A bright, sunny Wednesday with low humidity and a mostly-clear sky but for the jet trails fanning into "clouds."
I was supposed to have been on the road today. Wasting another perfect summer day in my car, faking a sense of presence by having my sunroof open, listening to Kenny Chesney - while vehemently wishing I was anywhere but in that car. My meeting today was postponed until Friday and while it means I will have two days on the road before the weekend, I found myself with an unscheduled day in the middle of this week.
Running on proverbial fumes yet again, I announced to Jack last night (over a spontaneous dinner of ribs and chicken wings) that I was taking today as a mental health day. I am teaching a four hour class tomorrow and while it took me until noon to feel mentally prepared, I've been goofing off since then. It's 2:57. Two hours and fifty seven minutes of frivolity. How luxurious.
I'm terrified of crashing and burning like I have done twice this past year - in fall and in spring. I ignore my body, my mind, and my spirit when one of the three is calling for a freaking break. At first, one of the three will politely request a break. Then they get ornery and act up...I have a wickedly upset stomach, a crappy demeanor, a restless spirit. I normally ignore them and end up in the hospital or at least flat on my bed with a pneumonia.
Screw that.
One of my colleagues, a fellow system leader, recently embarked upon a challenge. A 43-hour week challenge. I was mystified as I heard her talk about the limits she is setting on work hours, travel time, email time at home in the evenings....
She sensed a huge imbalance in her own life and knew she needed to correct it. And knowing my tendency to overwork myself, she challenged me to a 44 hour work week. She gave me a bonus hour and this was to include my travel time.
Don't get me wrong. I know it is incredibly rare to work in one's chosen field before they even finish their terminal degree (I'm officially half-done with the PhD but man, oh man, my reserves are nil). My colleagues remind me of this - that I'm so lucky and so blessed. I'm not discounting that. But I'm not happy.
One of my good friends is an overachieving, Type A attorney. She invited me to lunch the other week and we sat for two hours over a deli lunch discussing happiness. She had recently read a book called "The Happiness Dare" and it changed her life. I promptly bought the book and read it on our beach on Lake Michigan during our annual beach vacay. I'm a "doer" and not happy unless I'm producing and productive. Yawn. What am I, a machine? When I took the "strengths finder" test, I was diagnosed as being an achiever with focus, competition, and discipline.
As our friends were skulking on the beach, on the prowl for sea glass, I was diligently studying how to be happy. Maybe I should make a spreadsheet or write a report on things that make me happy?
I *really* don't want to be a droid.
The Happiness Dare was worth the $11 and Amazon Prime membership because of one sentence (paraphrasing): "Your worth is not defined by your productivity."
I'm sure the authors had a more eloquent way of explaining this but it hit home...I'm worth so much more than what I accomplish. Than what I weigh or my pant size. Than what's in my bank account. That I'm not defined by some eternal benchmark of productivity, regardless of what that productivity looks like or how it manifests itself.
I thought I had already transcended this. Apparently, it's a recurring realization that keeps popping up like a buoy being tackled by waves in the ocean. Boop! Time to think about this again!
Yay.
Since I returned from Italy in May, I haven't really been on Facebook. I think FB is a poison...peoples'perfectly filtered lives hit you in the gut when you're low. Do I really care that people are taking their fifth vacation this year while I drive 2,000 miles? Do I really care that people from high school have had several babies and retain their prom night figures? Do I really care that so-and-so is completing her 31st half-marathon?
No.
When did Facebook become "BragBook?"
No thanks.
Thinking about this, comparison is the poison. Why do we compare ourselves to others knowing we have different life circumstances, gifts, talents, and callings?
Screw comparisons.
I'm not sure where this post is going....it's one woman in Indy who decided to blow off work today to take care of herself. As my professor said during the very first lecture of my very first grad school class, one has to take their own pulse. He was a surgeon and chose to talk to us about self-care and taking care of ourselves so we can care for others.
So I guess that's what I'm doing today. Trying to achieve a 44-hour work week and replenish for the next two days and three months of crazy. I am not scheduled to come up for air again until Halloween.
I used to think that a busy schedule pointed to success. Now, I feel trapped by my schedule and wish someone could write me an excuse note to get out of a meeting or two.
But I'll persevere and get up at 5 in the morning tomorrow to kick ass. But today?
I'm going to go pour myself a glass of Chardonnay, grab a novel I have been meaning to read for six months, and go sit on my patio under the huge umbrella on this perfect August day.
*The Happiness Dare has an online quiz in which you can figure out your happiness style. The book is definitely worth the $11.
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