COURTESY OF JULIA SCHAGER
Schager discusses the importance of consciously observing a day of rest each week, which has helped her appreciate mindfulness and prioritize personal growth.
COURTESY OF JULIA SCHAGER
Schager discusses the importance of consciously observing a day of rest each week, which has helped her appreciate mindfulness and prioritize personal growth.
Despite being the shortest month in the Gregorian Calendar, February — the month of love and Punxsutawney Phil — can feel endless. As someone from the Northeast, I’m used to the cold. However, the grey slush barricading the Baltimore roadways is not a very welcome change. The winter Sunday is a short, dark blip marketed as a day of rest in the vein of the long-standing religious tradition observed by people across the world: the Sabbath.
The Sabbath is a time of rest and spiritual reflection, usually observed through attending service, prayer, the reading of sacred texts and spending time engaging with the community. Over the past century, though, the Sabbath has become increasingly secular in the U.S., providing a built-in opportunity for both government and private workers to flip over the “OPEN” sign, turn off their morning alarms and watch cable television.
For many others, though, Sunday no longer symbolizes a day of rest.
You might be wondering why observing the Sabbath should go beyond the traditions already established in our social sphere. Despite the temporary shutdowns mentioned above, it is not likely that you’ll find a Hopkins student, faculty member or anyone outside Homewood truly resting on Sunday. This is understandable for most of us, of course: Between internships, research, jobs, coursework, extracurriculars and various other commitments as well as finally doing laundry, emailing people back and clenching your jaw before buying a week’s worth of groceries — it’s difficult to find time to truly rest and reflect.
Social media in particular casts an interesting light on Sunday and on rest in general. Minutes-long videos during which people take audiences through their routines — often clarifying the demographic group they fit into, such as “Weekend in the life of a working mom of three” — have become increasingly prevalent as influencers attempt to garner jealousy and congratulations in order to boost their own platforms.
These videos are the antithesis of the Sabbath. What was once commonly considered a treasured time for bonding, introspection and self-improvement now feels performative, restrictive and often just as tiring as the work week.
Re-embracing the traditional purpose of the Sabbath has been incredibly beneficial in my life. I wake up when the sun comes through my window, stretch and write, fighting the urge to put on my headphones, start my work or get in touch with my friends before I’ve had the chance to sit with myself and feel the day begin.
I slowly make my bed while my mini-Keurig brews my morning coffee (a habit I haven’t quite been able to cut), open my Google Calendar and plan my schedule for the week. I close my laptop soon after and finish the book I’ve been reading since winter break. I walk to the market to treat myself with fresh fruit in lieu of dining hall melon. When I return, I watch Little Women and copy the economics graphs I have to memorize for my upcoming exam, developing mnemonics that even Alan Turing would have a tough time decoding.
When I’ve done enough work, I steal my neighbor’s vacuum and clean my room before picking up my guitar. I grumble about how much I miss my Les Paul electric guitar before reminding myself that my roommate likely wouldn’t appreciate it if I practiced while hooked up to an amplifier. I’m no Joni Mitchell (and neither is anyone else, for that matter), but adhering to the Sabbath means embracing shamelessness and alleviating oneself of internal pressure, something that has allowed me to improve through calm consistency.
I look at my phone quickly and discover that my childhood best friend has instructed me to check my mailbox. I find a small painting with a note attached, which I don’t hesitate to pin to my wall just above my desk. I promised some friends that I would go to yoga with them; I’ve never done yoga before — and I’m sure I won’t continue — but it won’t hurt to get some active movement in on my day of rest, and I want to spend time with them. We grab sushi on the way home and eat it while sitting on the tiny rug in my cramped dorm for way longer than the sushi lasts.
When they’re gone, I take a long shower, then call my parents while I wait for my hair to dry. They tell me about their week, turning the camera around periodically to show me the cats I tried to take with me in my suitcase when I first moved out. I fold back my comforter and get inside my bed, reading the last chapter of my book and logging it on Goodreads.
When I wake up in the morning, Monday is still Monday, and February is still too cold for comfort. Still, the Sabbath doesn’t feel like a brief respite within a week of unpreparedness and anxiety; instead, it feels like I’ve honored my personal time by seeking comfort, quiet and growth.
Julia Schager is a freshman from Stamford, Conn., studying International Studies.