The psychological concept of illusory correlations, or perceived relations between two things, intrigues researchers across the field of psychology. The catch is, there is no actual relationship between the two variables. Some external thinking process—perhaps a social phenomenon, highly available stereotype, or rampant bias—creates this relationship out of thin air. This falsified relationship then causes individuals to act in ways that reinforce the “correlation.” As a result, it strengthens the illusion in the minds of others, creating a feedback loop of misinformation.
In my first two years on Harvard’s campus, I fell into an illusory correlation myself—of overcommitment and its relationship with productivity. Hidden fears of imposter syndrome elicited my need to be constantly busy. How else could I prove my worth in a space with such talented individuals?
As I pushed myself to take on more responsibilities, I began to notice several changes. I became disillusioned with mastery—to juggle many things at once created an appearance of great success. Yet, as I now know both scientifically and personally, there is no such thing as multitasking; instead, we are rapidly switching from one thing to another, thereby giving each task less attention and effort. I sacrificed thorough engagement with any one project because I was so focused on keeping up with peers who seemed to juggle seven at once.
This lack of deep involvement created invisible costs. I recall putting off a research assignment for a psychology lab where I’ve worked for the past two years. The project’s impact could help improve the mental health of students in war-torn Ukraine. Yet, somehow, the potential for good was overlooked by a plethora of other tasks that took up my brain space, making me delay my portion of its completion repeatedly. Looking back, I cringe at this memory.
The joy we as students find from our wholehearted, genuine academic pursuits is what stimulates us to continue working hard and explore our passions. Or so it should be. When I was distracted by the next item on my to-do list instead of focusing on the task at hand, both tasks suffered. The moments of excitement that should have followed after my engagement didn’t do so, leaving me depleted and unmotivated.
This burnout strained friendships, leaving little time for the connections that make this place so interconnected and special; namely, the bi-weekly or so catch-ups with acquaintances from different organizations and spaces on campus. I found sparse moments for rest, which I spent thinking about my next assignment and worrying about the future. I ignored my present, instead contemplating ways to add more to my plate.
Embarking on a career path that followed this constantly active, overburdensome mindset was what I began imagining. I did not realize how harmful this could be in the long term, creating both an extensive focus on external validation and a flawed version of balance. To reach the next milestone, I found myself exploring internship applications that had nothing to do with my interests, failing to seriously consider how these opportunities would mold my path. Future career opportunities lost all excitement; instead, it felt like another “task” to get to, which I erroneously believed could only result without a mere minute to breathe.
Yet, the moments of breathing are those in which everything begins to make sense. Laps around the Charles, running through every past moment of weekly stress on the phone with my dad. Choreographing the next Bhangra segment with my friends in our cramped, candlelit common room. Finding thirty minutes for the gym, a habit I’m avidly trying not to lose from my yearly summer streak of optimism.
These are the activities that bring back my vigor for academic work, stimulate my passion projects, and reignite my excitement for the future. I continue to take on new challenges, but only with the promise that my time for reflection is never lost.
I acknowledge that young adulthood is the greatest time for trying new things. What better a place to learn your strengths and weaknesses than a college campus, where you hold little immediate responsibility for anyone besides yourself, and the options for extracurricular involvement, even within your interest subgroups, are copious?
There is, however, a drastic difference between being busy and being immersed (the latter of which I’m attempting to get closer to mastering). When you can’t deeply, fully contribute to something, both your own benefit and group commitment falter. You might feel occupied, but do you feel fulfilled?
Consider redefining your connotation of overcommitment. Instead of burdening yourself with perfunctory performance across multiple projects, “overcommit” (or in other words, immerse yourself) in a few choice undertakings, with room for reflection. Watch them, and you, blossom.
Gauri Sood ’26 (gaurisood@college.harvard.edu) is trying to get better at saying no. She also apologizes if this hit a little too close to home.