. With the sun setting, dinner made, and my laundry about to come out of the dryer, I flung open my window and put on my spring playlist from the previous year. The Only Exception by Paramore came on, and it was game over.
This stretch of weeks has been some of the hardest – all of the work and energy I’ve put into my college career is being tested as we speak. I’ve been applying for summer internships.
Personally, I’ve had the life sucked out of me. Rejections are tough, especially when you get led on (with the first round of interviews). I found myself in this stretch of weeks, losing touch with myself, and my goals I so strongly set for myself. I wondered if I was truly made to go into the music industry, if I was actually supplementing myself towards my dream career the way I projected myself to. After all, the experts of the craft picking up my resumés would know better than I do.
So when I sat on my floor, in the middle of sorting through my lukewarm bundles of laundry, I felt the knot in my stomach physically untie. In the weeks prior, there was no telling when I would’ve gotten over this feeling. My Pinterest board and TikTok for you page have been filled with the same sentiment – “you will really get over it on a random day”. And corny enough, I did. Sitting in my bedroom, accepting the harshness of my carpeted floor, folding laundry, patiently waiting for the bridge of The Only Exception. Hand in hand with my career slump was a love-of-music slump. Both have been given some care.
It’s not a fully healed wound, but there’s a band aid bonding the surface until the weather officially allows for short sleeves. So if you’re reading this, and you’re holding a little bit of self-doubt in your pocket next to your dorm keys, remember why you started in the first place.