By: Chloe Hon
Nicole’s alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m., the same time it does everyday.
She has never once hit the snooze button. She jumps out of bed the second her alarm goes off and runs over to her desk.
Every morning, she opens her laptop, and begins responding to emails while her coffee brews. At exactly 7:15, she slides on her shoes and starts walking over to the company building.
One may call it muscle memory. Others say it’s discipline. Most would call it robotic.
Nicole claims it’s necessary.
Her calendar is her life. Blocks of color coded tasks suffocate her screen: meetings, deadlines, and reminders. However, not one of those tasks include something fun like brunch with a friend, making pottery, or a spa day.
Nicole’s friends joke that she works like she gets graded on it. She jokes back because she does not want to admit that her friends are right. Nicole always has someplace to be or a task to complete.
You see, Nicole has convinced herself that she strives under pressure, that she’s an essential employee, and that she is a productive member of society. She is not wrong.
Nicole was born as the eldest daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, taking on roles like planning course registrations for her younger brother at a young age. Nicole learned early on that solving other people’s problems was more important than taking care of herself.
She was always gifted: debate trophies lined up on the living room shelves and one of the only summer interns to receive a full time offer from a big Wall Street firm. However, she also learned to bottle up her intelligence to avoid bullying, to not raise her hand too often, to not sit in the front of the class next to her favorite teachers, and to not make her white male coworkers look bad.
Emily, the one person she was able to share a close bond with, moved away in middle school. Nicole never found another best friend, internalizing that sometimes people leave and you never see them again.
Even at home, Nicole was convinced that self-worth relied on accomplishments. Her parents would often show off her awards and their trophy daughter before introducing her at big dinner parties. So, dating was out of the question, because Nicole forgot how to be vulnerable a long time ago. Instead, she collects likes and swipes on dating apps, which reinforces her self esteem, despite her never replying to her suitors.
This pushed Nicole to her one singular goal in life, to make partner at her firm, and she is on the trajectory to be the youngest partner in her firm’s history. She has no idea what would come after; she doesn’t have time to get distracted.
By 10:51 pm, her eyes sting and she begins having migraines, but Nicole refuses to leave the office until every task is completed. There is always one more.
By midnight, she stores her laptop in her tote bag and steps outside the empty office, already planning tomorrow’s schedule as she crosses the street.
As she steps off the curb and onto the street, she is busy responding to an email from an important client and doesn’t notice the headlights of a car speeding towards her.
A blinding light.
Screeching tires.
Darkness.
Nicole’s alarm goes off. She jerks awake, looking at the clock.
5:30 a.m. The same time it does everyday.
Again.
Her heart is pounding.
Her laptop is closed.
Her emails are unread.
Her coffee pot is empty.
It wasn’t a dream. She knew it wasn’t.
Nicole stares at the clock, waiting for a sign to explain how she is still alive.
Nothing.
Her pulse echoed loudly in her ears.
She cautiously opens her phone with trembling hands, unplugging it from the charger by her bed, to find the same notifications from her emails the day before.
Nicole’s stomach twists.
She tells herself that she should open her laptop and begin her morning routine just like any other day, no exceptions.
Something stops her.
Yesterday was over. She got hit by a car and was given one more chance.
Nicole steps away from her desk.
She draws a long, much needed bath, in lieu of brewing coffee. She does not have her phone in her other hand, multitasking like she usually does.
At 8:09, she should be sitting in her office chair, but instead, she steps out of her apartment empty handed, unfamiliar with the weightlessness of her shoulders.
Instead of walking towards the company building, Nicole takes a right, walking towards a park that she often passes by on her grocery store runs.
She catches a glimpse of a couple having a picnic by the pond. Feelings of regret kick in as she realizes the parts of life she has been missing out on. The life that had slipped past her while her eyes were busy glued to a screen, worrying about the next task.
For the first time, she does not rush past.
Nicole steps off of the sidewalk and onto the grass, letting her shoes sink into the soft, moist soil beneath her. A breeze brushes past her face as she observes the sound of ducks flapping their wings in the water, the playful banter of a couple trying to capture the perfect picture, and the way the sunlight reflects across the pond.
She stands there.
The tension on her shoulders slowly soften.
Nicole closes her eyes, breathing in the blend of earth and sunlight of the grass. She takes in the cold gentle breeze and quiet rhythm of her breathing, which she had been holding until now.
When she opens her eyes, her surroundings remain the same.
But she has changed.
For the first time in years, she asks herself what she wants, and she wonders, with intent, “What shall I do today?”
