Siesta

Before April 2020, I probably hadn’t finished an art piece for over three years.

There’s something in American culture that depicts non-stop hard work in a romantic sort of light. Blood, sweat, and tears. The American “Dream”. Every American loves an underdog story. I mean “started from the bottom, now we’re here,” am I right?

While work ethic is definitely an important thing, non-stop work can be just as detrimental as non-stop play. Expecting people to never stop working is damaging.

When I first graduated in 2016, I was excited and terrified. Many college graduates probably feel the same. The possibilities and expectations are overwhelming when you’re first released into the “real” world. We are given what we think are the right tools to go forth and create the rest of our lives. I remember the first steps I took as a non-student were energy-filled and motivated. I designed business cards and stickers to promote myself, I put together my website (this very one) and paid for my domain name, and I started researching places that I could work or apply to. I wasn’t fully confident in my work yet, but I kept in mind what a couple of my professors had told me—it’s not necessarily the talented ones who make it, it’s the persistent ones.

But after days and weeks and months pass, and there are only rejection letters or silence, my motivation starts to dwindle. My family would constantly ask about my job search. After all, I had a 4-year degree and got good grades, a job should come easy to anyone who puts forth the effort, right? Expectations make for heavy burdens. They wanted to see me working. They wanted to see me making money and forming my life. So did I.

I didn’t have much confidence in myself in the first place, but the rejections and expectations were starting to destroy the hope I had left in myself. It became so much that eventually I resigned to doing nothing. I fell into a depressive episode. My chest tightened looking at my business cards. A brush in my hand felt like it weighed a ton. I started to read a lot more comics to find comfort in other realities. Months passed like this. My savings started to dwindle as student loans raged on.

About a year after I graduated a family member had gotten me an interview for a retail job. It was a huge relief, though not ideal. I got the job and mostly hated it. But after a couple months a position had opened up at a friend’s workplace. An art related job. Things were finally starting to look a little brighter. I scrambled together a portfolio of work from college, a handful of business cards, my best interview outfit, and the most confident fake professional voice I could manage… and got the job.

At first it was great—not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, but at least it was related to it. I was learning new things and brushing up my Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop skills. But slowly, I started to become accustomed to the job and couldn’t find as many new things to learn. Slowly, the company started to show that they didn’t care much about artists. Slowly, people left the company and more work started being passed to those of us left with no additional compensation. And before I knew it three years had passed and I hadn’t gotten a single raise.

The job started to exhaust me emotionally. I came home tired and unable to do anything else but eat dinner and watch some TV before not getting enough sleep. I tried to apply to other places, but kept getting the same familiar rejection letters and silence. I knew that my portfolio wasn’t up to date, but I was just so tired. But at least I was working, able to pay off my student loans, and had health insurance, how could I complain?

Other aspects of the job and life started to chip away at my interior. (Another story entirely.) I woke up dreading the day ahead and came home drained. Eventually I had started to feel so hopeless and stuck that I wouldn’t eat dinner, I would just want to sleep. On weekends I would try to recover from the week, but it was never enough. But I had to work. What would my worth be if I had no job and wasn’t even making art?

Then COVID-19 happened.

And I was furloughed.

Tossed aside by my job in the midst of a pandemic, I was scared and lost. Unemployment was impossible to reach. I had no income. I wasn’t working.

For a week or two all I did was sleep, read, or watch TV shows and movies. I felt guilty for not doing something more, but it was doing wonders for my stress-ridden body. And around that second week I picked up a tablet and started doodling. At first it was just vague sketches of how I was feeling. At the same time I had finished watching a TV show and there was a character I really liked, so I decided to draw her. And I did. And after that I drew something else. And after that I drew again. And again. And again.

Before I knew it I had been drawing for a month straight and I was happy and fulfilled.

I was happier than I had been in a long time just because I had the energy to do something I loved again. I would never wish a pandemic upon anyone, but quarantine saved my life.

I guess my point is, we live in a culture where hard work and productivity is valued. But what is the point of hard work if it eventually reduces you to just a stressed working cog? When I first started working at the company I mentioned, I worked hard and tried to be as fast and efficient as possible. But toward the end it all felt so thankless and stressful that I only did the bare minimum. I wasn’t even able to enjoy my personal life as much.

Rest is not laziness. Yes, it is always good to work toward something, but not at the expense of your health or personal life. How much money you make is not how much your soul is worth. There are so many other aspects to a person that make them valuable.

To anyone who reads this, your productivity is not your worth. You are enough as you are.