With this unprecedented semester, the challenge of space is not limited to adjusting our learning for online classrooms, but also maneuvering learning in new physical spaces. Without access to campus, libraries, cafés, and quads that breeds the productivity that UofT expects, we’re suddenly out of bounds. For many, this means learning how to work in the same places that they would normally unwind in, spaces that they’ve designed for tranquility. How do we strong-arm ourselves into listening to Zoom lectures from the very locations that we’ve dedicated to bringing us rest?
As we began the first few weeks of this new academic reality, I was stunned to find myself reacting so strongly to the transition to homebound classes. Like many of you, I entered the term braced to deal with my own educational downfalls (time-management, fear of office hours, burnout) that I knew would be heightened without the structure of in-person classes. And yet, as someone who is usually so spatially aware, I was quickly taken aback by how restless I was feeling about working from the same spot—and it had only been a few days.
For years, I’ve sworn off studying at home. I’ve always had the privilege of escaping to a nearby library or coffee shop, anywhere that would make me feel obligated to remain focused. This allowed me to keep my home space separate from the stress of schoolwork. So, as this pandemic forced us to retreat into our homes, I was both overwhelmed with discomfort and determined to learn how to function in the same space I once refused to work in.
It started with superficial acts: declutter, reorganize, create a warm atmosphere. Have my calming, “Van Life” study playlist playing softly in the background at all times. Be near natural light. Move around from room to room throughout the day. While these things certainly helped, I needed to take a step back to realize how I was functioning when doing schooling from home. I was restless because I wasn’t taking time to get outside throughout the day; I was overwhelmed because my to-do lists seemed never-ending; I was uncomfortable because this September felt so different from what September should feel like.
Without in-person classes, my knee-jerk reaction was to compensate by working for more than twelve hours and setting my goals for the day too high to ever accomplish. Unlike a regular term, the work wasn’t being broken up into blocks of class, breaks, and commutes. Instead, I was trying to fly through it by hunkering down at my desk from the moment I woke up, to the moment I had to sleep. It wasn’t fueled by socialization between classes, and, while I tried to think of my lack of commute as saving time in my day, it actually just gave me a reason to think I had to work more . Ultimately, I was left resentful of the space I was in, even though I was in my own home.
It wasn’t until I reminded myself that I was allowed to take my time with school that this feeling began to fade. A regular semester at UofT is certainly stressful, but it doesn’t have you trying to get through a week’s worth of material for five classes the moment it’s released. Usually, it’s filled with darting across campus to hit a 13,000 daily step count, which means I can grant some of my day to getting that same exercise. And while we’re all used to dedicating ourselves to schoolwork throughout the term, if we could make time to do things we love then, we can make time to do things we love now (that are safe, please—we’re still in the middle of a pandemic!).
Maybe this September can’t give us the gratification of reunions and the excitement of being back on campus, but it can still give us the inspiration we need to have a good fall term. We may be missing the sight of the orange, autumn campus, but our being home now is exactly what will get us back to normal in the future. Until then, our discomfort in our physical spaces might be the thing that reminds us that just because the semester has started, doesn’t mean our whole lives need to be about the semester.
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