I Don't Know How to Take a "Break"

I was walking home one day when I spotted a lady by the pool, reading.

“Why had I never thought of doing that?” I mused. Everyone is so busy here that it's no surprise that the lady is not local.

However, I can't imagine myself reading by the pool, as much as I love books. I would be swimming diligently and feeling tired thereafter.

Currently, I'm on a sabbatical from full-time work, yet I got busy even before leaving my previous workplace. I started writing regularly, a dream I had always wanted to fulfill. I continued honing my craft in career counseling, seeing clients virtually as a freelancer with a start-up. Both are passion pursuits that cannot pay the bills.

Now that I've decided to help more people in real life, I'm job hunting again. Don’t get me wrong: I have a long-term career direction. For now, I want to contribute to society in person and earn my keep at the same time.

I'm not tied down like a full-time employee, but I'm not flying all over the world or relaxing with a mocktail. Even though I'm financially prudent, the typical definition of a break doesn't resonate with me.

I'm so “bad” at breaks that my mind tells me I need a walk, yet my body gravitates to my laptop as I've not written an article this week.

What if that's okay? What if I choose not to fret over “experts” warning about busyness as a symptom of worrying conditions?

A break doesn't always mean rest

I find it ironic when we go on vacations only to stress about planning, packing, and recovering from jet-lag.

Worse, some of us carry our worries along with us. We only feel the weight of this “excess baggage” when we are greeted with a beautiful sunset and find ourselves thinking of something else.

I may struggle with the thought of packing for a “break,” but I know I'm already rested as I am.

Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith wrote about seven types of rest we need. Her view of rest is so holistic that I know I'm getting my creative, emotional, and spiritual rest through writing:

• Creative rest: I record my ideas and thoughts to connect to my sense of wonder. If not, my mind keeps spinning with inchoate reflections.

• Emotional rest: Writing gives me the space to express what I really feel and become more authentic.

• Spiritual rest: I feel centered when I write, as it gives me a sense of purpose and belonging to a community of like-minded souls.

I feel a sense of relief and accomplishment after writing an article. I found pockets of time to write in the madness of house-moving and even honeymooning.

Walking gives me different kinds of rest — physical and sensory. It can't replace the rest writing gives me.

Just as a break doesn't always mean rest, busyness has different varieties. I'm occupied in productive and restful ways.

On the contrary, I've learned that many workers in my region spend more time on “performative work” than real work. It saddens me to see this huge waste of human talent and potential, which is also a disservice to society. This is why burnout isn't just overwork; some of us might feel depleted from being underchallenged.

Is that why many busy employees can't wait for their next holiday, only to feel more exhausted upon their return?

Mindless overwork differs from healthy engagement in pursuits that light me up. It's okay to want to make the best use of my precious time on earth.

The guilt of sleeping in

This is the kicker that I'm still grappling with: I feel guilty if I sleep in or take naps too often.

There's so much I want to do, yet I turn to my bed instead.

Before rushing to misdiagnose myself, a brief reflection helped me pinpoint the different variants of oversleeping:

• Am I napping because I didn’t get enough sleep last night?

• Am I sleeping because I'm feeling down and need to recuperate?

• Am I dozing off because I've strayed from my vision and my body is giving me a kick in the pants?

On average, I sleep easily and soundly. Last evening, I found myself telling my spouse that when I'm driven and focused, I don't nap at all.

When I feel disconnected from myself or the world, I invariably feel like napping more.

A high school memory comes to mind. I scored better grades when I was fruitfully busy with my orchestra than when I had no group to manage and play in. We were rehearsing for a national competition past midnight, yet I still had ample energy.

Perhaps the guilt of sleeping in transcends the act itself. Maybe I'm rueful when I nap more often because I know I have deviated from my purpose.

Going forward, I'm going to acknowledge my very human feelings and let my body take a nap when I'm feeling down. After all, I always feel more sane after waking, so I'm going to see it as emotional regulation.

Then I will walk back to my vision and pursuits with more confidence. Pretending my guilt and sadness don't exist will only sabotage me in the long run.

My definition of a break

My friend has told me that sometimes, I just need to “do nothing.” Influencers on social media get busy filming themselves relaxing. “Experts” remind us busyness can be a fight-or-flight response.

While they're correct, I've realized my definition of a break simply differs from theirs. I do know how to take a break — my way.

I let my mind wander when I walk without punishing it for not being “mindful.” Sometimes, it's empty; sometimes, it's not — and that's okay.

I look busy, but I'm resting in the company of writing, reading, friends and family, strangers, career counseling, walks, and daily laughter with my spouse. Even cooking is a form of rest: I create meals with my hands and take a break from my laptop.

I listen to my soul when it calls out for a longer break and try my best to honor it. It doesn't do so frequently and I'm not going to twist it to conform to an external norm.

A break is any period of rest that uplifts and recenters me, reconnecting me to myself and the world. I've had such moments in the shower.

More poignantly, life-enhancing work differs from life-leeching ones. We don't really need a “break” from activities that lift us up. If we do, it's often extrinsic pressures that muddy the waters of what we love: money, social pressure, unrealistic expectations.

When we return to what we love after a detour, however, we see with sharper and wiser eyes. As such, I have come to embrace my diversions.

Bestselling writer Anne Lamott might agree:

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”