Snow days were some of the best days growing up. I remember hearing the phone ring early in the morning, a sure sign that my mother would knock on my door and tell me to go back to sleep. I would excitedly bring the heavy comforter up over my ears and rest. Snow days were lazy days meant for catching up on sleep, playing games, or cooking with my mother.
If the power went out, we would play Scrabble by the candlelight. My Scrabble skills are nothing short of tragic, so I would wordlessly pray for the lights to come back on to put me out of my triple-word-score-induced misery. Sometimes, the weather was beautiful, but there was simply too much snow to go anywhere. Those days taste like hot chocolate with marshmallows and feel warm like sunlight on the snow fort we built.
Our day-long hibernation meant no work, no extracurricular, and hopefully no homework. I would beg for snow days whenever I was tired. I must have been really tired during the eighth grade when we had 22 snow days. I just needed one day to not have to think about anything and to take the pressure off myself. I needed a little escapism without feeling guilty for shirking my duties. Nothing relaxed me like hearing 20-30 centimetres of snow in the forecast.
Now as an adult, things are different. Grad school doesn’t have snow days, only winter storms. Flurries of readings, assignments, writing, and emails drift onto my desk until I almost grab the shovel. I wake up early, although there is no phone call. A quick check of the MUNSafe app tells me whether I can retreat under my nest of blankets. But I find I cannot drift back to sleep. I have woken up enough to remember what is on my to-do list today. Coursework, readings, an assignment I procrastinated, an assignment I forgot about, and the mountain of snow that demands to be conquered. I pray that the power will stay on, because I have essays to write. I obsessively check the forecast to see when the snow is supposed to peter out. As soon as the weather calms, I lunge for my shovel and plow a path like a madman, cursing under my breath that I should have bought a snowblower.
Like a blizzard, grad school is fervent and smothering. Graduate studies impose the highest standards and tell us that we must prove ourselves to colleagues and supervisors. The work culture of grad school is horrifying. There is no such thing as leaving the work behind. It follows home with us, on our computers, in our schoolbags, and in our minds. It is an endless competition for grades, publications, and awards to compete for funding and shrinking job prospects. Supervisors are people who were able to survive this environment, and so students are told “lots of people do this” and to stop complaining because “this is what you signed up for”.
Hearing “this is what grad school is”, as I struggle to keep up, I feel like I am lost in a storm. Alone, unable to get my bearings, and frozen in fear. I know my studies are supposed to be like a full-time job, but I can separate myself from other kinds of employment that begin and end in the workplace. Being a student is something I do not know how to stop being. In my spare time there is unbearable pressure to be applying to conferences, writing scholarship applications, or getting ahead on my thesis. Apparently, this is normal, so why do I feel so overwhelmed? Surely the problem is that I am neither suited nor disciplined enough to do this type of work.
At this point, I can usually identify I am in an anxiety spiral. I seek refuge from the storm by shutting my laptop, taking a nap, playing a board game (but not Scrabble) and cozying up under my weighted blanket. Funnily enough, what makes me feel better is very similar to the snow days of my youth. Rest is always the antidote to academic overexertion.
And so, I advocate for a return to snow days. When the weather tells us to stay inside and be patient, we must take the advice from Mother Nature. I believe our lives will be richer if we embrace the disruptions to our schedule. If we must plan for a day off, it becomes a joyless endeavour. What could be better than an impromptu movie marathon, cooking a new recipe, organizing the self that’s been bothering you, and taking a giant leap into the snow!?
It will no doubt be challenging to take snow days when everyone else is braving the winter storm. There is this false sense of competition that I will get left behind if I take a day to rest and recharge. It is illogical to assume that one snow day will derail the progress of my degree. However, it doesn’t mean that as soon as blizzard rolls through town that I can disappear for a day. There will presumably be snow days where I must take an hour to attend a virtual meeting or work on a homework assignment, but it should not be the focus of the day. Snow days are not for abandoning responsibilities, but rather embracing spontaneity and taking advantage of the rare opportunity to do nothing.
By taking snow days, we are showing that there are alternatives to the current academic work culture. Rest and fun are inspiring forces, enabling our best work, not interrupting it. Admittedly, an impromptu day off is a shift in the narrative that recognizes students as people who are fuelled by joy and pleasure, and hopefully one that gains traction. By taking breaks, we insist upon our humanity and prove we are more than a metric of success and productivity for the university.
This week, I faced the winter storm. But next time? I’m taking a snow day.