Sabbatical(n): of the nature of a Sabbath or period of rest. Designating a period of leave from duty granted at intervals […] for study and travel
I recently had an epiphany. I am on a sabbatical but I am not resting. Instead, I am working frantically working on more than four major projects, cramming my days from morning to night. I had my epiphany after a particularly anxious day that ended in a meltdown by late-afternoon. Now, this was not my first meltdown, nor I’m sure, my last. I have a pattern of going full tilt, hell-bent-for-election until I crash. This time was no different. I sat in my home office, tears rolling down my face, staring at my computer. Immoblized and unable to focus. All of this was accompanied by an acute sense of unease, a nagging feeling that my life was spinning out of control. My head ached and I couldn’t concentrate as I stared at my to-do list for January, at all the unticked neat little boxes beside each task. It was almost February. I needed to get to work. But all I could do was cry.
My husband wondered what the fuss was about. After all, I am not teaching. “You are on a sabbatical, you have a year off,” he said. I cried some more. An hour later, I attempted to pull myself together for the visit of a girlfriend, but as we clinked glasses to cheer the Friday afternoon (her idea), I burst into tears again. Oh dear, this was serious.
Now I would describe myself as calm, in control, highly organized and extremely energetic person. All of which makes me an over-achiever. If I have heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times, “I don’t understand how you get so much done. I wish I had your energy.” But lately, I’ve been wishing that I could relax, do nothing and spend a day being unproductive. But the problem is that my brain will not shut off.
One thing I can do well when I am upset is fall sleep. Much to my husband’s chagrin. But as soon as I wake up, the mailbox in my head clicks open and my mind jumps into high gear. After my girlfriend left, I gave myself permission to go to bed early. The next morning, I tried to tame it by reaching for a book that had been sitting on my to-read pile for over two years, In Praise of Slow, by Carl Honore. Sitting at the kitchen table with a freshly brewed cup of coffee, I began to read. At first I raced across the words, using the speed reading techniques that I learned back in high school. Every few minutes, I jumped up to stir a soup I was making for lunch later, change the laundry and let the dogs out. Three pages into the book, I realized that I had not taken in one word. I guess speed reading a book about slowing down is a bit of an oxymoron, so I started back at page one. I had to do this three times before the words started to sink in. And sink in they did.
“Our lives have turned into an exercise in hurry, obsessed with being efficient; saving time, making every step count for three…We have become velocitized and have a constant need to go even faster.” It’s like getting on the 401 at Brockville, feeling like we are going fast at 100km/ hour. By Kingston we travel at 120km/hour and entering Toronto, we race along at 130km/hour just to stay with the traffic. In the same way, our lives have sped up to the verge of being out of control.
I first twigged into the realization that I had not bought into the full meaning of sabbatical when I found myself rushing frantically out the door to run an errand. I stopped suddenly, wondering why I was rushing. I had no deadline, no appointment, just my own self-made timelines. I was just running a simple errand; even the verb ‘running’ infers hurrying. So I cut my speed in half and carried on, but the anti-speed seed was planted in my head. At least for a few minutes.
As I struggled to analyze just where I was going wrong, I came up with some theories. I have always felt that each day is a gift from God and therefore should be lived to the fullest. What I have come to realize is that this does not necessarily mean jumping at every single opportunity and idea that comes along. And believe me, I have way more ideas than time. I need to learn to say no, or not now, or perhaps, never. Right. Easier said than done.
Then there is the time frame. My sabbatical is unlike retirement. It is finite. It ends in August. I have only so many months to jam in all my ideas. Oh, those damn ideas of mine. Another issue is that my sense of worth is based on producing and accomplishing. My father calls it Avery for Slavery. I call it work ethic out of control. And it doesn’t help that my husband is also a work-a-holic who works 80 hours a week and has very little time off. I find it hard to relax knowing that he is working so hard. So I renovate the house, reorganize my charity, write a cookbook, launch my first book and frantically plan the next trip.
I must admit that I have been very good at incorporating ‘travel’ into my sabbatical. I recently toured seven countries over four months and saw people relaxing everywhere. Scantily clad sunbathers laying on pebble beaches in France. Old men shooting the breeze on roadside benches in Italy. Muslim men having a picnic with their four wives in parks in Turkey. Men playing cards in the shade in Nepal. For the most part, I raced through the countries, as tourists often do, trying to see as much as possible, in spite of the fact that I had vowed that I would not do this. However, I did manage to spend many hours on balcony in Goa, slowly sipping my milky coffee or a late afternoon gin and tonic or two. Goa seems to be the only place where I can truly relax. I find it ironic that I allow myself to do nothing there but seem to be incapable of doing this in Canada. Unless friends come over. Then I find myself exclaiming to them, “ Thank God you’ve come, now I can sit down.” I can sit for hours and talk with cherished friends but I cannot sit still when I am alone.
I’m still reading Praise for Slow, two to three pages at a time, even though I am anxious to get to the How-To part of Honore’s message of slowing down. In the meantime, I’ve decided to make a few changes. Or at least try. (I can hear my friends laughing already.) Firstly, I need to train my mind to shut down for awhile. Stop listening to those voices in my head. After all, would I let anyone else order me around the way that those voices do? I also need to put things off. I have never been a procrastinator but perhaps it is a skill that I should learn. And I need to prioritize. The next time I make a list, I will go back and cross some things off of it. Finally, for the duration of this sabbatical, I am going to try to schedule a pajama day every week. One day with no obligations, no tasks to complete, no plans. A day to get up in the morning, dress or not dress and ask myself, “Okay, Crystle, what would you love to do today? Really love.” And give myself permission to do it. Wish me luck!
