Former Extracurricular-Boy Struggles with Free Time

Start with one highly motivated, overachieving Harvard student. Take away The Crimson, add spring of senior year, and chill.

In high school, at Cambridge Rindge and Latin down the street, extracurriculars were my forte, and they made life full. Sure, it meant I was all over the place, but my parents, my biggest fans, were very accommodating. My dad would give me early-morning rides so I could catch up on projects for ceramics class, which I never had time to work on after school. My mom would give me very early-morning rides so I could catch the bus for the Ski Club’s day trips. Even the spring of my senior year, long after I had been accepted into Harvard, and when I should have been resting on my laurels, I was still very busy. I had the title role in our Drama Festival production of Oscar Wilde’s The Remarkable Rocket. (Said rocket shot off in an orgasmic shudder at the “climax” of the play. No, really.) The newspaper, which I edited, still had to come out, and we were producing a special video celebrating the 350th anniversary of our school on the side. And the chess team was headed to L.A. for Nationals.

When I moved down the street to Harvard and its hundreds of student groups, I only had more of an excuse to explore my wide-ranging interests. Here I had publications—The Crimson, The Harvard Environmental Reporter, The Indy (my first campus piece was for them. *shudder*). Here I had theater—from acting and tech to putting on two of my own plays to a mercifully short-lived sketch comedy troupe sophomore year called Tastes Like Chicken. As I became more politically aware I joined various liberal causes—from the Cambridge Youth Peace and Justice Corps (much maligned by one of my roommates) to Take Back the Night and a brief stint in the living wage campaign. And unlike in high school, where I did roughly 800 percent more than most of my fellow students, here was a student body that seemed to thrive on extracurriculars just as much as I did.

I wanted to do everything, and in retrospect it almost seems that I did. Doing everything, especially things I love, made me happy. But my packed schedule wasn’t without its consequences. There were several periods of intense burnout, and I sometimes wondered if I had taken the right path. My parents seemed to have had more adventurous or carefree college lives, at least romantically. Where was the love? (As my roommate Ben will tell you, it wasn’t in the countless conversations we had where I complained to him about women for our first three-and-a-half years here.) As I rose through the ranks of The Crimson’s news department, things only got crazier. Now I was comp director, and city editor, and needed to edit or proof or dayslot almost every day. This past fall I was spending about 45 hours a week on The Crimson, and getting a lot out of it, but like any other exec I was exhausted by the long nights, the constant lack of sleep, the stress and energy it took to keep the paper running. In December I was almost counting down the days we had left; January was bittersweet.

And then, Jan. 23, it was all over. Our last press run had been the night before; my exams were all done. I woke up feeling refreshed, looked around my room, and sort of chuckled—there is nothing I have to do today. This last semester, I decided, I was going to take it easy. I had no thesis, no Crimson, interesting electives. I was going to slow down.

I went to Montreal with Ben one weekend, and to New York with more roommates the next. I was spending lots of time with my amazing new girlfriend, Catherine. Still, I felt weird, antsy and a little bored. Most of my friends had become thesis-writing hermits, while I, too often, still seemed to think I was in hectic-schedule mode. Only after a month or so did I really start to get the hang of this whole “chilling out” thing. (And, admittedly, I became a big sib for Boston Refugee Youth Enrichment (BRYE), in part so I would have some organized activity to do each week.) Now I was getting sleep, and eating a big breakfast every morning, and had time to read The New York Times at a leisurely pace. My longtime roommates—Ben, Joey, Marco, Ari W., Ari S., and Myu—actually saw me in our ridiculously large seven-person suite again. I worked out with Joey, and went running most days. I had time to write in my journal, time to go for walks, time to just be. It was really weird.

Over spring break, Joey, Ari S., three other friends and I went on a road trip heading south, eventually camping out in Virginia. It was hardly a perfect trip, but it was very relaxing, and after a quick stop at Hershey’s world headquarters on the way back to Boston I came home feeling nice and lethargic. I could go back to conquering the world after graduation; this laziness was sweet. Two days later, of course, opportunity came knocking—my friend Julie e-mailed saying she needed someone to fill a part in the Mainstage production of Titus Andronicus she was in. I was cast Tuesday, and the play opened three days later. (Though I auditioned for Mutius, a guy who dies quickly and honorably in the first act, I was cast in non-speaking roles in the ensemble—playing, among other things, a chain belt-wearing, baby-carrying Goth and a Roman who shoots arrows into a wild orgy.) So I’ve been busy the last two weeks, with Titus and the last bit of training for my second run in the Boston Marathon, which turned out to be a disaster. (After doing fine for 13 miles, my lower left leg freakily broke down over the next three miles, and I had to drop out—I’ve now “slowed down” so much I’m temporarily on crutches.) But even with BRYE and Titus and marathon training, it didn’t feel like I was doing much—post-Crimson, the rest of senior year is a well-appreciated epilogue.

Perhaps that’s because, as I’ve been slowing down, I’m also preparing to say goodbye. After nearly 22 years in Cambridge, there are geologic layers of Ned all over this city, places that remind me of moments of my past everywhere I go. I don’t have any regrets now about staying home for college, but soon it will be time to move on—I need to explore. Still, I’m a bit apprehensive, naturally, about the people I’ll be leaving behind, at least for the moment. There’s the impending breakup of the Fab Four—my three best friends from China, Ethiopia and Vietnam whom I’ve been with since fourth grade. There’s Mama, and my little sister, and my dad. And soon there will be no more Harvard, either. For a person who cares too much and wants to do everything, even when slowing down, Bob Dylan, my favorite musician, said it right: “Time is a jet plane. It moves too fast.”

Edward B. Colby ’02, a former Executive Editor of The Crimson, is a history concentrator in Winthrop House. He can currently be seen hobbling to class or falling down the stairs in Winthrop C-entryway.