(Illustration by Cornelia Li for The Washington Post)
Every Friday around sunset, I close my laptop. For 24 hours, my work is done. No email. No news. No social media. If it’s work-related, it waits.
What I try to do is — nothing at all. Or, rather, I spend time with people I love, usually outdoors. I swim or surf. I share a meal with friends and family. Sometimes, I just lie on my back in the park enjoying the sun.
It has rekindled a sense of joy I last felt when I was a kid with nothing to do, and gratitude for whatever miraculous series of events led me here to this moment.
For years, this one-day pause seemed untenable. For many, it’s virtually impossible to set aside an entire day for rest free from responsibilities to work and family.
But on the verge of burnout a few years ago, I began to practice a Sabbath. Giving myself permission to stop doing was hard. My brain betrayed my intentions, unconsciously leading me to flick open my phone, check work emails or scurry ahead to a Monday that hadn’t yet begun. Disconnecting took practice, and still does.
What I try to do is — nothing at all. Or, rather, I spend time with people I love, usually outdoors. I swim or surf. I share a meal with friends and family. Sometimes, I just lie on my back in the park enjoying the sun.
It has rekindled a sense of joy I last felt when I was a kid with nothing to do, and gratitude for whatever miraculous series of events led me here to this moment.
For years, this one-day pause seemed untenable. For many, it’s virtually impossible to set aside an entire day for rest free from responsibilities to work and family.
But on the verge of burnout a few years ago, I began to practice a Sabbath. Giving myself permission to stop doing was hard. My brain betrayed my intentions, unconsciously leading me to flick open my phone, check work emails or scurry ahead to a Monday that hadn’t yet begun. Disconnecting took practice, and still does.
