Liz's Day Off, or: the Quest to Reconcile Laser-Sharp Focus While Thriving as a Whole Person

I had an unexpected vacation day last Friday. It was simultaneously terrifying and amazing.

Thursday evening my CEO texted me and asked if I had anything urgent on Friday. I replied I had a few update meetings, but nothing major, why? He replied that I should take a day off.

Laughing off his advice, I told him I’d duck out a few hours early and spend the afternoon at the beach.

He replied that I should spend the entire day at the beach. Or doing whatever I wanted. I needed a recharge day.

I was shocked. I swallowed every urge I had to retaliate with a laundry list of things I was planning on getting done that day. I was tensed for a fight ready to prove my worth to him and the company and refuse his good-willed offer of a day off. The sheer absurdity of having a sudden free day with no work planned made me feel uncomfortable, a little off-kilter, and somewhat scared.

Recognizing that this wasn’t the normal reaction to a spontaneous beach day, I texted back saying, “Thanks, I’ll be sure to wear sunscreen”.

_________

In grad school, my advisor called me a good scientist because I had the “terrier instinct”. Much like a small dog, I’d clamp my teeth relentlessly onto a problem and wouldn’t let go until I’d figured it out.

It was an advantageous trait as I navigated my PhD, and managed to clear a wide array of technical hurdles along the way. Absurdly early mornings spent tweaking figures and mapping out experimental design time helped temper anxiety about the future and failed experiments.

As a typical adult explanation for most personality traits, I fear the seeds for this were inherited from my parents. Both entrepreneurs, I was taught from a young age that the only acceptable path through life involved trying your hardest.

The thing is, my hardest is pretty darn hard.

Not, I’ll show up 10 minutes early and work 8 and a half hours a day. Not, I’ll reply to e-mails immediately and try to be a good team player.

Nope, those are (sadly) much paler shades of what my hardest looks like.

Instead, it’s sending off e-mails and moving projects forward at 5:15 in the morning when I first wake up. It’s stopping at a coffee shop while in the midst of a long drive to get internet and make some last minute slide tweaks.

It’s having my work be the last thing I think about at night and the first thing I think about in the morning.

If I was in academia, this would be the norm. As I lurched towards tenure, days pockmarked with obsession would fuel my quest.

When I was in industry after graduation it was so strange that I would leave work at work, come home with my free time, yet exhausted due to mental gymnastics performed all day.

Now that I’m thriving in start up space, every minute is a chance to take it all in. Learn, be actively involved in everything, and grow during a tenure of uncertain duration doing my dream job. I’ve been given the chance to pour every ounce of myself into my work again, and I love it. It’s the fuel for my mental kindling.

_________

My Friday vacation day I spent the first few hours sipping coffee and reflecting on how, exactly, I got to where I was? What combination of work obsession, relentless drive, and impatience delivered me to the point where I was oddly terrified of a free day off?

Scrolling through LinkedIn and Slack only exacerbated that fear, so I powered down my electronics, went for a long run, and spent the rest of the day boogie boarding, eating tacos, exploring a brewery and spending time with people I love. It was exactly what you need in a day off. Whimsy, nature, and recharging.

_________

The deliverable from my day off: a renewed quest for balance.

How do you reconcile laser-sharp focus while thriving as a whole person?

How can you charge forward into your job, give it your best, while staving off burnout?

For now, my answer is surrounding myself with people who grok where I’m at.

People who offer perspective and a counter-weight to my own scientific obsession. Who know me well enough to give me space to thrive, but also kindly suggest that they’ll step in so I can step away when needed.

I’m not sure if balance will seem more natural eventually, or if I’ll just learn to enjoy the ebb and flow, just like those waves that carried me into the surf and started to feel more normal with every passing iteration.