A month of leisure?

The last thing I remember about August 2024 is resigning from a fulfilling role at my previous organization. One minute, I have the privilege of leading an incredibly talented team of 30+ individuals who hustle to make a nonprofit mission possible, all while making their own ends meet. Next thing I know, I have 5 weeks off in between jobs. I feel placid acceptance as the realization dawns: I am hurt and bruised. Even if I wasn’t eager to initiate this time for myself or keep it going. I was ready for a plot twist.

And life… twisted. 

In my 20s and well into my 30s, every choice seemed so determinative, so final. The stakes always felt so high. Every decision was made with the utmost care because it said something about who I was, where I was going, about where I’d end up. Age (and death) has mellowed the intensity of even big decisions. Life feels like hundreds of tiny preferences rather than a few major decisions. Even the big moments don’t take up as much weight as I once thought they had. 

Now I wonder, why didn’t I let go more or take the time off between jobs in the past? Was it my bank account? My ego? My false sense of who I was at my core: a productive high-performer? I have realized something about my month of leisure, though. It hasn’t just been walks and books and adapting to circumstances I cannot control. When I did have a choice, I moved toward the unknown. This was a weird inversion for me. For most of my adult life, work has been a driving force in my life. I have always felt a strong pull toward a certain idea of impact, authentic leadership, productivity, all the things that nonprofit culture modeled for me. At some point, though, I found myself more comfortable with my workfree life than I ever thought possible. It started to feel more known than unknown.

I have learned that grief comes in waves. It can happen when you leave a job, too. You think about the moments you had and and will never have again. The people who you’ve grown to respect and with whom you’ve spent 10 hours with daily for the past few years. Even employment has its greatest moments. I miss my dear team (you know who you are). 

During my first week off, I am the nihilist workaholic who doesn’t know what to do with herself. I am not happy about being here, but I am fully accepting. It is what it is. I’ll be ok. What a “gift” to have this time! Whatever the reason, I don’t have much control over it. I will be ok. Take a deep breath, exhale. Ten days later, a little more sureness settles in. I guess it is a gift, I think, addressing myself for the first time. Maybe I haven’t chosen it, but life has. I find some peace in this.

These past 5 weeks have been life changing. I got to know myself again. Friends call to meet up for coffee. Former colleagues text me and send me book recs while I spend hours trying to avoid the temptation of screens, snacks, and wine. I can feel how rich I am in community, how deep my support pillars run. And this, more than anything, assures me things will be okay. I can make it a few weeks. My brain is currently obsessed with the question of how to be present and at peace with my lack of control. With whether and how I really get to choose a life path for myself.  

It’s not lost on me, the irony of writing a post shouting for the privilege of taking time off of work and then ultimately taking refuge in not choosing, and then in going back to work because let’s face it, I don’t have an actual choice, do I? The fact is, I’ve only been able to come to a place of curiosity and acceptance because I know I chose leaving.

My story has a clear outcome. I’m writing this in the days before I start a new job, before I rapidly disappear into onboarding, zoom meetings, and overachieving. You know how I feel about a to-do list. 

Tomorrow, I’ll be joining the American Exchange Project as their founding Chief Revenue & Development Officer. Many people have their own definition of the “American dream”. For me, it has meant the freedom to pursue a career and lifestyle of my choosing, political freedom, women’s rights (in all their dwindling glory), and the opportunity to experience life and all its small pleasures. Above all, it has meant the ability to build my own sense of community. Real connection, friendships, communities to which I belong. They all depend on me showing up joyfully and consistently, without obligation and without scorekeeping. The hard truth is that none of us gets to be in community, reaping the benefits of connection, without effort.

A few years ago when a friend of mine moved to a new state, she lamented, "I wish there were more people I knew here. Move to Massachusetts and we can be friends!” Eight years later, Aziza and I keep our connection going through herculean efforts every. single. week. Connection has never been set-it-and-forget-it. We all go through phases when we don't show up for our friendships the way we'd like to. Showing up can look very different for different people. Community is tricky like that: Everyone needs to contribute, but can't contribute the exact same way or on the same timeline. If you take two things from this post, let them be these: 

1. Take two minutes to tap into the lives of your friends. Maybe ten minutes. This one is hard to quantify. But the point is, avoid sinking into the quicksand of your own life. If community matters to you, that means the specific people in it matter. Send a couple of "how are you doing this week?" texts or voice messages, and pay attention to what comes back. 

2. Take a beat. A real one. It’s true that not everyone has the resources (or the back-up child care) to pause. So many of us work long hours and have health or family situations that take up every waking moment. It’s worth it. You are worth it. I know it. 

More than any bucket-list achievement or milestone, taking a beat, a breath, a time-out was deeply aspirational to me. I’m a woman of spreadsheets and calendars, 5-year strategic plans and annual operational plans whose hobbies haven’t really changed in decades, who likes to keep friends, their birthdays and addresses for as long as possible. A person of clarity and steadfastness. No wonder the concept of leisure seemed so exotic and distant.

This is what this last month has really been about. Not learning something new or reading (though I have done plenty of that), or even the clear outcome of impending employment. But the fact that I can take a beat.

The fact that I did.